#RAW in Baltimore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchingwithscissors · 18 days ago

Text

Canon confirmed: Rio’s the other mom.

So this is for the ones who want rough nights, slow mornings, and a body that always feels like home.

Agathario AU | Rio’s drowning in scrubs, grief, and silence. Her wife wants her back—under her, over her, beside her. They’ve got a kid. A marriage. And one hell of a flame to reignite.

The front door shut with the quiet caution of someone who didn’t want to wake the person they loved. A rush of rainwater pooled beneath Rio’s shoes as she stood in the entryway, trembling from head to toe. Lightning flickered outside, illuminating her in a quick, silver flash—her dark hair plastered to her neck, her navy scrub top turned nearly black with downpour, sweat, and the lingering scent of antiseptics.

She listened for any sign from the rest of the apartment: the hum of the fridge, the soft dripping of the rain on the windows. The only noise was the rapid thump of her heart.

She hadn’t texted Agatha—she simply couldn’t.

How was she supposed to sum up the devastation of losing yet another child on the table, let alone one who reminded her so much of their own son at home?

Slowly, she toed off her soggy sneakers. Her socked feet made no sound on the hardwood. She felt as though any loud movement, any jolt, would shatter the tenuous barrier holding back her tears. The air smelled faintly of lavender tea, which always reminded her of Agatha’s attempts to soothe them both after the hardest workdays. But the mug on the counter looked abandoned, half-filled and gone cold. Across the open floor plan, she spotted Agatha in the kitchen—barefoot, wearing an old white sweatshirt of Rio’s with a half-faded Columbia University logo. The lion mascot was missing half its mane, worn down from years of post-residency washes.

Agatha turned at the sound of Rio’s quiet approach. She didn’t speak right away. Instead, she took in the trembling corners of Rio’s mouth, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her arms were wrapped protectively around her torso. Slowly, Agatha put down the dish towel she’d been holding, like she was setting down all of her own concerns so she could hold Rio’s instead.

Rio tried to meet her gaze but faltered, head drooping, water sliding off her chin onto the floor.

“I lost someone,” she managed, voice cracking and hollow. “Nine years old. She coded right in front of me.”

The distance between them lasted only a heartbeat. Agatha stepped closer, her hands warm as they cupped Rio’s chilled cheeks.

“You did what you could,” Agatha said, her voice low, that gentle hush she used when Nicky was drifting to sleep.

Rio swallowed hard. “It wasn’t enough,” she whispered, voice raw. “She had freckles—like Nicky. She wanted to be a vet… She was so excited about animals. I tried, Agatha. I tried.”

Tenderly, Agatha smoothed Rio’s damp hair away from her forehead. “I know,” she said.

The tears came then, unstoppable. Rio sucked in a ragged breath, pressed her face into the curve of Agatha’s neck. She could feel Agatha’s heart beating in time with her own, a living metronome that steadied her just enough to keep her from collapsing onto the floor.

Agatha’s arms enveloped her entirely. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes, my love,” she whispered, mouth skimming the shell of Rio’s ear. “We can talk or not talk… whatever you need.”

But the thought of speaking more, of repeating the story of a mother’s screams and the frantic attempts at resuscitation, made Rio’s skin prickle with dread. She couldn’t talk about it yet. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. But right now, her grief and guilt were fused together, a knot in her chest.

“I want—” Rio began, then stopped. She looked up into Agatha’s enchanting blue eyes, eyes that always seemed to see right through her. “I want you.”

Understanding glimmered. Agatha gently tugged her forward. “Then let me take care of you, baby.”

Flashback to Baltimore, Four Years Ago

Rio had never believed in serendipity, or soulmates, or anything like that. It was pure coincidence that she’d been in Baltimore for a pediatric medical conference, running late and juggling a latte and her phone. She was scanning the conference schedule when she felt a solid thunk. Her foot came down on someone else’s stiletto, cracking the heel. Hot coffee sloshed onto a crisp white blouse.

She froze, mortified. The woman she’d collided with raised her eyebrows, flicking coffee droplets off her blouse with an almost amused smile.

Rio grabbed for napkins. “I’m sorry—so sorry—I’m usually more graceful than this,” she stammered.

The woman—Agatha, as she introduced herself—assessed Rio’s flushed face, her messy bun that had half-fallen out of the hair tie, the stammering apology. And then she laughed, a low, melodious sound that throbbed with humor and attraction all at once.

“Are you always this charming, Doctor?” Agatha teased.

Rio offered the handful of napkins with trembling hands, catching the stray thought that this woman was too gorgeous to be real. “Not usually. I mean, yes. I mean… I’m sorry about your shoe?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Agatha said, her grin sly. “Otherwise, I might have pressed assault charges for the coffee fiasco.”

They ended up side by side at the same first-day lecture, exchanging glances over the top of printed slides. Later, over overpriced red wine in the noisy hotel bar, they discovered they worked in the same field: pediatrics. Agatha was a nurse practitioner with a gift for crisis management. Rio was fresh out of her internship, half-certain that her dream of working in high-stakes pediatric care would break her. But she couldn’t let it go.

Agatha asked her about that drive: “If it hurts so much, why do you keep going back?”

Rio shrugged, swirling her wine. “I guess I keep hoping the next time will be different. And sometimes it is. I really like the parts where we save them.”

Agatha’s expression was thoughtful, luminous. “You’ve got it bad for these kids,” she said softly.

“I do,” Rio admitted. “But it’s so… personal.” She exhaled, tension raw in her shoulders.

Agatha’s hand slid across the table to rest atop Rio’s. Something electric passed between them. That was it: the moment that changed the axis of Rio’s world.

Two hours later, they stumbled into Agatha’s hotel room, lips colliding in frantic passion, fumbling with each other’s clothing. Agatha’s shirt fell to the floor. Rio’s belt clanged against the bed frame.

Agatha kissed like she wanted to map every part of Rio’s body, to read her like Braille. She explored Rio’s skin with a confident ease that made Rio’s nerves buzz. When Rio tried to apologize for not being more experienced with women, Agatha silenced her with a long, thorough kiss.

“Don’t overthink,” Agatha whispered. “Just feel.”

Rio let herself be guided, let her breath stutter as Agatha trailed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, lower—until Rio could barely remember her own name. Their bodies moved in sync, a dance of discovery. And in the throes of Rio’s first orgasm with another woman, she forgot every doubt she’d ever had about the power of connection.

“Tell me you’ll remember this,” Agatha said after, voice husky, lying on her side, one hand propped under her cheek.

Rio’s heart thundered. “I don’t ever want to forget.”

⸻

Back in the present, Rio allowed herself to be led to the bedroom.

Rain battered the windows as thunder mumbled in the distance. The overhead light remained off; only the glow from the hall lamp provided a soft gold halo across the comforter. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.

Agatha coaxed Rio onto the edge of the bed. With careful fingers, she peeled away Rio’s soaked scrub top, revealing the sports bra beneath. She pressed her lips to the hollow of Rio’s throat while reaching around to tug the elastic band free from Rio’s long hair. Her hair tumbled down, half-dry, half-soaked. Agatha stroked through the damp strands.

“You don’t have to talk,” she murmured, her voice like a lullaby. “Just let me hold you.”

But a surge of desperation flooded Rio. She wanted more than comfort. She needed to claw her way back to feeling alive, needed a visceral reminder that she wasn’t made solely of sorrow and guilt. Her hands gripped Agatha’s waist, traveling under the sweatshirt to feel the smooth expanse of Agatha’s back.

“Don’t be gentle,” Rio pleaded, voice shaking. “I don’t want gentle tonight, sweetheart.”

Agatha’s lips quirked. “Well, if it’s doctor’s orders,” she teased.

Still wearing the old sweatshirt, Agatha settled onto the bed. She arranged Rio so that she was lying beneath her, bra halfway undone. The floor was still slick with the droplets that had slid from Rio’s body, but they ignored it, lost in the moment. Agatha grazed her teeth across Rio’s collarbone, then lower, until she managed to peel off the soaked bra entirely. The cold air made Rio’s skin pebble, but Agatha’s mouth was warm, an anchor.

Rio slid her hands up the back of Agatha’s sweatshirt, nails lightly scoring her skin, wanting to claim her, to let go of the day’s horrors in the push and pull of their bodies. Agatha groaned, arching into Rio’s touch, letting the sweatshirt ride up to expose toned thighs and the curve of her hips.

Before Rio could blink, Agatha kissed down her abdomen, a trail of open-mouthed, wet kisses that seared fire into Rio’s blood. She paused just above the elastic waistband of Rio’s scrub pants, looked up, and said softly, “I love you.”

Rio’s breath caught. She combed her fingers through Agatha’s hair. “I love you,” she returned, voice trembling. “Now please—”

With a sly smile, Agatha tugged Rio’s scrub pants down, along with her underwear, in one swift motion. Cool air caressed Rio’s bare thighs for an instant, but then Agatha’s mouth was there, her hands cupping the underside of Rio’s hips. The first brush of Agatha’s tongue shot a spark through Rio’s entire body. She moaned, hips lifting, and felt Agatha’s low hum of approval ripple across her skin.

She was undone so easily by this woman. Every lick, every gentle scrape of teeth, every press of Agatha’s fingers along her inner thigh set her nerves alight. Agatha’s name became a chant on her lips. Rio’s eyes fluttered shut. Each time a memory of the day tried to intrude—pediatric code, failing vitals—Agatha’s touch brought her back to the bedroom, to the now, to what felt safe and vital.

When Agatha pressed two fingers inside her, Rio’s moan mingled with the distant rumble of thunder. She twisted her fingers in Agatha’s hair, urging her on. The speed built, a trembling wave. The coil of need tightened in Rio’s belly, not just from the physical sensation but from the emotional catharsis that came with it. In Agatha’s hands, she was never a failure. She was cherished. She was powerful and vulnerable all at once.

“Yes,” Rio gasped, “fuck—Aggie—oh my god, baby—”

She came in a white-hot spasm, her cry muffled as she buried her face in the crook of her arm. Agatha held her through every moment of the climax, lingering until Rio’s breath slowed, until her heart no longer pounded so violently. But Agatha didn’t stop there; she continued, relentless, drawing out every last tremor until Rio’s eyes glistened with overwhelmed tears. Only then did Agatha crawl up beside her and cup her cheek.

“You don’t have to hold it all alone,” Agatha said, pressing a soft kiss to Rio’s forehead.

Rio closed her eyes, chest tight with gratitude. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “for shutting you out.”

Agatha draped an arm around her. “I know. And I’m here. Always.”

Lightning streaked across the sky, highlighting the silhouette of their tangled limbs. They lay together, panting softly, hearts echoing in tandem. Rain battered the glass as though determined to wash the city clean.

Flashback, Three Years Ago

For nearly a year after that conference, Rio and Agatha tried the long-distance thing.

Agatha worked in Baltimore, while Rio was completing her specialized pediatric residency in New York City. The relationship was new, precarious; the demands of their careers left them exhausted and occasionally short-fused. Yet every phone call, every text, every video call, every stolen weekend was charged with a desperate energy to make it work.

Agatha would schedule “work trips” to New York, couching them in half-truths. Sure, there was a professional reason to go—but mostly, she just wanted to be near Rio.

She’d slip into the dingy, cramped, barely-up-to-code apartment Rio shared with another resident. A woman named Alice—who, at first, made Agatha a little jealous. But seeing how little time Rio had, and how all of it went straight to Agatha, she couldn’t really complain.

Agatha would bring fresh groceries, which they cooked together—though “together” usually meant Agatha doing the chopping while Rio sat at the counter, taste-testing and sneaking sips of wine after her late-night shifts. Rio especially loved Agatha’s mushroom risotto. She always said it was nice to eat something homemade for once, not just microwave dinners or whatever salty garbage the hospital cafeteria served. It made her feel warm. Taken care of.

Their nights fell into an easy rhythm: they’d start a movie, never make it past the first twenty minutes. As soon as Rio put her arm around Agatha, Agatha would lean in for a kiss—and it always ended with them tangled up in bed. Afterward, fully satisfied and too exhausted to do anything else, they’d barely keep their eyes open—but they were always determined to share at least a few hours wrapped around each other.

One night, near the end of their first six months, Agatha and Rio found themselves sitting on the floor of Rio’s bathroom—one of the only private spots in the tiny apartment—drinking cheap wine from chipped mugs. Tension hovered, unspoken, thick as steam.

“What are we?” Agatha asked softly, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass.

Her voice barely rose above the hum of the city outside, but it was enough to still the air between them. The question lingered—delicate, a little frightening.

Rio looked up, her heart thudding. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen this coming; it was that she didn’t know how to answer without giving Agatha the softest, most unguarded part of herself.

There was something raw in Agatha’s face, as though she was bracing for Rio to laugh it off—call this a fling or a phase. As if she was already preparing to let it hurt.

Rio swallowed, the back of her throat tight. She could lie or deflect—but this time, she didn’t want to. So she leaned in, voice unsteady with honesty.

“Something I don’t want to fuck up,” she said, and watched relief flicker in Agatha’s eyes.

Agatha let out a breath she seemed to have been holding. “Okay,” she whispered, sliding her free hand over Rio’s.

Rio exhaled, relieved and a little dizzy. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she added, “but when I’m with you…I’m not bracing for the crash. I’m just here.”

Agatha smiled then—soft, hopeful, and still a bit uncertain. She squeezed Rio’s hand, glanced away, then back again. There was a pink flush on her cheeks when she spoke.

“Soooo,” she drew out the word in a playful lilt, “we’re doing this, right? I can call you mine?”

Rio’s heart seemed to expand in her chest, filling up all the hollow spaces she’d never even known were empty. She laced her fingers with Agatha’s.

“Please do,” she murmured, a shaky smile curving her lips. “I’m yours.”

They sealed it with a kiss that tasted of sweet wine and unspoken devotion.

Over the next several months, they teased each other through late-night calls, turned phone screens into windows of desperate need. One memorable night, Agatha confessed she was transferring to New York mid-video call, and Rio climaxed so hard she nearly toppled off her couch. It was clumsy, thrilling, and sealed their commitment in more ways than words could.

After the move, they braved an apartment, half-updated, with paint-splattered floors and a perpetually broken radiator. They learned each other’s routines—who hogged the bathroom first, who folded the laundry (or forgot to). They bickered over sweaty scrubs and stolen shampoo, but they laughed even harder, especially on nights when they collapsed into bed at dawn, too exhausted to do anything but cling to each other.

They once tried a threesome on a tipsy dare. Fifteen minutes in, Rio felt a jealousy coil in her gut, while Agatha hated seeing someone else’s hands on Rio. They sent the third partner home with awkward apologies, then spent the night tangled up in each other—relieved to realize they both truly wanted exclusivity.

They attended hospital potlucks and friend gatherings hand in hand. Some nights, they’d sneak onto the rooftop for stolen sex beneath the city lights; others, they’d just binge on bad TV, exhausted from back-to-back shifts. It was in those quieter moments that Agatha would catch Rio studying her with a look that said, We can build more than a life—we can build a family.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift for both of them, Agatha sank onto the couch. She rubbed the tension from her neck and blurted, “My biological clock’s going off like an alarm I can’t snooze.” Anxiety threaded her voice; children felt like such a far-off thing, but suddenly the desire was roaring in her ears.

Rio, without missing a beat, reached for Agatha’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Then let’s do it. Let’s start a family.”

Agatha stared, breath caught between excitement and fear. “But your career—my career—do we have time for this?”

Rio shook her head, determination lighting her eyes. “I want to take care of you for once, Agatha. You’ve spent so long looking after me. Let me give you what you want—what we both want.”

Agatha’s throat felt tight with emotion. She exhaled a shaky laugh. “You’re serious?”

Rio just grinned. “Dead serious.”

A few weeks later, they were hunched over a fertility donor profile, scanning it in disbelief.

“Favorite color: Green,” Agatha read aloud. “Hobbies: Running, wood working, women’s basketball. Favorite movie…” she said to Rio, voice rising. “He even has your birth date!”

She glanced at Rio, half-laughing, half-freaked out. “You’re sure you’re an only child?”

Rio frowned at the screen, equal parts startled and amused. “Pretty sure. But hey, if we want the kid to look like me, we’re sure as hell rolling those dice.”

Agatha snorted. “Technically, that means I’m picking you as my baby daddy.”

Rio’s grin stretched wide. “And I’m honored.”

Nicky entered their world with all the tumult and beauty a newborn brings. Agatha carried him, and Rio joked that she paced holes in the hospital floors waiting for the moment she could hold him.

Despite wanting him fiercely, Rio was terrified. The weight of responsibility, the fear that she could lose him like she’d lost so many young patients in the hospital, pressed on her chest. But from the moment he came squalling into the world, Nicky had wrapped Rio around his tiny finger.

He had big brown eyes and a sweet laugh that infected both his mothers. He’d watch them with an intense curiosity, as if taking mental notes for how to be as determined and caring as they were. Even in that first year, when exhaustion from night shifts piled onto the sleeplessness of new parenthood, Rio and Agatha managed to keep each other afloat.

“Look at him,” Agatha would say at 3am, passing the fussing baby into Rio’s arms for a feeding. “We made this. Well, I made him, but you know what I mean.”

Rio would grin, bleary-eyed. “He’s so perfect it hurts.”

That tiny life changed them. Made them see the world with sharper edges and deeper tenderness.

Life was hectic and, admittedly, they’d talked about marriage only in theoretical ways. But on a quiet Sunday afternoon, with the city’s noise a distant murmur, Rio looked up from the laundry basket in their kitchen, saw Agatha bouncing a fussy, six-month-old Nicky on her hip, and simply knew.

“Marry me,” she said, setting aside the shirt she was folding.

Agatha glanced over, eyebrows raised. “Now?”

“Always,” Rio murmured, crossing the room in two strides. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Agatha’s mouth, mindful that Nicky was wedged between them, babbling. “I don’t want to wait until life slows down, because that might never happen.”

Agatha’s eyes lit with joy. “I was hoping you’d ask,” she teased, voice catching with emotion. Then she broke into a beautiful, tearful smile. “Yes. Yes.”

Nicky squealed, as if in agreement, and they laughed, hugging each other right there, laundry half-folded, the ring not yet chosen. But that was them: sometimes chaotic, always certain of their love.

⸻

The storm continued most of the night.

After their intense lovemaking, Rio and Agatha drifted into a doze, limbs entwined. But sometime past midnight, Rio woke again, heart pounding. She slipped out of bed, careful not to rouse Agatha, and wandered into the dimly lit hallway.

She found herself at Nicky’s door. She cracked it open, peering in. Even in the darkness, she could make out his small form beneath the covers, breathing softly. The nightlight cast dancing shadows of animal shapes across the walls, illusions that always made Nicky giggle before sleep.

Her chest squeezed. The little girl she’d lost today had been nine, but she also had freckles, also had big innocent dreams.

In the hush of that room, Rio’s eyes stung with fresh tears. She wondered if she was selfish to keep working in such a high-stakes area. Each failure carved another piece out of her heart, leaving her feeling undone. But she couldn’t imagine doing anything else—she couldn’t walk away from saving as many children as she could.

A quiet rustle startled her. Agatha appeared behind her, wearing only a pair of cotton shorts and a worn tank top. Her hair fell around her face in gentle waves.

“You okay?” she asked softly, placing a hand on Rio’s shoulder.

Rio swallowed. “Just watching him,” she whispered. “He’s so beautiful.”

Agatha nodded. “He is.”

Rio felt a trembling sigh escape her. “I keep thinking—what if… if something happened to him? I’d lose my mind. I can’t even handle losing the kids at work sometimes.”

Agatha turned Rio gently, arms slipping around her waist. “Hey,” she murmured, pressing her lips to Rio’s forehead. “I know it’s terrifying. That’s why you love him so fiercely. Because you know how fragile life is.”

Rio sniffled, leaning into Agatha. “It’s just so hard. Balancing it all. The heartbreak. The love. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m not strong enough.”

“Bull,” Agatha said with a half-smile. “You’re the strongest person I know. And if you ever can’t hold yourself up, I’m here. We’re a team.”

Rio exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing. Together, they stepped back from the door, leaving Nicky to his peaceful slumber. They retreated to their own bedroom and lay entwined beneath the covers again. Rio pressed her face to Agatha’s shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of her skin.

“I’m sorry I disappeared,” Rio whispered after a long silence. “Not physically, but… I haven’t really been here.”

Agatha stroked her arm in slow, soothing motions. “It happens,” she said. “Especially after a bad day. But every time you get lost, I’ll help bring you back.”

Rio closed her eyes, letting the steady thump of Agatha’s heartbeat lull her. “Thank you,” she breathed.

They fell asleep like that, hearts beating as one.

Over the next few years, life marched on. They fell back into routine: early mornings, quick breakfasts, juggling Nicky’s homework and soccer practice, balancing their intense medical schedules, and occasionally stealing moments of intimacy that reminded them how lucky they were. As Nicky grew, they found themselves faced with new questions about family, about the future. Should they move to a bigger place? Should they adopt another child eventually? Could they handle that with both of their demanding jobs?

One evening, they curled up on the living room couch after putting Nicky to bed. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the old radiator. A stack of medical journals lay abandoned on the coffee table. Agatha rested her head on Rio’s lap, while Rio’s fingers absently traced patterns along her scalp.

“Remember that old dream?” Rio asked quietly, gazing at the collection of pictures on the wall—photos of Nicky at every age, their wedding day in a small garden, a shot of them in scrubs looking exhausted but triumphant.

“Which dream?” Agatha murmured, eyes half-closed.

“That we’d open our own small clinic one day, do nonprofit work somewhere less privileged,” Rio said, lips quirking in a gentle smile. “We talked about it in bed one night, after that first time Nicky slept for six hours straight.”

Agatha laughed softly. “I remember. But we never had the money, or the time, or—”

“Yeah,” Rio finished for her. “I wonder if we ever could make it work. Maybe in five years, or ten. Maybe after we’ve saved up more.”

Agatha rolled onto her back, looking up at Rio. “The idea of it still makes my heart race in a good way. We could do so much good together. No politics of a big hospital, just patient-focused care.”

A slow, mutual smile bloomed between them. For that moment, they let themselves imagine a brighter future. Despite the challenges, neither of them had lost the idealism that had first brought them together.

It was a weekend night when their next chance for “wild and exciting” intimacy came, free of interruptions. Nicky was at a sleepover with friends—his first one that lasted the whole night away from home without either mom on standby. It felt strange, slightly nerve-wracking, but also liberating.

The moment they dropped him off, Rio and Agatha returned to their quiet apartment and grinned at each other across the living room.

“It’s just us tonight,” Rio said, trying to keep her voice casual as a swirl of anticipation flared in her chest.

Agatha quirked an eyebrow, stepping out of her sneakers. “Whatever shall we do?”

For once, they didn’t have to worry about waking a child. They didn’t have to listen for small footsteps shuffling to the bathroom in the middle of the night. No babysitters’ texts. No rush to check the clock. The freedom buzzed through both of them.

Rio took Agatha’s hand. “How about dinner first? We haven’t had a real date night in forever.”

Agatha nodded, but the gleam in her eye was mischievous. “Food can wait a bit, though, can’t it?”

Rio’s stomach fluttered. “It can,” she agreed.

They tumbled into the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went. Agatha’s laugh filled the air as Rio’s shirt snagged on a doorknob. They left the lights on this time, wanting to see every inch of each other. Their bodies had changed over the years: subtle scars from life, laugh lines around the eyes, the lingering softness of post-partum curves on Agatha. But all of it was the map of who they’d become together, and each mark only deepened the love in Rio’s eyes.

Agatha pressed Rio onto the bed, pinning her wrists lightly above her head. A surge of excitement made Rio’s pulse jump. She loved the playful dominance that sometimes coursed through Agatha. She loved not being in control for once.

“Don’t move,” Agatha commanded gently, leaning down to kiss along Rio’s jaw. “Or I might stop.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Rio teased, but she obeyed, letting her arms rest above her.

Agatha’s kisses trailed down Rio’s neck, teased along the outer curve of her breast before finally circling a taut nipple. Warm lips closed around it, and Rio inhaled sharply, arching her back.

“Mmm,” Rio moaned, “that feels so—”

“Shh,” Agatha coaxed, releasing one nipple to move to the other. She let her free hand wander, drifting across Rio’s ribs, her stomach, and eventually lower. The slightest brush of fingertips over Rio’s inner thigh made Rio’s breath catch.

A slow, tantalizing exploration followed. Agatha licked and sucked at Rio’s breasts, leaving them flushed. Her tongue dipped into the hollow of Rio’s collarbone, tasted the salt of her skin. When she finally slid her hand between Rio’s thighs, she found her wet, more than ready. Rio whimpered, lifting her hips.

Agatha chuckled, a wicked smile on her lips. “So needy,” she teased, but the love shone clear in her eyes.

Rio found her voice. “Blame yourself.”

Agatha slipped two fingers inside, curling them in a way that made Rio’s eyes roll back. At the same time, Agatha leaned over to capture Rio’s mouth in a devouring kiss. Their tongues tangled, breath mingling, and Rio’s free hand latched onto Agatha’s shoulder. Though she’d been told not to move, she couldn’t help digging her nails into Agatha’s skin, urging her deeper.

The pleasure mounted fast, intense. Each thrust of Agatha’s fingers was met by Rio’s determined roll of the hips. The wet sounds and their ragged breathing filled the room. Agatha slowed, then quickened, making Rio whine in frustration and then gasp with delight. That control, that skill—Agatha knew exactly how to undo her.

When the orgasm built to a breaking point, Rio let out a frantic, breathy moan. “Agatha, I’m— I’m close—”

Agatha nipped at Rio’s lower lip. “Let go.”

Rio’s body bowed, a silent cry lodging in her throat as she came, wave after wave. Agatha never looked away from her, soaking in every pulse of pleasure that rippled through Rio’s body. Finally, Rio slumped back, chest heaving, limbs loose with euphoria.

She opened her eyes to see Agatha poised over her with a smug grin. “Don’t think I’m done,” Agatha murmured, leaning down to press a hot kiss to Rio’s neck. “We’ve got all night.”

Rio’s belly clenched with renewed arousal at the promise in that tone. “God, you’re going to kill me.”

Agatha laughed, a low, sultry sound. “Never,” she promised. “I want you alive—and begging.”

And so the night continued in a heady blur of lips and hands, breathless giggles, and hushed cries of pleasure. They switched positions, sometimes frantic, sometimes languid. At one point, Rio rolled on top and teased Agatha until the woman was delirious with want, tangling the bedsheets around them both. Their kisses ranged from gentle to biting, from playful to near-desperate. Each orgasm was its own surrender, a testament to how they trusted each other to hold any vulnerability, any fear.

By the time they finally collapsed—drenched in sweat, hearts hammering—it was almost two in the morning. No child’s footsteps. No fear of being overheard. Just the two of them, reclaiming the spark that had first drawn them together in that Baltimore hotel room.

Agatha brushed tangled hair off Rio’s forehead. “I think we should do more date nights,” she teased, voice scratchy.

Rio laughed, pressing a soft kiss to Agatha’s bare shoulder. “I agree.”

They fell asleep like that, sweaty and sated, the entire bed a tangle of limbs and sheets that smelled of sex and promise.

Sunlight found them curled under a thin blanket, exhausted but content. When Rio’s eyes finally opened around nine, she startled—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in so late. Then she remembered: Nicky was away. For a second, she felt the pang of missing him, but it was swiftly replaced by the warmth of Agatha’s arm draped across her waist.

They spent the morning in bed, dozing in and out of consciousness, exchanging languid kisses. Around noon, they dragged themselves into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over them. More kisses, some laughter, playful splashing that turned into pinned arms and gentle moans against the shower tiles. They eventually managed to towel off and slip into clean clothes, finding an easy, tender domesticity in the aftermath of their sensual marathon.

Agatha brewed coffee while Rio flipped through takeout menus, deciding they’d treat themselves. Over greasy Chinese food containers at the kitchen counter, they talked about everything and nothing—travel plans for next summer, the new staff at the hospital, Nicky’s unstoppable obsession with dinosaurs.

“I feel more like myself than I have in years,” Rio admitted, taking a sip of coffee. “It’s like… I get lost in the heartbreak at work sometimes. But nights like last night remind me I’m more than just a doctor who can’t save everyone.”

Agatha reached across the counter and squeezed Rio’s hand, her gaze brimming with warmth. “You are enough,” she said softly. “You’re my best friend, my partner, Nicky’s mother, our provider, my rock. A thousand things at once—and I love every single one of them.”

Rio smiled, her eyes misting. “I love you too.”

They picked Nicky up from his friend’s house later that afternoon. The second he saw them, Nicky bounded over, backpack swinging, freckles dancing across his nose.

“Mami! Mama!” he shouted, launching himself into Rio’s arms. She grunted and stumbled back, then spun him around, nose buried in his hair.

“Have fun?” Agatha asked, ruffling his curls.

He nodded vigorously. “We watched a dinosaur movie and had pizza and played tag. But I missed you guys.”

Rio’s heart melted. She hugged him tighter. “We missed you too.”

In the car, Nicky chattered about his night away, oblivious to the secret little smiles exchanged between his mothers. Rio’s gaze flicked to Agatha’s, remembering how just hours ago, they’d been moaning each other’s names in bed, free and uninhibited.

A week later, another storm brewed. This time, it wasn’t the weather—it was the phone call from the hospital. A complicated pediatric emergency. Rio’s day off vanished in a flash of adrenaline. She rushed out, calling over her shoulder for Agatha to pick up Nicky and manage dinner. Agatha understood; she always did. There was no frustration in her voice, only concern.

Hours ticked by. The child survived, but it was touch-and-go. Rio stayed to make sure everything stabilized, to update the family, to hold the mother’s hand as tears of relief replaced terror. By the time she trudged home, it was nearly 2am. The door opened just enough for her to slip inside, exhausted.

Agatha was waiting in the living room, reading a book. Nicky was asleep. The table lamp cast a warm glow, haloing Agatha in golden light. Rio dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes.

“You saved them tonight, didn’t you?” Agatha asked softly.

Rio nodded, relief and weariness warring in her expression. “Yeah. That was… it was close.”

Agatha smiled. “Come to bed with me.”

Their bedroom carried the hush of night. Rio changed into pajamas, every bone in her body heavy with exhaustion. She slid between the cool sheets to join Agatha. Instinctively, they curled close, legs tangling. Agatha traced gentle circles on Rio’s arm.

“I wish I could promise that it won’t hurt so much every time,” Agatha said. “But I know you’d never believe me. And I know you wouldn’t want to believe it, because if it didn’t hurt, you wouldn’t be the same person.”

Rio swallowed. “I can’t imagine not feeling it so deeply.”

“It’s what makes you so good at your job,” Agatha said. “And also, it’s what can break you if you don’t have something to anchor you.”

Rio nestled her face in the crook of Agatha’s neck. “You. You’re my anchor. You and Nicky.”

Agatha’s eyes shone. “And you’re ours.”

Their kiss was soft, tender, no urgency this time—just two souls re-centering on each other, a promise renewed.

Somewhere down the hall, Nicky stirred in his sleep, but stayed asleep. Outside, traffic hummed, but inside their home, there was the hush of two hearts in sync.

Morning light streamed through the curtains, revealing the slow dance of dust motes. Nicky bounded in, full of morning exuberance, wearing mismatched pajamas. He climbed onto the bed between his mothers, squirming to wedge his way into the warm space.

“Mami, Mama, wake up!” he insisted, brandishing a toy dinosaur.

Agatha opened her eyes first, her grin sleepy. “Hello, munchkin. You’re up early.”

Nicky shrugged, nestling between them. “I got hungry.”

Rio yawned, arm flopping over her face. “Okay, let’s go feed you, little monster.”

He giggled. “I’m not a monster, I’m a dinosaur.”

Both women laughed. It was a simple, ordinary family moment—one that smelled of morning breath and warm blankets. But these were the instants that made every heartbreak at the hospital bearable. The unconditional love in that bed overshadowed the fear that had once plagued them.

Soon, they trailed into the kitchen, where coffee would be made and cartoons might flicker on the TV for Nicky. Agatha would inevitably slip behind Rio to murmur a little “good morning” kiss onto her neck, and Rio would steal a moment to press her palm to the small of Agatha’s back in silent gratitude.

They were far from perfect.

Nothing about their high-pressure jobs or the ache of losing patients ever truly vanished. They still argued, cried, worried over bills, daycare, and the million demands of parenthood.

Yet whenever the world threatened to pull them under, they clung to each other—anchored by the same spark that lit up a shabby conference lobby in Baltimore, where a spilled latte and a cracked heel somehow became the first step of a lifelong bond. Their love was as fierce as any storm—and it refused to break.

#emotional support pussy #the brainrot is real #agatha all along #agathario fic #agathario #agathario au #modern domestic agathario makes me asdfghjkl

93 notes · View notes

gravitysgone · 1 day ago

Text

In 1985, Tupac would have been 13 years old, placing him in 8th grade or just about to finish it, depending on his school schedule. He had recently moved from New York City to Baltimore with his mother and younger sister Sekyiwa. They settled in the neighborhood of Pen Lucy, a tough, working-class area.

He enrolled in Roland Park Middle School, where he stood out not only for his intelligence but also for his deep sensitivity and expressive nature. Tupac had already begun writing poetry—introspective, raw, and often laced with the struggles he witnessed around him. His interest in theater also began to blossom, influenced by an earlier experience performing in A Raisin in the Sun, which left a lasting impact on him. He gravitated toward literature, especially Shakespeare, finding resonance in the themes of pain, love, and betrayal.

By 1986, just a year later, he would audition for and be accepted into the Baltimore School for the Arts, where he would meet Jada Pinkett and begin to train seriously in acting, ballet, and poetry.

#tupac shakur

22 notes · View notes

fanfic-recs-01 · 2 months ago

Text

Hannigram Fics

This is just a list of Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham Fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Updated 2/2/25

Philia by Gweezle

~Getting into Jack Crawford's Forensic Psychology class was a dream come true for Will Graham, until he learns that his final assignment is to attend twelve interviews with the notorious serial killer, Hannibal the Cannibal, in order to unravel his mysterious past.~

Night Shift by PossessiveNoun

~There are certain rules to follow when working for Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Under no circumstances are you to engage any of the inmates in personal conversation, put yourself in a position where they can cause you serious injury, or let them get inside your head..~

Devils in the Dark by DarkmoonSigel

~After having encephalitis and brutally murdering a serial killer who tried to kill his dogs, Will Graham finds himself in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Life is dull until the Chesapeake Ripper is brought down to the lower levels to live in a cell beside Will.~

The Other Side of the Mirror by nbcravenstag

~On his way home from their last supper, Will Graham suddenly changes his mind.~

The Ripper and the Wendigo by nbcravenstag

~The Chesapeake Ripper and the Wendigo, two notorious serial killers and prisoners of the BSHCI are being transported across town in the same van. They’ve never met, but their instant connection is beautiful, powerful, and deadly to everyone involved.~

Ten Little Numbers by sourweather

~Will and Bev have a game they like to play. They go to bars and see who can get the most phone numbers from strangers. One night, he meets a very interesting stranger. Is he safe falling hard and fast for Hannibal Lecter, or is the mysterious man making his way into Will's heart hiding something much more sinister beneath the surface?~

let not man tear asunder by cannibalspectacle

~The FBI wants the disgraced Dr. Lecter's help catching a killer called Buffalo Bill. Dr. Lecter wants something in exchange.~

White Shark Café by justheretoreadhannibalfics

~Will owns a café, and killers love it.~

I Am Here to Serve My Muse by PassingShadow

~In which Artist!Will is inspired by the Chesapeake Ripper, and Hannibal is intrigued in turn.~

Anchor in a Lockdown by Anna_Jay

~In which Will is an unfortunate prison guard who is sent to work the red zone, the current home of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.~

Pattern Break by ThisBeautifulDrowning

~After his release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will doesn't return to work for the FBI.~

We Can Chase the Dark Together by K_R_Closson

~Will tips him and Hannibal off the cliff. Instead of hitting the water, he wakes up in his bed, several years in the past. His first, and only, priority is to find Hannibal again.~

La Maison Rouge by Randstad

~Hannibal starts to show up at Will's house at the crack of dawn to make him breakfast, killing two birds with one stone: cooking is one of his many passions, and, honestly, Will Graham is climbing up the list.~

Never Conquered, Rarely Came by thisisthefamilybusiness

~Normally, this is the part where Will would pick up his cell phone and leave an anonymous tip on the police crime hotline, tell them there was a cannibalistic serial murderer lurking around the area code of the phone number given in the ad. But not today. Not when his very bones ache and all the raw and bruised places on his skin throb in time with his pulse. Not when exhaustion is slowly eating away at him in a way that has nothing to do with how little he slept last night.~

The Borderland State by nekosmuse

~Three years after Hannibal's arrest, Will Graham stands on the front porch of his Georgian seaside home and watches twin headlights navigate the winding stretch of his lane. There is only one reason Jack Crawford would travel all this way, in the rain: Hannibal Lecter has escaped from prison, and no one knows where he is.~

Kindling by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe)

~When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help.~

My Husband by VictoriaAGrey

~“My husband this, my husband that. It’s a wonder Jack hasn’t followed your trail of “my husband”s to our front door.”

“He doesn’t know we’re married.”

“He’s the only one!”~

We Killed a Dragon Last Night by inameitlater

~Will remembers falling.

He wakes up months before Jack got him to work for him. Months before he met Hannibal for the first time.

Free from his past he decides to change events and meet Hannibal again.~

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems

~AKA an AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.~

haarlem by spqr

~“Hannibal,” he thinks he says. He gets told later that he doesn’t really say it at all, but that the entire police station—most of which is waiting outside in the rainy parking lot—hears his voice clattering around inside their skulls like someone standing on a roof banging pots and pans and screaming at the top of his lungs: HANNIBAL, HANNIBAL, HANNIBAL.~

#fic recs #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham

36 notes · View notes

gaysails · 1 year ago

Text

The Wire is an American crime drama television series created and primarily written by American author and former police reporter David Simon . . . Set and produced in Baltimore, Maryland, The Wire introduces a different institution of the city and its relationship to law enforcement in each season while retaining characters and advancing storylines from previous seasons. The five subjects are, in chronological order; the illegal drug trade, the port system, the city government and bureaucracy, education and schools, and the print news medium. . .

Simon has said that despite its framing as a crime drama, the show is "really about the American city, and about how we live together. It's about how institutions have an effect on individuals. Whether one is a cop, a longshoreman, a drug dealer, a politician, a judge or a lawyer, all are ultimately compromised and must contend with whatever institution to which they are committed."[5]

The Wire is lauded for its literary themes, its uncommonly accurate exploration of society and politics, and its realistic portrayal of urban life. During its original run, the series received only average ratings and never won any major television awards, but it is now often cited as one of the greatest shows in the history of television.[6]

. . .

Salon has described the show as novelistic in structure, with a greater depth of writing and plotting than other crime shows.[27]

Each season of The Wire consists of 10 to 13 episodes that form several multi-layered narratives. Simon chose this structure with an eye towards long story arcs that draw in viewers, resulting in a more satisfying payoff. He uses the metaphor of a visual novel in several interviews,[7][48] describing each episode as a chapter, and has also commented that this allows a fuller exploration of the show's themes in time not spent on plot development.[5]

. . .

"We are not selling hope, or audience gratification, or cheap victories with this show. The Wire is making an argument about what institutions—bureaucracies, criminal enterprises, the cultures of addiction, raw capitalism even—do to individuals. It is not designed purely as an entertainment. It is, I'm afraid, a somewhat angry show.[52]"

80 notes · View notes

burlveneer-music · 3 months ago

Text

In the Sun - Dawn - I've previously experienced folktronica as being pastoral in nature, but when it's based on percussive folk music it apparently tends more toward industrial

Pounding traditional drums and grinding synths herald Dawn, the new album from post-industrial Tokyo duo IN THE SUN, their first release on Chinabot. Dawn was inspired by the musical traditions and wild mountain landscapes of composer TIDEPOOL’s childhood in rural Japan. Layers of ethereal synthesizers and wailing saxophones by Kim Pueru evoke the mist and granite of mountains are beaten with rhythms that hit like shattering rocks. The record “embodies a fusion of synthetic and percussive elements, evoking both mysticism and raw energy,” says TIDEPOOL. “The juxtaposition of dystopian undertones and the resilience of nature serves as a thematic backdrop, reflecting on societal shifts and personal introspection.” Dawn’s instrumentation may be inspired by Japanese taiko drums and African percussion, but it remains extremely contemporary, with swirling rhythms of singeli, juke, footwork, gabber, and minimal to create an evil cacophony. The album also nods to the GORGE movement, which is experiencing a resurgence in Japan. Organized by TIDEPOOL since 2011, IN THE SUN has a fluid lineup, with Kim Pueru joining on tenor saxophone for Dawn. TIDEPOOL utilizes ethnic drums, synthesizers, and laptops and is influenced and inspired by artists such as Haruomi Hosono, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Throbbing Gristle, Geinoh Yamashirogumi, CAN, among others. They supported Baltimore duo Matmos during their Japan tour and organized the party known as “RAW TEMPO” at Bushbash.

#Bandcamp #in the sun #electronic #industrial #japan #tidepool #2024

8 notes · View notes

youtappedout · 2 years ago

Text

#WWE #WWE RAW #RAW in Baltimore #Becky Lynch #2023 #edited #cr: YWH Network @ Flickr #🍊🧡#photoset

31 notes · View notes

duckymcdoorknob · 1 year ago

Text

𝓣𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝔂 7: 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭

woooo I’m almost caught up

I’m so seepy, but both classes got cancelled sonow I can write all morning

Hehe good morning Baltimore

Omg now I wanna watch Hairspray again. Anyways-

GOD THIS IS SO LONG SEND HELP

Tags: @chrimsss @ticklish-n-stuff @secret-weeb-account

—this do have tickles below the cut ngl. Also angsty again, oops—

Saiki has always been someone who swore that his friends piss him off, but in reality, he has a big soft spot for them. So when Kaidou’s birthday came around, what kind of monster would he be if he didn’t attend the party and get the best gift ever?

He curses his brilliant mind most times, but when he needs the calculator from it, it’s always there for him.

Just like Kaidou…

Oh dear, now he really needs to go above and beyond.

He spent ages perusing the shelves of multiple stores, comparing prices and name brands (while also considering the off brands.)

After three hours, the treasured gift lay pristinely wrapped in a blue wrapping paper, adorned with a large, red bow.

He looks down at his watch and- oh dear, he would be late.

That’s alright, better to show up with an excuse than to show up and have the risk of someone seeing him telep-

In a flash, Kusuo appeared down the block of Kaidou’s home. He checked his surroundings to ensure that no one had seen the action.

What had happened?

There was a roach, naturally.

Regardless, he checked his watch once more and he was perfectly on time.

Kusuo raised his hand to knock on the door and did so. He was met by a rather enthusiastic “C’MON IN!!!!!!”

When he entered the house, he was truly taken aback…

He was the only one who was in there other than Kaidou.

Okay, now he was pissed off, like really pissed.

“Kaidou, am I the only one that you invited?” He had to check, there’s no way that his friends wouldn’t-

Looking rather melancholic, the silver-haired boy replied. “No, just waiting on the others! You know them, late for everything! Haha!”

The psychic felt a tinge of remorse in his chest. It didn’t require him reading his friend’s mind to understand that Kaidou was devastated.

“And your family?”

“They uh, they went out to celebrate Toki’s birthday… it’s not even his actual birthday today either.” he murmured.

“What the hell is their problem?” Kusuo hissed. “It’s your birthday; this is your day.”

“Look, Saiki it’s-“

“Don’t say it’s okay, because it’s definitely not.”

“They have to celebrate my little brother, it’s-“

“Without you?”

The question left the birthday boy in silence. He turned toward the wall and averted his gaze. It didn’t take a psychic to notice his heaving chest and understand that he was crying.

“Kaidou…”

“N-no it’s… it’s o-okay.”

“Look at me.”

The silver-haired boy turned toward his friend with puffy eyes, tears leaking out of them.

Kusuo wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so, but his hand moved upward and gently swiped away the tears that were falling. “No one cries on their birthday, not on my watch.”

The Jet Black Wings smiled, cheeks tinting pink as he scrubbed at his leaking eyes. “You always know how to make me feel better, Saiki.”

“Hey, hey, no. You’ll rub your eyes raw. Let me do it.” Saiki gently wiped his friend’s eyes once more, eyebrows knit in remorse. This of course only made Kaidou cry harder.

The pink-haired boy short-circuited when he felt the latter lean down against his torso for a hug. But, somehow, something in him told him to hug back…

“S-Sorry for making t-things so awkward.”

“Not awkward at all; it’s not like I’ve never seen you cry before.” Kusuo hummed as he gave a few pats to the boy’s shoulder.

“Uggghhh that’s right.” He shoved his face into Saiki’s shirt, indubitably staining it with tears.

Poor Kaidou… what can he do to make him-

That’s it.

He’s seen Nendou do it before, and scientifically it’s impossible to mess up.

But what if he hurts him? That’s the last thing Kaidou needs right now.

Well, no time like the present.

In a moment of comfortable silence, Kusuo carefully pressed his fingers into his friend’s sides, pinching a bit. He felt the latter shift in response, whining a bit.

“Nooo, don’t tickle me.”

“I told you that I’m not letting you cry on your birthday.”

Kaidou’s hands came up to cover his ears, weird.

“What’s wrong with your ears? Why cover them?”

“N-Nothing.” Kaidou’s voice was up by at least an octave as his hands shook.

“Well, you left yourself wide open.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

Oh he would, and he did. The pink-haired boy brought his hands up to the birthday boy’s underarms and gently wiggled them.

“Hyehehehahaha! Saha-sahahahaihihihikihi! Nohohoho!”

Kusuo hummed fondly when his friend brought his arms down, revealing why he had covered his ears. The tips of them were flushed a beautiful shade of scarlet red, and it was creeping down his neck. “Ohhhh, you’re embarassed, aren’t you?”

A giggly whine was what he received in reply, the blush deepening. “Sahahahihihikihihi- dohohohont—hehehe—behehehe mehehehean.”

“Mean? I could never be mean. Didn’t you know that? I’m completely devoid of human emotion, I thought we’ve covered this in the Dark Reunion episode.” Hands traveled to Kaidou’s ribs and began their attack.

“AGH! DOHOHOHONT BREHEHEHEAK THEHEHE FOHOHOHOURTH WAHAHAHALL!”

“Should I listen to him, everyone?”

“STAHAH-STAHAHAP THAHAHAT! YOHOHOHOU KNOHOHOHOW IHIHIHIHI HAHAHATEHEHE- HYEHEHAHAHAHA! SAHAHAHIHIHIKIHIHI!”

“What’s wrong? Embarassed?” Kusuo could feel the warmth in Kaidou’s face as he continued his ticklish assault.

“YEHEHEHES!” A whined reply.

“Mmm, sounds like you’re still crying though. You know I can’t have you crying on your birthday.”

When hands traveled down to his tummy, it was over. The silver-haired boy fell backwards on the couch, covering his horrendously red face with his hands. He screamed into his hands as he whined incoherently through his laughter. “OKAHAHAHAY! IHIHIHI- IHIHIHI CAHAHANT!”

“Oh? Is this spot ticklish?”

“YEHEHEHES! TOHOHOHOO TIHIHICK- OHOHO MYGOHOHOD! STOPSTOPSTOP KUHUHUSUHUOHOHO!”

When he had heard the rare usage of his first name, Saiki let off his attack. A smile was on both of their faces as Kaidou panted into his hands.

“Oh you’re such a dick, dude.”

“Maybe, but at least you’re smiling.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. The two turned toward it, and of course, Kusuo already knew who it was.

“C-Come on in!”

The door opened to reveal all of their friends, drenched from head to toe, and holding boxes under their clothes.

The birthday boy gasped as he jumped up from the couch with a huge smile. “You came! You came!”

“Yeah, sorry we’re late,” Aren hummed. “Nendou forgot your present at home and then it started pouring. SOMEONE-“ he gestured to Hairo, “decided that it would be a “fun challenge” to run through the rain without an umbrella.”

A giggle escaped him, “Don’t worry. I’m glad you’re all here.”

“As for you, why are you so red?” Nendou accused. “Got something you’re hiding from us, buddy?”

“Wh- no! Nononono! I don’t have anything to hide, Saiki just tickled me and- uh oh.”

“Tickled you, huh?”

Kusuo could hear the menace in Aren’s voice, opting to stand up as the group abandoned their gifts and tackled Kaidou to the couch.

“Go easy on him, he’s still catching his breath.”

The four nodded at him and soon the joyful giggles of the birthday boy filled the room once more. The psychic smiled as he used his powers to check under the wrapping paper and-

Oh no…

Nendou had bought the same present he did.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

#t content #augtickletober2023 #tdlosk #the disastrous life of saiki k.#Saiki k #Saiki #saiki kusuo #kusuo saiki #shun kaidou #Kaidou shun #saiki k tickle #lee!kaidou #ticklish!kaidou

104 notes · View notes

awildtei · 8 months ago

Note

Andrew haunted?? 👀

Sorry if you were expecting the sexy, ghostly kind of haunting... It's just the 👻 trauma 👻 kind of haunting

"It’s something that doesn’t leave after. The pain is gone, but the body moves with the phantom of it, carefully walking around the edges of the crater it left behind. Andrew has never needed any help keeping the score, his mind does that well enough. His body has always felt secondary to that remembering, just a prop in the endless movie of his darkest nights.

Lately, though, he thinks he might have been wrong about that. His mind doesn’t forget and probably never will, but some of it has become hazier, mercifully softer at the edges. Pain—visceral, raw, sharp, and extended—can only truly be felt and stored in the body, and his brain is not the only part of his body he listens to anymore.

But being haunted is not always a bad thing. It can be a kindness. It’s a safeguard against it happening again, even if it’s not real, even if it’s a futile precaution. It’s not the cruelty of the harm inflicted that makes him haunted, but the kindness of his body looking out for him, and he’s done resenting it for trying.

Despite their reputation, he's learned that ghosts can be gentle. One of the men he’s built a life with is the reincarnated ghost of a child left to die in a mansion in Baltimore. The other one is living in the afterdeath of a boy with an Irish lilt and a young man found dead from alcohol poisoning. The man Andrew is died a thousand deaths in a dozen beds in two different states, and yet here he stands.

This is another kindness, one that goes unmentioned but not unnoticed, that of being unalone with his ghosts. For so long it was just him on the other side of a line separating those acquainted with the barrel from those acquainted with the trigger, but he’s got company now. Neil, whose face and arms melt with cigarette lighter burns as they lie on the couch on a cool winter evening. Kevin, who knows better than anyone that bones remember the second they are pushed right past their breaking point, even if they’ve long since fused back together. Even Aaron—he sometimes acknowledges—knows the dull throbbing pain of bruises can make unblemished skin tender on days when memory lurks close.

Today Andrew’s body is not his own, but yesterday it was, tomorrow it probably will be again. And tomorrow, like yesterday, his mind will be elsewhere, on Neil and Kevin and the cats (little ghosts, them, too, scheduled for euthanasia until they got them from the overfull shelter) and Exy and doing the grocery shopping and the endless mundanity of living past your twenties despite all the odds being determinedly stacked against you, having scribbled endless months on blank pages when the calendar ended."

#thanks for the ask <3 #asks game #wip game #tei's

13 notes · View notes

justinspoliticalcorner · 6 months ago

Text

Lori Ann Larocco at CNBC:

Billions in trade came to a screeching halt at U.S. East Coast and Gulf Coast ports after members of the International Longshoremen’s Association (ILA) began walking off the job after 12:01 a.m. ET on October 1. The ILA is North America’s largest longshoremen’s union, with roughly 50,000 of its 85,000 members making good on the threat to strike at 14 major ports subject to a just-expired master contract with the United States Maritime Alliance (USMX), and picketing workers beginning to appear at ports. The union and port ownership group failed to reach agreement by midnight on a new contract in a protracted battle over wage increases and use of automation. In a last-ditch effort on Monday to avert a strike that will cause significant harm to the U.S. economy if it is lengthy — at least hundreds of millions of dollars a day at the largest ports like New York/New Jersey — the USMX offered a nearly 50% wage hike over six years, but that was rejected by the ILA, according to a source close to the negotiations. The port ownership group said it hoped the offer would lead to a resumption of collective bargaining.

The 14 ports where preparations for a strike have been underway are Boston, New York/New Jersey, Philadelphia, Wilmington, North Carolina, Baltimore, Norfolk, Charleston, Savannah, Jacksonville, Tampa, Miami, New Orleans, Mobile, and Houston. New York Governor Kathy Hochul said in a statement issued shortly after midnight that “the first large-scale eastern dockworker strike in 47 years began at ports from Maine to Texas, including at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. In preparation for this moment, New York has been working around the clock to ensure that our grocery stores and medical facilities have the essential products they need.” Rhetoric from ILA leadership has been aggressive in the weeks leading up to the strike, with ILA president Harold Daggett, who was a union member the last time it went out on strike in 1977, telling rank-and-file members — who unanimously voted to authorize a strike — in a recent video message, “We’ll crush them.”

[...] The most significant issues would be faced by food and automobile industries, Kamins said, as they rely especially heavily on the ports that will be shut down. While a surge in inflation is highly unlikely even with a longer strike, even a modest reacceleration could create uncertainty and force the Federal Reserve to be more cautious about lowering interest rates, which would weigh on the overall outlook for job growth and investment. A one-week strike could cost the U.S. economy $3.78 billion, according to an analysis by The Conference Board, and cause supply chain slowdowns through mid-November. In all, the ports threatened with strikes handle $3 trillion annually in U.S. annual international trade.

Many industries are preparing for major repercussions. Noushin Shamsili, CEO and president of Nuco Logistics, which specializes in pharmaceutical imports and exports, said the strike comes at a critical time for inventory replenishment for the pharma sector. “Almost all of this industry is just on time,” said Shamsili. “Raw materials are being brought in to complete drug manufacturing. Medical supplies for clinics and hospitals are on these vessels. For a while importers did not bring in a lot of cargo because they were overflowing with supplies post-Covid. Now they have started reordering medical devices, gloves, syringes, and tubing.” Shamsili also said the East Coast ports are a gateway for generic medicine made in India. Approximately 48% of the active pharmaceutical ingredients used in the U.S. are being imported from India. Without these APIs, medications cannot be produced. APIs are also manufactured in Europe, which also use the East Coast ports as U.S. points of entry.

[...] The Biden administration finds itself in a delicate political moment, with the presidential election one month away and President Biden vowing he will not use existing labor law to force union workers back on the job, which is within his powers under the Taft-Hartley Act. The Taft-Hartley Act, passed in 1947, was a revision of U.S. law governing labor relations and union activity that granted a U.S. president the power to suspend a strike for an 80-day “cooling off period” in cases where “national health or safety” are at risk.

Today begins the strike along East Coast and Gulf Coast ports after International Longshoremen’s Association (ILA) members walked off their jobs.

This strike, depending on how long it lasts, could have a major impact on the elections and the economy.

#2024 US Port Strike #Strikes #US Maritime Alliance #USMX #International Longshoremen's Association #ILA #US News #United States #Harold Daggett #Taft Hartley Act #Unions

7 notes · View notes

madamsnape921 · 9 months ago

Text

On the Plus Side

Chaper 6

<Chapter 5

Pairing: Frederick Chilton x female reader

Warning: more ridiculousness, only one bed

WC: 1674

Raúl Taglist: @beccabarba @alwaysachorusgirl @law-nerd105 @thatesqcrush @prurientpuddlejumper @welcometothemxdhouse @itsjustmyfantasyroom @lv7867 @word-scribbless

@plaidbooks @storiesofsvu @navalcriminalimagines

On the Plus Side Taglist: @caracalwithchips @jackdanieltorrance

“Wait. Joe, he’s on the list,” the other man behind the door said.

“Well, I’ll be damned, come on in Frederick from Baltimore,” Joe opened the door. “Who is this delicious morsel with you?”

“My girlfriend, Y/N,” Frederick answered quickly, looking annoyed, “and she’s not a morsel for you.”

You stepped forward, “We’re looking for Maradeath Kays or a relative.”

Joe shrugged as he looked at the couple. “The old lady has been out on a hunt for a week now. We all have told her to retire, but she refuses to let anyone take care of her.”

“When do you expect her to return?”

“She was supposed to be home yesterday before sundown. I fear the worst. The village is not the most friendly to her,” Joe frowned.

“Why not go looking for her?” Frederick questioned.

Joe stood there dumbfounded and sighed, “She’d kill us if we leave. We are bound to the manor.” Joe revealed an astral shackle on his wrists.

“For fuck’s sake!! Where would you go to find her? We’ll go,” Frederick sounded highly frustrated.

Joe hesitated momentarily, clearly torn between his duty and the situation's urgency. Finally, he nodded, resigned. "Very well. Maradeath usually heads out towards the old ruins by the river when she goes on her hunts. It's a dangerous place, but it's where she feels most at home."

Frederick took your hand and led her out the door without wasting another moment, leaving Joe behind. The night air was cool against their skin as they made their way towards the river, guided by the faint scent of blood that lingered in the air.

As they approached the ruins, a sense of foreboding washed over them. The crumbling stones seemed to whisper ancient secrets, and the darkness within seemed to stretch endlessly.

But Frederick tightened his grip on your hand, a determined glint in his eyes. "We will find her," he said softly, his voice tinged with an underlying hunger that had nothing to do with blood.

You looked up at him, seeing a side of Frederick she had never witnessed before. A primal energy surrounded him, a raw power that frightened and exhilarated her. She knew then, beyond a doubt, that Frederick was not just an ordinary man. He was a predator in his own right.

Together, they ventured deeper into the ruins, their footsteps echoing off the ancient stones. The darkness seemed to press in around them, but Frederick's presence was a comforting anchor for you. As they navigated the maze-like corridors, they finally came upon a clearing bathed in moonlight.

There, standing tall and fierce, was Maradeath Kays. Her hair was silver in the pale light, her eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. She held a bloodied sword, her gaze fixed on something in the shadows.

"Maradeath," Frederick called out, his voice filled with relief and concern. What had happened here?"

Maradeath turned towards them, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Frederick and Y/N. "You shouldn't have come," she warned, her tone grave.

"We couldn't just leave you out here alone," Frederick replied, stepping closer to her.

As they approached, they saw what had caught Maradeath's attention. A group of rogue vampires lay strewn on the ground, their bodies motionless. These vampires were not like Frederick - they were wild, feral beings without regard for human life.

"They ambushed me," Maradeath explained, her voice tinged with anger. "But I made sure they won't harm anyone else."

You felt a shiver run down her spine at the sight of the fallen vampires.

“What are you doing here, Frederick?” Maradeath asked.

“I’m looking for a day ring for Y/N,” he answered.

Maradeath smiled, “Congratulations! Take this.” She pulled a smaller version of Frederick’s ring off her finger and handed it to him. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“Thank you so much, Mara.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Seriously?” Frederick asked the person at the front desk of their hotel.

“Unfortunately, sir. Your second room was completely flooded and is currently being worked on. If you’d be willing to use the other room, it will be comped, sir,” the nervous girl answered.

“Fine! This trip just keeps throwing curve balls.”

“Excellent! Thank you, sir! Liam will escort you to retrieve your things from the messed-up room.”

After grabbing your bag from the ruined room, you head to Frederick’s room.

“Do you mind if I steal the shower first?” you asked as soon as you entered the room.

“Of course not, love,” Frederick answered distractedly, followed by a quick kiss on your forehead.

After your shower, you went to the bedroom wearing shorts and a tank top.

“I regret needing to shower now. I’d rather spend the time looking at you,” Frederick pouted.

You laughed as he headed into the bathroom and passed the time by unpacking your bag.

You were about to crawl into the bed when Frederick came back out completely naked.

“Oh no, no, no�� you are way too overdressed for my bed, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?” you asked while trying to keep your eyes off his hard cock.

Frederick approached you and started pulling your tank top off. You were still so stunned that you just let him.

“Mmm, you look beautiful,” Frederick said, moving to remove your shorts.

“Am I wearing the correct amount of clothes now, Dr. Chilton?” you stood there completely naked with a smirk on your face.

In response, Frederick picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. “Absolutely. You are so sexy,” he moved on top of you, pressing his lips to yours.

Frederick forced his tongue into your mouth. You squirmed beneath him, feeling your body responding to the intimacy of the moment. The kiss intensified as you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the connection. Frederick’s touch, coupled with his dominant nature, always excited you. A gentle moan escaped your lips as Frederick's hands trailed down your back and over your ass, pulling you closer to him.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that made your skin tingle. Frederick's deep voice rumbled in your ear, "I need you, Y/N. I need to be inside you."

Your heart pounded with anticipation as you nodded, permitting him to take you. Frederick kissed his way down your body, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched as he took his time, savoring each inch of your skin before reaching his final destination.

With a wicked grin, Frederick positioned himself between your legs. His large penis was already rock hard and ready to claim you. He wasted no time, entering you slowly at first, letting you grow accustomed to his size. You gasped and clenched your muscles around him, feeling him stretch you wide.

His deep moan echoed through the room as he began to thrust, his hips moving in tandem with yours. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, the rhythm of his cock sliding in and out of your wet heat driving you both wild.

You could feel his muscles flexing, the strength in his arms and thighs, as he held himself above you, taking you with unyielding determination. His eyes never left yours, his expression a mixture of hunger and adoration.

As he pumped into you harder and faster, Frederick's breaths became ragged, and his grip tightened on your hips. His lips found your neck once more, his teeth sinking into the skin there, adding a new level of intensity to the encounter. Your heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of his thrusts as you met him with equal enthusiasm.

"Yes, Frederick," you panted, your voice barely audible over the sounds of your breaths and their bodies smacking together. "Take me."

He did, thrusting into you with a powerful surge, his cock stretching and filling you. You arched your back, crying out in pleasure, feeling the drag of his shaft as he plunged into your depths.

With a low growl, Frederick's hips rocked faster and harder, his pace becoming erratic as he made love to you with a primitive intensity. Your walls tightened around him, clutching at him with each thrust, drawing out a low groan of pleasure from him.

"Faster, Dr. Chilton," you urged, grinding your hips against him. "Make me yours."

Frederick complied, driving into you with fierce determination. His thrusts were deep and powerful, his cock hitting your most sensitive spot with each movement. Your senses were overwhelmed as you reached the peak of your pleasure, your body shuddering with the force of your climax.

"Frederick!" you cried, your voice echoing through the room as your eyes rolled back in your head.

Feeling your muscles clench around his cock, Frederick lost control, his hips thrusting wildly as he joined you in your release. He roared out your name, his pleasure mingling with yours as he spilled his seed deep inside you.

For what felt like an eternity, you lay trembling in each other's arms, your bodies sweaty and sated. As your breathing slowly returned to normal, Frederick pulled out of you, his erection leaving a wet trail along your thighs. He pushed a stray lock of hair away from your face, his expression soft and filled with love.

"You are mine, Y/N," Frederick whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "And I am yours."

You smiled at him, feeling the same emotions mirrored in your heart. "Always," you promised, your fingers tracing the outline of his face.

As the day's events began to fade, you lay together, wrapped up in each other's arms, feeling the warmth of your love and the safety of your bond. And in that moment, all the chaos and curveballs of the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace.

#frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton fanfic #dr frederick chilton x reader #on the plus side #vampire frederick chilton

12 notes · View notes