#cause I'm waiting longer in case there's final responses

[bookwyrminspiration]

I don't know who you are random anonymous survey taker, but I'm going to need you to stay far away from me and my boy. you're entitled to your own opinions but also you're wrong hope that helps (kinda joking kinda not. mostly joking)

anyway I love one Fitzroy Avery Vacker he's my favorite my best boy I'd do anything for him and he deserves to be treated with kindness and empathy and complexity and I'd cross the world at 2am for him <3

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

[safination]

For Your Heart

The Middle

|Masterlist|

|Part 1: The Beginning| |Part 3: The End|

Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader.Tags/ Warning: SFW. fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Human! Alastor, Human! Reader, tooth-rooting fluff, Husband! Alastor Harana – a traditional form of courtship done during the night where men will go to someone’s window with an instrument, usually a guitar, along with some of his friends to sing.

TLDR: Sometimes all you need is a guitar and a song to catch hearts…and well, Alastor has a guitar and a voice perfect for singing. The beginning, the middle, the end, and the new beginning with a guitar and a song (feat. Ben&Ben) I decided to make this into a four-part series instead of releasing it all at once. Just comment if you ever want to be added into a taglist for this mini-series I'm doing. I know that it's been a while since I've updated but,,,ehehehehe. I was enjoying my break but finally got around to writing again. I'll post the tagalog versions soon. This can be read as a stand-alone

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ

It’s funny, actually.

The same moonlight shines across a different window, yet the way it filters through the glass is the same. The feeling it pulls from your heart is still the same. It reminds you of the faint and distant think that would sound on your window. Those sounds have long faded awa—

BANG!

The sound shakes the wooden frame of the window. Another loud bang causes the brush in your hand to drop to the carpeted floor. You rush to the window and peek out the curtains.

Oh, it’s Alastor.

Moonlight reflects against the same brown hair, but it no longer belongs to a boy. Instead, the man who stands under your window has grown taller over the years. Alastor traded his faded jeans for dress pants and bowties. The strands of his hair that used to poke out are now neatly slicked back. Yet, Alastor runs a hand through his hair, and traces of that boy peek out.

There’s a guitar strapped to his back. It brings a brighter smile on your face than it should.

Alastor grabs another stone, and hurls it to the side of your window, just barely touching the glass. The bang of the stone causes a muscle on your cheek to tense. Well, at least he hasn’t broken anything…yet.

Quite the hazard, indeed.

Still, you open the window and pause just in case Alastor decides to hurl another stone.

“The window will break, love,” you tell him because you’re not keen on waiting until Alastor breaks something.

Alastor strums the string of the guitar. Music filters into the air and flies straight into your window—it's much better than a stone. “Darling, it’s our window,” he says, smiling up at you. “I can always replace the glass if something breaks.”

“One of these days,  I swear, I will take a rock straight through your window.”

“I look forward to it.” Alastor laughs, bright and airy. It’s everything to you. Especially when the moonlight illuminates the brown in his eyes as they crinkle. “Whatever window I could possibly own belongs to you as well.”

You lean out the windowsill with a smile, pleased at his response.

That smile slowly fades when Alastor approaches the tree, and grasps a stump to hurl his body upwards. He plants his foot on a small nook of bark, reaching out for a branch to climb even higher up the tree. The look of focus on his face as Alastor climbs the tree is cute, but there’s not time to savor the way his eyebrows scrunch or how his lips purse.

“Sweetie, you’re going to fall,” you say, plain and simple. “I would be smart to get down, now.”

Alastor keeps climbing the tree until he climbs all the way up the branch that faces your window. He balances across the branch, a steady hand on the trunk as he walks. He’s careful to keep the guitar from hitting anything. You keep your glare steady on him until he sits across the thick branch.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Alastor tells you, rolling his eyes in a very, very, dramatic way. “I’m already at the top.”

Just to be funny, you say, “Why are you here, love?”

“I’ve come for your heart.” Alastor raises the guitar above his head, and once more you see traces of that wide and boyish smile on his lips.

“Why don’t you just come in?” you say. “I’ll go down and open the door for you.”

Alastor rolls his eyes again. “Or you could just listen right now.”

“Sweethe—”

“Every second we argue is a second I spend longer on this tree.” Alastor pats the branch, bouncing in his seat as he tests the capabilities of the tree to hold his weight. “I quite like the view up here. I think I could spend a lifetime up here.”

With a sigh, you lean against the windowsill. Alastor catches your gaze, and you offer a small smile. It’s a plain and simple small smile.

Except…Alastor’s fingers still at the strings of the guitar, halting the strumming. He blinks at you with a wide stare.

A pause.

Then another pause.

Then he slings an arm over his eyes with the goofiest smile. The edges of his lips curl higher and higher until it reaches all the way up his eyes. The most boisterous laugh escapes his lips, and it rings across the night air. “You are absolutely unfair!” he says, pointing at you, but there’s a certain giddiness in his tone. “How unfair of you, my dear! I call foul! Completely and absolutely unfair of you to do this to me.”

Your head tilts. “Love, do what?”

Alastor runs a hand over his hair, and strands filter through his fingers and frame around his face. There’s a silly, silly, smile on him. “I love you.”

The clutch of girlhood has long left you, but the way Alastor looks at you places you right back into the confines of the ridiculous girl you once were. There’s a ridiculous smile on your lip as you play with the ring around your finger. “I love you as well.”

The strum of the first note.

“Morning has come in our home, so don’t you disappear.” Alastor’s voice fills into the air, once again tugging at the strings of your heart. “Morning has come in our home…to love or to be enchanted.”

His fingers carefully strum the correct cords of the song. It’s a slow build-up of notes until all you can hear is the sweet sounds of his singing and the guitar.

It’s easy to hum along the song, and beat Alastor to the next lyrics. “The eyes that recognize each other at first encounter,” you sing along. It’s not as good as Alastor’s smooth and deep voice, but there’s no need to be embarrassed. “How did they slowly captivate my heart?”

And why would you be embarrassed? Deep down, you know that Alastor would never dare to judge you on this matter.

“I’ve been alone for so long yet you’ve been there all along.” Alastor shakes his head at you, smiling. “Oh, how magical, I’ll choose you every day.”

The way he sings it to you—as firm as a promise. It makes your smile widen even more.

“Oh, how magical,” you begin, “the feelings I have for you are clear.”

“What you make me feel is more than happiness. Everything’s understandable in the depth of your gaze,” he sings, looking straight into you. “Oh, how magical, I’ll choose you every day.”

“Oh, how magical,” you repeat once more, “the feelings I have for you are clear.”

“With a single turn on the wind, it brought you to me. I will choose nothing but loving you fully and wholeheartedly.” Alastor sings louder, making it obvious that it’s his song and not yours. “Peaceful in the embrace of your magic. Peaceful in the embrace of your…”

But you’ve never lightly taken anything.

Flashes of your time together filter through your mind. You like that word…‘Together’. Just as it should be. All the silly breakfast mornings, and the tired afternoon naps, and the sleepless but warm nights. All the ways Alastor likes to mess with you like pulling on your hair. All the ways you like to mess with him like undoing his bowtie for fun.

It’s everywhere.

It’s evident.

It’s you and him.

Together.

Alastor strums the guitar, and you listen until you both sing the end. “Oh, how magical, I’ll choose you every day.”

His eyes close as the last notes die down. There’s a smile on his lips when he tilts his head back against the tree. Dimples–how have you never noticed?

“New Orlean’s biggest and brightest start at my window in the middle of the night…I wonder what the papers will say?” you say, tilting your head to show off your wide smile. “You must like me very much—Don’t you?”

“Ha! My dearest, as if I could ever just ‘like’ you, and I’m pretty sure we’re well past that realm.” Alastor removes the straps of the guitar from around his body. “Can I come inside?”

“Sure, but it won’t be through the window,” you tell him, trying to add as much firmness in your tone. “Climb down, and I’ll open the door for you.”

“Let me in.”

“What a bold thing to say to a married woman,” you say. “My husband wouldn’t like it. He gets very protective of me.”

“Then shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’s probably off serenading some poor woman.”

Alastor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dearest, let me in.”

You know a losing battle when you see it, but you won’t go down without at least gaining something in return. “Only if you teach me how to play,” you say. “Then it will be my turn to sing for you.”

A cheeky smile. “You’re going to sing just for me?”

“Only for you.”

“I believe we have a deal.” Alastor offers the guitar to you, holding it across the air. “Do not drop it. It will take at least another year until we can afford another guitar.”

He tosses the guitar across the few feet of space between your window and the tree.

You let it slip between your fingers to feign dropping it. It slides against your fingers. Of course, you don’t let it slip too far, catching it just in the nick of time. The horror on Alastor’s face makes you laugh. Just a little payback, that’s all.

Alastor glares at you.

You show him your most innocent smile.

With a sigh, his glare lightens until it completely disappears with the constant prompting of your smile. “I swear–”Alastor runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say, smiling softly. “I love you.”

“I love you as well.”

Alastor jumps the few feet from the tree and your window, then completely disappears from view.

One second.

Two seconds.

“Alastor!” You rush to the edge, poking your head out. “Alastor, I swear if yo—”

 He pokes his head up the window, stealing a kiss from you. It’s a quick peck on the lips

“I’m going to close the window on your fingers,” you tell him, but lean in to brush your lips against his. 

“Please don’t.”

You lean your head out the window, taking a proper kiss from his lips. It’s the same lips, yet they still bring the same butterflies even after years of marriage. Just a single kiss from this silly, silly, man, and you’ve reverted back into a ridiculous girl

Alastor pulls away first, and his arms shake as he grasps the window frame. “I don’t know how long I can keep holding on without falling, love,” he says, tightening his grip. “Let me in.”

He pulls himself up, using the strength of his body, and tumbles straight through the window and into the carpeted floor. Ladies and Gentlemen, Louisiana’s most eligible bachelor right here. Right here in your bedroom and all yours.

Alastor pulls on your wrist, taking you down with him and flush against his body. Long and warm arms wrap around your waist as he nuzzles straight into your hair. He takes a sniff…and another sniff…and another sniff. You choose not to comment on it

“I thought you fell,” you say, mumbling into his chest. Every breath he takes cranes your neck up and down.

Alastor hugs you tighter against him, laughing. “We had a deal, love,” he tells you. “And I would never go back on my word.”

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ

I'm going to be real honest with y'all. This is not my best work, but I wanted to finally publish this and move on. So here it is! Maybe I'll polish it, maybe I won't For my kababayans, I’m releasing a version with the original lyrics because so much of it gets lost in translation and Ben&Ben did not give us masterpieces for this to happen. I’ve got to tell you, the original lyrics hit differently when you understand them hahaha. Please keep in mind that I'm not an expert translator, I just formed it in the way it makes sense to read. Sneak Peek of the next song: Comets

[sugar-grigri]

Correction: Fake! CSM is the God Devil

WAIT WAIT WAIT and if, going back over this analysis, Fake!CSM or even the famous demon that Yuko and the others had contracted with wasn't an identity or memory demon

This entity would be the demon representing the fear of God? I CAN EXPLAIN! That would explain why this demon has the appearance of Chainsaw Man

As Angel explained, Chainsaw Man is the being who draws the line between death and birth for demons, the sound of chainsaws being what they hear when they are born or die.

As a result, Chainsaw Man had a natural superiority over the other demons, to the point of being feared as a divine power.

Whether it's Beam, who considered himself a follower of Chainsaw Man, or Makima, who was fascinated by him, it's an abnormal relationship between demons and CSM, tinged with veneration and fear.

Chainsaw Man is a divine figure who has also become enshrined among mortals, who see him as a means of fighting against their injustices.

You see where I'm going with this, the demon resulting from the fear of God has ended up taking on the appearance of the saviour and punisher projected by both demons and humans.

This would explain why this demon didn't lie when he called himself a demon of justice, just as it explains Barem's reaction, whom he sees as his saviour, just as it explains Fake!CSM's appearance, and finally, it explains the biblical references made by the impostor.

Which confirms my theory that Fake!CSM is NOT an enemy of Denji - quite the opposite, in fact. He wants the real Chainsaw Man to act, to be feared by demons and worshipped by humans, to once again reinforce the divine aspect of his image.

Denji is the source of Fake!CSM's power, which is why Fami has built a church around his figure to further reinforce this aspect, and why the impostor prefers to speak in Denji's name to make a more religious statement than the real CSM, who couldn't care less about such considerations.

If we were to get to know Denji as he really is, the very nature of a simple teenager would destroy his reputation for being invincible.

That's why Barem and Fami want Denji to join their cause anyway, because Chainsaw Man has to do exactly what they think will strengthen his reputation as a divine being.

If Nostradamus's apocalypse is fulfilled, people will not only fear divine wrath, they'll start praying to Chainsaw Man too!

Fake!CSM is Fami's champion for countering the apocalypse, and she's only interested in making it as powerful as possible.

This also explains why the public hunters want to paralyse Chainsaw Man and prevent him from showing his face, to avoid confirming this growing reputation and veneration. I repeat, when Yoshida said those words it wasn't to help Denji but to express the will of the hunters in any case. The fact that one of them said that it would be simpler if he were a weapon doesn't detract from this. It's simpler for CSM to be a unanimous being who's easy to hide and control than an unpredictable teenager.

The public hunters don't know exactly what's going on, as evidenced by their natural suspicion of Fami, whom they thought was behind this apocalypse, or by their response to the church's intentions in the last chapter. However, they do have their doubts about Fami, the knight of the apocalypse, whom they must know to be the founder of the church, and since the church relies on Chainsaw Man as the guardian of public order, it was safer for him to stop acting and not to go along with the church.

Chainsaw Man is the symbol of the demons' death, which erases their names and dictates their existence, so here's a theory on what will trigger the apocalypse...

It won't be caused by one demon in particular, but by a general revolt of demons such as has already taken place in the underworld to put an end to Chainsaw Man, to this supreme demon.

When the natural death of demons no longer exists, of course, this will mean the victory of demons over humans, as foretold by prophecy.

If this war breaks out, this explains why Fami Yoru believes that the demon of war is the one who will be able to counter this attack of demons.

Let's go back to this prophecy :

The simplest

Mars as god of war is none other than Yoru

But you know what's interesting is that according to all the thinkers analysing Nostradamus, what Nostradamus was actually predicting was not an apocalypse but an eclipse of the sun.

So this allows us to identify the other protagonists: the great King of Terror is none other than the moon that hides the sun, which will soon reappear.

The Great King of Angoulmois is none other than Denji

Overshadowed by Fake!CSM

Now you know why it only works before the sun comes out.

[rhiannswork]

s. reid || art isn’t supposed to look nice.

warnings: mentions of anxiety, hotch being reid’s dad, sensitive reader idk?? ummm angst and fluff

a/n: sorry guys, i’ve been awol. a lot has been going on mentally and i just needed some time to myself. i seen that i have requests in my inbox but it won’t let me view them fully. i’ll try to fix it, other than that enjoy ><

12:43 am. you gazed at the tv, engrossed in a monster high compilation, losing track of time. it wasn't until you realized that spencer hadn't called yet, breaking his tradition of always reaching out before midnight. now, it's almost a quarter to one, and you're left wondering.

you snatched your phone and dialed spencer's number, waiting as the faint sound of the ringing echoed from your cell's tiny speaker.

"hello, this is doctor spencer reid. unfortunately, i'm unable to answer your call right now. please leave your name, contact number, and the purpose of your call, and i'll return your message at my earliest convenience."

a loud beep pierced your ear before you ended the call, attempting to quell your growing worry, although your anxiety continued to escalate with each passing minute.

you made an effort not to dwell on it, yet sleep eluded you without the comfort of his soothing voice, reciting a romantic passage he had once come across in a book.

1:56 am. you dialed once more, the ringing filling your ear again, but this time spencer finally answered the call.

"what?" he replied with an irritated tone, causing your eyes to widen at his response. "um... i was just wondering how you were doing. you hadn't called," you stammered, a hint of concern in your voice.

"well, it's because i've been incredibly busy, y/n," he spoke sternly, his stress evident. you sensed his tension, a departure from his usual demeanor. "i’m sorry... i’m just used to you calling me before midnight. i’m sorry," you added before he hung up.

a feeling like your heart had been crushed by the world's largest hammer washed over you. your eyes began to well up, but you fought back tears, reminding yourself that he must have been under immense stress and didn't mean to come across so moody.

[ back @ the BAU ]

hotch observed the confrontation unfold, a sigh escaping him as he witnessed how spencer had spoken to you. "reid," he uttered with slight disappointment in his voice.

"yeah?" spencer turned around, rubbing his temples. "you need to go home... you've been awake longer than you should, and it's starting to impact your work," hotch advised.

spencer turned back to the large bulletin board, covered with crime scenes, maps, and other pieces of evidence waiting to be linked. "that wasn't a suggestion, reid," hotch's voice thick with authority. "it's an order."

"are you seri—" spencer began to protest, but hotch interrupted him. "spencer," hotch's tone was firm, cutting off any further argument. spencer could only manage a small scoff before he reluctantly complied. "go," hotch commanded, his gaze locking onto reid's for a final moment before he turned away.

he grabbed his coat and slung his crossbody bag over his shoulder, leaving without uttering any goodbyes. this particular case had pushed him to his limits.

twenty minutes later, he arrived home, the drive having given him some time to calm his emotions. during the drive, he reflected on how he had exploded on you over the phone.

he entered the bedroom quietly, noticing your body facing the door, a common sight. his gaze fell upon you cuddling his pillow, the one he usually slept on.

the pillow held his scent, offering comfort that helped you drift off to sleep. despite always missing spencer dearly, you hadn't gone to the extent of hugging his pillow before now.

the tv continued to play autoplayed cartoon shorts, casting a gentle glow that allowed him to see your face more clearly. "y/n... baby..." he whispered softly, concern lacing his voice.

spencer crouched down beside you, allowing you to wake up and meet his gaze. he extended his hand, his thumb gently stroking your face as you began to stir, emitting a soft hum as you gradually woke up to find spencer before you.

"hi, my love," he murmured, planting a tender kiss on your forehead. it took a moment for everything to register, but then the earlier phone call came rushing back to your memory.

"hi," you finally responded, your voice tinged with a hint of anger. turning over, you positioned yourself with your back to him.

"i'm sorry," spencer's voice held sincerity, "i'm just incredibly stressed about this case. i promised that mother i'd find the demon who took her family away."

"you sounded so upset with me..." your voice quivered, tears welling up once more. "oh, baby, please don't cry," spencer implored, leaning closer and planting a gentle kiss on your neck. "you know how much i love you... i'd never do anything to hurt your feelings."

spencer managed to coax you to scoot over in bed, allowing him to settle right under you. somehow, you found yourself in his embrace, his arms holding you close.

"do you want to hear the quote i've chosen?" his fingers traced soothing patterns up and down your arm. you raised yourself slightly and nodded, before resting your head back on his chest.

“she looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something…. from eleanor & park by rainbow rowell.”

"do you feel something when you look at me?" you murmured softly into his chest, your fingers tracing delicate patterns on his slim stomach.

“i feel everything when i look at you.”

[sisi-halloway]

Blind Date: Nanami x (Quirky) Reader

Reader is stuck in the elevator with Nanami!

"Hey! Can you hold the elevator?"

It was hard work not to let the whole world know you were out of breath. Luckily there was just one person in the hotel hallway with you. As you hurried into the glitzy elevator, you forced yourself to inhale slowly through your nose and exhale shakily out of your mouth. The silence was deafening... and your breathing was even louder than that.

The blond guy here in the elevator was gracious enough to hold his hand out so it wouldn't go on without you. That was good because you would've been 10 minutes later to work than your usual 5 minute tardiness... and 15 minutes just looked so bad on paper.

When you finally caught your breath, you thanked him.

"You're welcome," he replied. It was a quiet, unemotional response. It made you feel embarrassed.

It was a silent ride. You held your brief case in front of you, staring at your reflection in the wraparound mirror. He looked at his watch. Maybe he was late for something too.

When the lights flickered and the suspension got tricky, causing the elevator to screech to a halt, you winced.

If he wasn't late before, he was definitely going to be now. Join the fucking club.

"Perfect..." He grumbled under his breath. It made you laugh. You were never the shy type, always leaping at any chance for a conversation.

"I know right... I thought this only happened in shitty movies."

You decided to take his scoff as his own unique version of a laugh.

The silence carried on for a few more minutes, but the longer that you waited the smaller you and the stranger's hopes shrunk. You weren't going to be out of here any time soon.

You take off your dress shoes. They weren't very comfortable and frankly a size or two smaller thsn you wore. The stranger made something short of a scowl at your feet, but his face softened when he saw the bruises on the back of your heel and the tops of your feet.

"Sorry... I promise I'll put them back on if my feet smell bad..."

He shakes his head.

"It's fine."

The truth was, the stranger in the elevator was Nanami Kento. The truth was, he was not scowling at you. He was trying to think of something to say to make conversation. The truth was, he'd been trying to talk to you for a few days now. The truth was, he thought you were pretty.

You were a bit nervous to open your mouth to speak, the aura of the standoffish stranger threatening to dampen your spirits. Ah hell, when has thay ever stopped you?

"Are you going to be late for something?" You asked.

The man looked at his watch again.

"If this takes more than a half-hour, I will be."

You were impressed! He had enough spare time for a thirty minute elevator movie scene? This man had it together. He even looked punctual. His tan suit was ironed to perfection, complete with two creases down the front legs. His blue dress shirt had not a single fold, and his tie... you really loved that tie. It almost matched your polka dot outfit. Maybe it was meant to be.

"Well... I'm already late. I think this is a good enough excuse as any?"

You smiled when he looked up to meet your eyes. You decided to introduce yourself. What was the harm?

"I'm (y/n)."

Nanami remembered.

He was staying in this hotel for a work trip. He had been called to do some investigating into a serious matter of special grade proportions. Well... he was supposed to interview a few people here in the city to get information of a curse that's been acting as some type of Zodiac Killer. When he arrived, it was about 4 in the afternoon. He'd walked past you in the lobby on his way to the front desk to check in. You had been on the phone with your sister. She was supposed to be bringing some clothes for you. She had made a joke and your laugh, Nanami thought, was the prettiest thing in the room aside from your smile. It was also the loudest, but that's not why he noticed.

He had been having a shitty day and your laugh just made him feel a little better about it.

Every time he'd stepped out of his hotel room, to get breakfast or visit the hotel gym or pool, he'd hoped to see you. Even if he was too reserved to talk to you, he wanted to see you again. And every time, he'd seem to miss you. His 7:3 ratio was more like a 1 in a million. How had he been so unlucky? That's what he thought before getting stuck in this elevator with you.

"Nice to meet you," he replied evenly. "My name is Nanami."

He was handsome, especially when some warmth crept into his face. Maybe it was the lack of air conditioning in this fiberglass box you two were in... or maybe it was you.

"So, Nanami... what brings you to this hotel in specific?"

He clears his throat and shifts his weight so it was perfectly and evenly distributed between his two feet. He was nervous, but to you he just looked cool. He was good at hiding his nerves.

"Work... what about you?"

You would've loved to say the same, to have a great job that paid you well and took you places. That wasn't the case. You worked as a receptionist, getting paid barely any more than the minimum wage.

"A pipe in my house burst... and it flooded the place. So I have to stay here."

Nanami nodded. He was admiring the way your hips swayed as you stretched your popping back against the elevator mirror. You were smiling again. A smile that put him at risk for a knockout.

"I'm sorry to hear that, (y/n)..."

You noticed he sounded so professional. Was he such a career man even in his everyday life?

"That's okay! This is the nicest hotel my insurance would let me stay at... so I'm not complaining! The food is delicious and free and I get access to the amenities as well..."

Nanami relished your optimism. It was like he was looking into a polarized mirror at his complete opposite. And he might have been in love.

"Well... that's one way to look at it. The gym is actually rather nice here. All the amenities are."

You giggle.

"You're right, they are! Also... I didn't realize this hotel offered blind dating in the elevators..."

Nanami's body couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or blush or roll his eyes. So he did all three in a gesture that was the most expressive he'd been in months. He looked so human there, something that only a person like you could bring out of him.

That was an adorable thing to say, and quite quick on the draw. He was impressed.

"I... thought I saw something about it on the website... you didn't know?"

His decision to play along was a rare one. It made him glad he chose it when he saw your grin grow wider. You had the most gracious set of pearly whites and it made his stomach fluttered.

"No! I didn't see that part-"

And idea popped into your head. You already made it this far. Why not push it a bit more?

"Wait... I think I did... and right under that it said something like... if your blind elevator date made you laugh... you'd get a coffee with them?"

You gave Nanami your most convincing look, a perfect combination of sultry and sweet and silly with a bit of swagger. Maybe your quirky personality was finally going to win someone over.

Nanami was floored by your boldness. He had a thing or two to learn from you. He bit his lip, looking away from you. If he stared too long, his eyes would wander, and his face would be as red as that "Call for Fire" button that one of you should've pressed a long time ago.

"Then... I should've laughed sooner... because I'd like that."

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. Maybe three. Or maybe you were still out of breath from running all the way to the elevator in uncomfortable shoes and too tight clothes. In any case, you and this handsome stranger had somehow hit it off.

You bat your lashes rather seductively as you calmed your voice and asked.

"Mh... So if we make it out of here alive, you would like a coffee with me?"

Nanami's eyes did a once over on your body. It was just as gorgeous as every other part of you. And it was tempting him a bit now. He was warm, but he liked it.

"I would love... a coffee with you, (y/n)."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Uhh could you write dad headcanons for gavriel?

Baby lion

We all know this man is a textbook example of a FATHER. period. I don't know why but I always kind of imagine him not only being Aedion's father. There's just something in me that is screaming that there's one more child out there of his, that he takes care of and is trying to be there as much as he can.

With you, I think the babe would be both a mix of surprise but also something that is almost self-explanatory. Like yeah duh, you thought I wasn't gonna give this man a baby. Cause go to war with me for it, but kids are something Gavriel would bring up on a first proper date. Like there is no sugar coating. He knows his responsibilities. Knows that babies happen even if they are rare. He isn't taking a tonic and honestly, you are free to not take one in his book but this man ain't pulling out. Here you go. I said it.

I doubt it would happen quickly. I think it would happen once everything settles. Once everyone is safe and sound. No threats. No need to be on high alert. You two already settled in your little cottage in the woods. Living a happy domestic life. Growing crops and tending to a flower garden. Gavriel trains younglings in town as his hobby. Loving the fact that he can be a part of shaping young people into great soldiers.

And if you think you are telling him that you are pregnant. Forget about it. Gavriel would notice even before you did. He wouldn't necessarily clock onto it straight away. There's just a slight difference in how you smell. And that slight change makes something perk up deep inside him. This sudden wave of protectiveness rushed through his bloodstream.

So he just keeps an eye out for you. Not wanting to overwhelm you. But in case this is a sickness of some sort he wants to make sure that he would notice it before it spread. Yet all Gavriel finds is you becoming breathless quicker. Getting more grouchy at your mate, over the smallest things. Snaking right before bed and just randomly reaching for a pot of cookies throughout the day. But the thing that finally makes everything click is when Gavriel returns home after one of his lessons. It's barely after midday but he finds you curled up on a little day bed in the garden fast asleep. A warm smile spreads over his face as he steps closer.

Finally, he thinks to himself as he kneels in front of you. "I was waiting for you", Gavriel mutters, pressing his palm on your tummy. A little heartbeat is finally much easier to distinguish. No longer hidden by your own. "Had a feeling you were, happily growing there", and it's so surreal. To know. To be able to have this moment for himself. To be able to just soak in the knowledge. "Gavriel...", you mutter tiredly and your mate's eyes slowly drift back to you. "I see you've been busy", he teases almost, you narrow your eyes at him, "Hey, that's mean. I've made you lunch", you grumble.

But Gavriel is shaking his head, "Didn't mean it like that, my heart", he gently moves your hand to your tummy. You frown at first, confused by his actions but then your senses pick up on it. You let out a gasp. Big eyes watching Gavriel but he's just smiling. Smiling so fondly it's making your heart swell. "You knew?", you whisper, "I had a feeling something was different for a while but...", he admits, moving to brush away strand of your hair away from your face. "I'm... there's a baby", you whisper shout before your eyes fill up with tears, Gavriel lets out a breath laugh, "You're growing our little lion".

Honestly, the rest of the pregnancy would be out of a fantasy book. Gavriel is super attentive but he also cared for his previous partners in their pregnancies. So he knows what your body needs for sure. Trust him to be bringing home a whole area of fruits and goods you two don't have in your garden but that are beneficial for you and the baby.

He doesn't baby you. Nor is he controlling. You want to do laundry? Do it. Want to dust the floor or weed out the garden? Go for it. He doesn't try to put you on bed rest and lock you in the house. His only rule is - tell him when you start feeling tired. That's all he's asking of you. Gavriel knows moving around is good at the end of the day.

Doubt you would get protective outbursts from him. This man has too much self-control to just burst out, start throwing daggers, or murder someone if they came too close to you. It's more like as long as you are okay with people being close to you so is he. He's watching and assessing. He's looking for threats and dangerous it's just in a much more tamed manner.

Talks to the baby from the moment he finds out. Gavriel has many stories up his belt so nighttime stories are never dull. He always falls asleep holding your bump. He was always cuddly but now it's in his blood. He just needs to have you close. Feel you both.

He cherishes this pregnancy so much because it's the first time he could watch his partner and baby grow. Without someone interfering. Without Maeve lurking to harm. To take away. To rip to shreds the happiness. And so those fears come out at night through the nightmares that sometimes plague his sleep but they are quickly chased away by the baby moving around in your tummy. And he's so thankful for the chance to do this again to experience the love. The beauty of having a family.

[hirik0]

Back to you Bonus 1

Makarov/Yuri

NSFW wet dream

Makarov stops closing his dress shirt, halfway. Seeing how Yuris eyes are darkening at this and a pleased smile is apearing.

"Why did you stop?", Yuri asks knowingly and Makarov starts to open the buttons again. Having Yuris full attention turns him on.

"Don't think that's how you get dressed effectively", Yuri coments his behaviour, amused.

"Thought you would like to see for a little longer", Makarov trys to tease Yuri, geting a chuckel out of the other men, who crawls towards Makarov. Yuri is smiling when he notices the blush on Makarovs face, painting the pale face a nice shade of pink.

"So I can get a closer look", Yuri jokes back, seeing how the blush is spreading towards Makarovs neck, who huffs cant help but smile at the shitty joke, stepping closer so he's in arms reach.

"In case you also want to touch." Yuri laughs at this, seductive smile on his face, eyes half closed. Hands land on Makarovs waist before he gets pulled even closer. Makarovs breath hitches, shit Yuri is so close to his crotch now, the blush is running down the back of is neck and over his shoulders stoping at his collar bone. Yuri start kissing Makarov stomach, feeling the muscle move and a hand on his head. He holds still looking up waiting that the other moves his head. All Makarov can do is watching he wants to move Yuri towards his dick, but he gets lost in lustfull grey eyes and Yuri knows he has Makarov on the hook.

Yuri moves his hands on to Makarovs hips and the other is just looking down at him. Swallowing, because his throat is dry and Makarov can't remember ever being that nervous because of blow job. Yuri is tilting his head at this the knowing smile reapearing and Makarov is not sure what Yuri figured out.

"Always thought you would be dominant in bed, but I think I was wrong", Yuri purrs against his stomach and Makarov gasps at this, licking over is lip before he trys to clarify that he is dominant in bed. But he can't just like hes not moving Yuri around like he wants to. When Makarov thinks he can finally answer he is pulled down on to the bed, kneeling over Yuris lap, causing his heart to speed up. Yuri wants to say something but Makarov shuts him up with a kiss, a attempt to get control back over the situation. Yuri let's him for the moment, moving his hand on Makarovs ass, squeezing it causing Makarov to moan in the kiss using his weight to press Yuris back on the mattress.

Yuri bits in Makarovs lower lip pulling it a bit. Loving how clouded Makarovs miss matching eyes are, that he is panting, that he is responsible for Makarovs state.

"You still sure about me not being dominant in bed?", Makarov asks him smug, getting a laught as answer.

"Oh, you think that is you being dominant?", Yuri conters playfull smile on his face one hand slowly is moving up Makarovs back.

"Yes, I'm on top", Makarov points out confused and Yuris smile turns into something predatory.

"Cute, I guess that works with most people you fuck", Yuri begins a sentence before getting closer to Makarovs ear to continue in a wisper, voice deep and lustfull. "To bad, this don't work with me." Several things happen at the same time Makarov feels a shiver running down his spine, his pants are uncomfortable tight now, his is gasping suprised and sudenly Yuri is in top of him and his back is hitting the mattress. Yuri smiles smug at him before stripping out of his T-shirt, and Makarov trys to open his pants, but Yuri is pinning his hands over his head. And Yuri looks so god damm atractive right now, sitting on Makarovs hips, pinning him down, looking down at like he's a meal and Yuri looks so confident.

"Looks like I'm on top now", Yuri jokes smugly love seeing Makarov struggling to get free.

"Enjoy while it last", Makarov talks back trying to get his hands free.

"Oh I will enjoy this, hope you do too", Yuri promises, before rolling his hips against Makarovs. Makarov moans at this, throwing his head back, chasing the contact.

"So eager", Yuri wispers in his ears, causing goosebumps and a low moan. Yuri losses his grip and Makarov gets his hands free, instantly trying to get Yuri under him again. The emphasis is on trying because Yuri is not moving an inch, looking even amsued.

"Cute", he comments Makarovs attempt to flip positions, before opening Makarovs belt, causing the other to moan. Yuris hand is disappearing in the open pants, toying with the hard dick while observing the others reaction. How he is melting because of the touch, his fighting stopping for a moment, eyes half lided and a breathy moan is leaving his lips.

This only holds for a moment before Makarov sits up to kiss Yuri. Arms closing around Yuris shoulder while deepening the kiss. Licking in Yuris mouth having the sounds he is making muffled by the kiss. Yuri pulls back and Makarov follows him getting a quick peck on the lips. Makarov would never admit it but he is pouting when Yuri is standing up. The pout is disappearing when Yuri pulls at his his pants down, Makarov helping by lifting his hips. Then Yuri is moving Makarovs hands towards his own belt, gasping when Makarov is brushing his finger purposefully over Yuris dick. Makarov stops, Yuri feels big, swallos at this before opening the pants. When Yuri steped out of them and trys to get on Makarovs lap again Makarov is trying to get Yuri under him. They have a playfull fight on the bed, that is ending with Makarov pinned down. His face in the sheets with Yuri pushing his head down and pressing his weight against Makarovs back. The hand is disappearing from Makarovs head and reappearing on his dick. Yuri humms pleased feeling the big wet spot in the front of Makarovs boxers.

"Oh you into that? Fighting in bed?", Yuri asks curious pressing his clothed dick against Makarovs ass when leaning down to wisper in to his ear.

"No~ah", Makarov moans when Yuri starts running his fingers over the still closed dick. He really isn't, but he also never had anybody he could fight before in his bed.

"Liar", Yuri huffs before slowly pulling the boxers down and finally having no barrier sperating the touch. Yuri starts to slowly yerk him off and start wispering.

"I think you like this, being pinned down on the bed after losing a fight. Mhm don't you think? Look how your already leaking so much." Makarov can only moan at this, Yuri has full control over him and he clenches the sheets, when Yuri is starting to move his hips against his ass.

"I bet you would love it, me pinning you to the ground and I fuck you right there on the floor like a animal in heat. Make you scream with my fat cock in your ass." Makarov is a mess, moaning, panting and wimpering, losing his mind over the filthy thinks Yuri is wispering in his ear.

"You like this don't you?", Yuri asks his voice so seductive, pushing Makarov closer to the edge.

"Yes", Makarovadmits, starting to fuck in Yuris fist while feeling kiss on his shoulders and neck. "Yuri", he gasps feeling he's so close just a littel bit more.

The sound of an alarm is waking Makarov up. He's hard and so close and so fucked. This photo Yuri send him changed something in his brain. In all his fantasys Yuri is perfectly following his lead, but this? A dominant Yuri pinning him down? This Yuri makes him arching nearly coming in his fucking sleep like a horny teenager, dominant Yuri is dangerous. And where does the fantasy from being fucked on the floor comes fro.? It's like Yuri opend a door in his mind bringing desires to light Makarov himself don't even knows about. He finally smashes the alarm clock before buring his face in a pillow groaning. He moves one hand down, stroking his dick slowly just as the Yuri from his dream. Imaging its Yuris hand, pretending the blanket is Yuri pressing himself against his back. Trying to think about another filthy think wispered in his ear.

"You will look so good with my cum leaking out of you" his brain comes up with and it's pushing Makarov over the edge. "Shit", he says in the pillow when his orgasm ended, his hand and boxers sticky with thick robes of cum, he don't think one of the prostitutes he fucked ever caused him such a hard orgasm. He has to face the truth he is into Yuri atleast sexual and needs to get him back in bed. No person was ever good enough for a second fuck to him, Yuri will be no exception to this and when he got him out of his system these fantasies will stop.

[isekai-crow]

2024 Winter Anime Lineup (Master Post?)

First post for a new blog where I'm going to try and record my opinions, break downs, comparisons, and various degrees of squees about anime!

The lineup for this year's Winter isn't as packed as the 2023 Fall season was, but that's always the case. It sure is still causing my To Watch List to keep getting longer... but more importantly because it's so lacking in big name shows one of my most anticipated shows gets to shine...

SOLO LEVELING

俺だけレベルアップな件

LET'S GOOOOOOOO!!!

I'M SO EXCITED FOR MY SHADOW BOY TO FINALLY ARRIVE!!!

also, holy CRAP look at all this TRADITIONAL FANTASY!!! There is even a decent selection of non harem Isekai this round too! And a lot of awesome sequels/continuations!

Anyways, here's what's on my to watch list for this season! I'll be posting about them in their own or other threads as I figure out how I want to set this blog up. My reasons for WHY I'm watching what I'm watching

Definitely Will Watch!

Solo Leveling / 俺だけレベルアップな件

Apothecary Diaries /薬屋のひとりごと(Continued)

Delicious in Dungeon (Dungeon Meshi) / ダンジョン飯

The Villains Day Off / 休日のわるものさん

Undead Unluck / アンデッドアンラック(Continued)

Fire Hunter (Hikari no Ou) 2nd Season / 火狩りの王

High Hopes / Might Drop / Taking My Time

Sasaki and Peeps / 佐々木とぴーちゃん

The Witch and the Beast / 魔女と野獣

Doctor Elise / 外科医エリゼ

Cherry Magic (THIS ENGLISH TITLE LMAO) / 30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい (DEF WATCHING THIS ONE NOW)

Shangri-La Frontier / シャングリラフロンティア　(Continued)

Beyond Journey's End / 葬送のフリーレン (Continued)

Gonna Give Them A Few Episodes

Mashle Season 2

Fluffy Paradise / Isekai de Mofumofu Nadenade Suru Tame ni, Ganbattemasu (I'm doing my best in another world to pet fluffy creatures)

Ishura

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic / 治癒魔法の間違った使い方

Blue Exorcist / Ao no Exorcist (OUT OF LEFT FIELD THIS ONE)

Delusional Monthly Magazine / Gekkan Mousou Kagaku

This is already insanely long, so the second half of this essay about what I think is below ↓↓↓↓

DEFINITE WATCH LIST

SOLO LEVELING - I've been waiting for the solo leveling anime since BEFORE the anime was ever announced, re-reading the webcomic/manhwa multiple times and just HOPING someone would animate these gorgeous shadows. It is a very well done power fantasy with only squints of romance, and while I'm sad it's been localized to Japan (and all the fuckery that comes with of Korean erasure), I got to see the first two episodes at the World Premiere and I. Am. So. Hype.

APOTHECARY DIARIES existed completely outside of my head space, and my initial response at the premise was, Raven of the Inner Palace? I wasn't actually expecting much from it and then the first few episodes BLEW ME OUT OF THE WATER and now I'm obsessed.

DUNGEON MESHI is one of those manga I've heard about, but tried reading and it was too slow paced for me (I say, currently slogging through The Boat Arc (TM) of Hunter x Hunter), but the anime gives it life and I think I'll enjoy this alot. I love cooking anime and fantasy, so this will be fun!

KYUJITSU NO WARUMONOSAN is just straight up Crow Bait. That curly bowl cut, the gap moe of a villain who loves cute things, and voiced by fricken Shintarou Asanuma!!! (I know him as Samatoki from HypMic, other's will know him from the "Fucking Bullshit" song from Carole and Tuesday, and a host of other roles) Also, all the pretty sentei / power ranger boys!!! I'm so hype, in the most relaxed chill way for this.

UNDEAD UNLUCK is so weird in that it involves a lot of random sexualization, but it doesn't make me uncomfortable like Seven Deadly Sin's random gropping did, maybe because there is actual implied consent involved. Fuuko and Andy are Poly and I love them for it. And the world building is TOP NOTCH.

FIRE HUNTER - If you haven't seen season one, you are missing out. A darkly beautiful post-post apocolyptic alternate Japan-esque world, from the POV of a young girl, and a young genius boy having to let himself be manipulated by capitalism to survive, and gods? a magic system? but so soft that it's barely there even while being a full on fantasy story.

High Hopes or Taking My Time

SASAKI AND PEEPS- What a weird little show that has the weirdest combination of isekai, the most "this is fine." salaryman, and a fricken' CHUNIBYO BIRB. I've already watched the first episode and it feels like there are two magic systems going on and its a bit confusing, so we will see how this plays out!

WITCH AND BEAST - I keep wanting to call this Beauty and the Beast, because the beast is a rad bad ass looking lady, and the witch is certainly one of the most beautiful undertakers I've ever seen. I think he carries his boyfriend around in his coffin backpack, so I'm hype to see WTF is up with that >o>

DOCTOR ELISE - Why do manhwa I read keep randomly popping up as anime??? This is a vilainess turned good story, and supposedly the market is full of these, but none of them are the good ones I've read, so I did a double take of happiness when I saw this. THIS ONE IS GOOD. An spoiled princess gets killed, is reborn in Korea and becomes a doctor, only to be killed by Airplane-kun, and winds up back in her old body where she decides to become a doctor again! The prince is even not your typical icy asshole! (although maybe he is a little at the beginning..)

CHERRY MAGIC - THIS FRICKEN ENGLISH TITLE GOOD LORDS ABOVE. I'm dying. I'm also excited to see this one play out and I'll be hiding behind a pillow giggling like a mad lad while I do. It's been a while since there's been a good BL that's not SAD (looking at YOU Given and Banana Fish, but avoids eye contact with Sasaki and Miyano) so hopefully it doesn't dip into that territory. Going into this one mostly blind as to the premise apart from the obvious Gap-Moe with the love interest.

SHANGRI-LA - I started watching this on a whim as the Fall season started to wind down, and found it to be a good potato chip to have on in the background. I'll probably continue watching it, but not weekly.

FRIEREN - This is what I watch when Jujutsu Kaisen hurts too much to keep going. I'm only a few episodes in, so it'll be slow going, but I think it's about to pick up it's pacing a little where I'm at, and it'll be good comfort food to have.

MAYBES

Mashle Season 2 - The pacing was SUPER WEIRD in the first season that despite all of it's shitting on the properties of she-who-shall-not-be-named, the end of the season kind of fell flat. I wanted to like it more, so I'm hoping Season 2 does that for me.

Fluffy Paradise - I love isekais with an adult in a child's body pretending to be just super smart, and this doesn't feel like it's going to do that, but still looks cute none the less. I'll give it a few episodes, but will quickly drop it if my watch list is too long.

Ishura - Is this what life is like for D&D Characters when they hit level 20? I HOPE SO. I LOVED the Legend of Vox Machina, and hope this has the same sort of vibes, but I'm going in blind!

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic - Love me some fucked up healing magic. Please DO NOT let this be ANYTHING like Redo Healer. I refuse to watch that even those FUCKED UP HEALING MAGIC IS FUN. But this. This I want to see. Please let this also not be a harem. I'm fine with ~vibes~ but please no actual harem that's not actually Poly.

Blue Exorcist - THIS IS TOTALLY OUT OF NOWHERE. HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?????? I remember the last season feeling like a disappointment? But can't remember why? Gonna see if this is worth re-watching the seasons from like... a decade ago.

Delusional Monthly Magazine - I watched the PV and had no fucking clue what was happening. Therefore, I will be watching a few episodes to sate my curiosity about WTF OR possibly just get myself even more confused and rage quit. lmao

I've watched the first few episodes of a couple of these, and will be watching a few more tomorrow, so Next Goal: Post a write up or three about what I think!

[sacredwrath]

P1. Logan

Welcome our third main character :) Logan, leader of Jesse's crew and one of Jesse's partners. 

Not too many warnings for this chapter. A lot of it is world building and introducing new faces. 

Past captivity and torture, protective caretakers, angry caretaker (not at whumpee), thoughts of revenge, injury reveal 

Logan doesn't want to let go of Jesse, not even for the short ride home, not for one second. It's been almost six weeks since they were taken, and every moment since has been a desperate frenzy. An endless cycle of planning, daring, and failing. Then, laying awake all night trying to convince himself the wasted day hadn't been Jesse's last. 

Everyone else is just as anxious. It had been a struggle to make them all stay home while he and Misha went to meet the smuggler. 

He holds Jesse close to his chest, trying not to squeeze too tight in case they're injured beneath their huge coat. They're bundled up like it's the dead of winter. 

Finally holding them close he finally lets himself breathe.

Misha speeds. She always speeds, but especially today. Usually he'd be the voice of caution, warning her to slow down, but tonight he hardly notices. Until she hits a bump and Jesse yelps. 

"What? What's wrong, Jes are you okay?" 

No response. Their eyes are squeezed shut, they must be in some kind of pain. If the scrapes and bruises on their face are anything to go by he wouldn't be surprised. 

"Misha slow down, would you!" He snaps, exasperated. "Hey, Jes are you ok? Can you hear me?" 

"Yes" Their voice sounds tight and shaky "I'm fine." Even as they say it the car hits another bump and they gasp. 

"It's ok love, we'll be home soon. We can help if you're injured, everything will be alright." Six weeks in AQUAs prison can't have been easy. Anger clogs his throat and he has to swallow hard. If anyone hurt Jesse���

He lets the thought trail off.

"Misha, did you tell Isa we're on our way?" He asks, mostly to distract himself.

"I'm driving. Don't bother, we're practically here anyways.”

A long, hidden dirt driveway snakes off of the main road. Easily missed by anyone who doesnt know it's there. No signs mark it and the trees are so thick that any car is quickly hidden from view.

As they push further back into the tees Jesse begins to tremble. They whimper softly, gasping at every twist and bump in the road. If they're injured the unpaved road is probably causing a lot of pain. Logan tries to hold them as still as possible

"Hey, seriously, slow down, I think Jes is hurt." Thankfully Misha listens and slows the car to a less bone rattling pace. "Don't worry, Jes, we'll be home soon." 

Jordan is waiting by the gate and leaps up when they see the car round a bend. They rush over gesturing furiously for Logan to roll down his window.

"How'd it go? You got Jes! Hey Jes!" The words pour from them at breakneck speed. 

"Yeah, it's all good, Jesse's here, they're just a bit tired and shook up. Run back up to the house, would you, and let them know we're almost home." He says

Jordan jogs alongside the car, "Oh thank God! Glad you're back! We missed you Jes!" They race off before Jesse even has a chance to respond.

At the top of the hill stands the stately stone structure that for so many years has been their home. It's four stories, with a large basement, made almost entirely of stone and sturdy oak. Jake, who technically owns it, says it was originally built as a small keep and was converted into a house gradually over generations. It's been passed down through his family before the world went to shit. 

Much of its original functionality has been preserved despite the modern renovations prioritizing aesthetics over defensibility.

Their team has tried to undo many of the renovations, making the structure as much a fortress again as possible.

Logan has lived there with the others for almost 6 years now, and many have been there longer. 

Today the sturdy stone doors are flung wide, letting the last golden rays of sun spill across the foyer and the anxious faces of Logan's family. 

The smell of something cooking wafts up to greet them as Logan carries Jesse from the car. 

Martin and Isa rush forward offering their help, but Logan brushes them off 

"Hey Jes, are you ok? Welcome home!" Isa walks close beside them. "What the hell happened to your face?" 

Jesse doesn't respond, just squeezes their eyes shut and burrows deeper into Logan's arms. 

The house is a frenzy of activity. Everyone crowding around asking questions and trying to help. Jesse's fist clutches Logan's shirt so tightly he's worried they'll hurt themself. 

"Hey, come on guys, give them some space would you?" He chides gently 

"Logan's right, you all are terribly overwhelming."  Misha carries her medical bag from the trunk. "I need to patch up their face and see if they need other medical care. Nora, will you help me? Everyone else, please just finish dinner and maybe bring us some? I promise we'll all have time to catch up, just one thing at a time. Yeah?"

Their main floor bathroom is large, but five is still a crowd. Isa flat out refused to leave Jesse's side, and Logan didn't push it. Making them stay behind when he went to pick them up was hard enough. Now, he supposes if Jesse would want anyone by their side, it would probably be Isa. 

Logan seats Jesse gently on the counter only pulling away once they untangle their hand from his shirt. They're hunched over, arms wrapped around themself refusing to meet anyone's eyes. 

"Hey Jes," Misha says in what Logan thinks of as her Doctor voice, all gentle and soothing. "Can I see your face?" 

She lifts Jesse's chin, they're crying. "Oh Jes! What's wrong?" That only makes them cry harder. Logan and Isa both move forward trying to take Jesse's hand, but they cringe away from them. 

"Don't" they whisper "I'm sorry" 

They both draw back shooting each other worried looks 

"What's wrong Jes?" Misha tries again 

They say nothing for a long moment, then "It's bad" Jesse's voice is so soft they can barely hear it "I don't" they sniffle, curling tighter in on themself "I don't... want you to see... I- its - I don't-'' they trail off. Logans never heard their voice so small.

"Jesse, it's ok I promise. Whatever happened to you we wouldn't judge. We love you." Isa says softly. 

"We're your family" Nora puts in 

"It'll all be ok now. Whatever it is we'll patch you up and go get some dinner. Yeah?" Misha adds

Logan doesn't say a word, his stomach sinking to his toes. Idiot! He chides himself. You knew something was wrong. You should've had Misha look them over in the car. You should've- 

"I'm sorry" Jesse's lips are still trembling, “I'm sorry” but they pull down the zipper, shrugging out of the oversized coat.

Misha is the only one able to suppress her shock. 

"Oh Jes" 

It's worse than Logan could've imagined. They’re naked from the waist up under the coat, their entire body emaciated and covered in wounds. He doesn't know where to look first, or how to stop looking (strike).

Black bruises cover their torso, especially concentrated around their stomach and ribs. They've lost so much weight that he can actually see where their ribs are broken. Cuts and burns in various stages of healing litter their skin, with one particularly bad burn over most of their left hand. The fingers are twisted and bent unnaturally with several fingernails missing entirely. He can see actual handprints bruised up and down both arms.  

Jesse hunches forward again, trying to hide themself in the process revealing their back. There is so much blood he can't tell where the wounds are. Deep blue and black welts show through the mess of blood and torn flesh, crisscrossing their skin making a large X. 

He can't look anymore, he's about to be sick, he turns away, squeezing his eyes shut and feels the shock and horror transform. Rage like nothing he's ever felt kindles in his stomach, and spreads through him like nuclear radiation. He sees red, he's going to lose it. The red turns to white and all he can hear is his own blood pounding in his head. 

Whoever did this is going to regret being born.

He will find them and pay back every single wound Jesses suffered ten times over, a hundred times over. He will turn their body into a crime scene. Take them apart piece by screaming piece till there's nothing left but blood

"Who did this to you?" And he sounds nothing like himself even to his own ears.

"Logan" Misha's sharp voice cuts through the storm in his head. "You need to leave. Now. You're scaring them." 

His eyes snap to Jesse, tears rolling down their faces, and they're curled in on themself, cringing away, trying to hide. Trying to hide from him.

He runs from the room.

Prev | masterpost | next

Tag list:) @whumpacabra

[cosmicjoke]

https://www.tumblr.com/cosmicjoke/757516383076679680/alright-well-first-of-all-id-like-to-say-that

While I understand both Anon's objections and your explanation for the way it is like it is, I gotta admit I'm getting tired of Levi's unending suffering. It's true recovery is not linear, the relapses are fine, but the amount of external shit happening to him is too much too. I really need him to stop suffering. Preferably with a happy ending, but really, at this point, I'd welcome just an ending. I get a little depressed/ anxious with each update when I see there's no final chapter yet, and thus no foreseeable end to the constant whumping. :( I may have met my Angst ceiling.

You're free to stop reading any time you want. It's not like anyone is holding a gun to your head and "forcing" you to read my story. If it's really causing you to feel "depressed" and "anxious", again, it's your responsibility to look out for your own mental health, not mine.

And I'm sorry, but this much bad shit can and does happen to people in real life. If you don't want to read about it, that's fine, and if you don't have the patience to wait for me to get to his eventual recovery, again, you don't have to read it. But I'm not going to tailor my story to your specific needs, I'm afraid.

My answer to that anon ask wasn't a free invite for people to just come in and dump on my story, by the way. I said "constructive criticism". Telling me you get depressed reading my story and telling me you think it's "too much" what Levi is suffering through isn't constructive, it's just criticism.

Stories have to have catalysts for why things happen. Otherwise, there's nothing to hold the readers interest and nothing to drive the story forward. There has to be conflict, whether that's internal or external. There's been maybe 3 or 4 external events that have contributed to Levi's internal issues in my story, so I don't know what you're talking about with there being too much "external shit". Most of the external things that have happened to Levi in my story have been a catalyst for his other mental and physical problems compounding. One is necessary for explaining the other. Both his mental and physical illnesses in my story are the result of one another, being compounded by one another. It's rare for either mental or physical illnesses to exist in a vacuum. They always have a high rate of comorbidity.

Like I said, if you don't enjoy the story anymore, then I don't know why you're still reading it. It's marked as "angst" and "heavy angst", and "hurt/comfort". It has all the appropriate tags. You know what you're getting into, so complaining about the dark content and saying it's "too much" and claiming that it's triggering you in some way isn't valid. That's a you problem.

I think your issue may be that you think a happy ending requires Levi to be fully healed from his trauma, but the reality of trauma is, you never really get rid of it. You learn to live with it, but it never disappears completely. So if you want or expect there to be some miraculous moment of recovery for Levi where he simply no longer suffers from any of the issues I've presented in the story ever again, then I'm afraid you're going to be sorely disappointed, and you should probably just drop it, because I can't and won't give you what you want.

This is meant to be a realistic depiction of chronic mental and physical illness, and in reality, it's often the case that those things remain lifelong problems for people. You can't just hand-wave them away, and I refuse to do so just because my story might make some readers uncomfortable.

[mysteriouslover1516]

IMAGINE:

I took care of it.

The young hacker sighed as he sent the message, he hoped it would give MC at least a small sense of comfort. He had already noticed that she was being somewhat cyber bullied by strangers. Oh god, Lilly. What did you do? What a mess you created.

That's great

MC was safe for now, at least as safe as he could manage. He himself; however, that was another story. He needed to start packing, time was of the essence, it was time to go on the run again.

But you didn't threaten her, did you?

Jake paused, packing had to wait. There was no way he was going to leave while that awful thought was being entertained inside MC's head. Why would she even think that? Didn't she trust him? Didn't she know him, know that he would never do something like that?

What? No, of course not. I talked to her.

No, of course she didn't know. It was like he was pulling her in just enough so that he could ultimately push her away once more. It was an utter mess of confusion, of hidden feelings, vulnerability, secrets, and self-preservation; and he was the cause of it.

Please don't lie to me

"I'm not lying, MC." He muttered, one hand finding refuge in his black, wavy hair; slightly tugging on the strands in frustration.

That was way too fast

He sighed, what would he have to say to make her believe him? Despite his mistakes, he was a man of integrity, or at least he thought so, hoped so, knew so.

I am telling the truth MC. I filled her in on something. One day I am going to tell you too, I promise you that.

Yes, Lilly was now in possession of somewhat slightly incriminating evidence against him. Something that would thoroughly involve him in Hannah's disappearance. Something that would finally state the connection he had to the missing Donfort girl.....

I've been hearing that since forever.....Jake, please.

Jake groaned, Ugh, she was right. MC deserved to know the truth, He didn't know what would become of himself, what his fate held, whether he would ever get the chance to tell her in the future...it had to be now. Yes, MC was right, once again undeniably right. Damn.

MC, I am wanted by the government.

Probably not the most tactful way to start this conversation, but at least it was now out in the open. He felt the sudden urge to close his eyes, hesitating to read MC's response. What would she say?

You are WHAT?

Jake's fingers flew across the keyboard. He needed to reassure her, he couldn't lose her trust, he couldn't lose her, not now, not ever.

Yes. But I am one of the good guys. If you can call it that. I meddled in some things that were never supposed to get out into the public.

Why haven't you ever told me?

The hacker stopped, was she really asking him that? Wasn't it obvious? If he had started it off as "Hey, I'm considered a criminal that is wanted by the government, I need you to trust me" she would have literally flipped out. Come on, MC. You're smarter than this, I know you are, don't play dumb with me.

Because I was afraid that you would stop trusting me.

Yes, understandably so

Jake sighed, he was getting off topic, he needed to focus. Time was waning, he had no doubt that the FBI was already hot on his trail.

In any case, Lilly has published some serious information about me now. And any piece of information about me, no matter how small of a detail it is, Could help the people that are after me find out where I am.

That sounds awful

It was awful.......but to be honest.....he found himself no longer caring.

To be honest....Ever since I met you....I actually have hope again. And I thank you for that, MC.

MC made him comfortable, made him forget his present circumstances, made the trauma of his past fade out of view as the time and the conversations with her increased. He found himself falling, falling for her. And just as he was finally coming to the realization of that fact, it was too late to tell her, not now at least. They had more pressing matters to attend to, such as.....

As much as I regret it, I will now have to make some arrangements to ensure my safety first. I have to assume that the people hunting for me are hot on my heels by now. They may even be close to finding me. You might be on for you own for some time.

What, you are leaving me hanging?!

A small, dark chuckle escaped his lips. It certainly did seem like it, but no, he would never, besides.....he physically and mentally couldn't. There was no way in heck he was going to let her go.

No, of course I won't do that. If you really need me, I am going to be there for you. From now on you are going to have to take the lead.

Ok

Another sigh filled his ears, he hated this. He hated having to leave her like this. A while back he had told her he found it hard to pick up on emotions over text, but right now, he could sense it perfectly. MC was upset, fearful, perhaps even angry at Lilly, maybe even angry at him himself; but deep down he could tell she cared, deeply.

I know that I can always count on you. You've shown it to me more than once.

He paused, then once realizing she wasn't going to reply, he immediately started to type. He hoped his next message would make her laugh, at least smile a little bit, ease her sadness. He didn't want to have to leave her with a heavy heart; even though he knew that was an impossible wish to have.

And something good comes out of this whole thing: I won't be able to read your private chats anymore.

No response, damn. She was taking this hard, wasn't she? Ugh. He wished he could take more time to comfort her, to ease her nerves; if only he had the time........as it was right now he needed to flee, and the time to rewind back to about ten minutes ago.

My time is running out.

MC needed to focus, she needed to continue on in their investigation during his absence. She was the key to the puzzle, he needed to be able to depend on her.

Do you still remember, what our last lead was?

Yeah, I remember. The mysterious "Jennifer"

A faint smile flitted across his lips, in spite of all the chaos, she still remembered. Further proving to him that she could indeed keep a level head, despite the circumstances.

Right. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to look into it any further. But I think you are just as capable of doing it as I am.

For real?

Ahh, there was her sense of humor. That emojie.....what even was that? A sweaty grin? Ohhhh, wait, a nervous laugh.....yes, that was it.

Yes. Of course. You have five friends from Duskwood. Thomas, Cleo, Jessy, Richy, and Dan. I want you to choose one of them and then ask them about our mysterious Jennifer.

And you don't care who I choose?

Jake bit his lip, of course he cared. He hoped MC would choose someone who had been a resident there for years, perhaps even their whole childhood, someone who had lived there when the "terrible incident" took place ten years ago. But who would she choose? MC was very close to Jessy, did that mean she would probably ask her? Or would she ask Cleo? Richy maybe? God, he hoped she would refrain from asking Dan, what an idiot, ugh. And Thomas, hmmmm, Jake wouldn't choose him for sure if it was up to him....But it wasn't up to him, it was up to MC, he had placed the responsibility into her hands. And he trusted her, he whole-heartedly trusted her.

Let's just say, I trust your judgement. Just like you have to trust the person that you are going to choose.

It was time to say goodbye, damn. Usually goodbyes didn't faze him, because he would never allow himself to once again get close to someone, letting him avoid the painful, bittersweet goodbye. But ever since meeting MC, his world had shifted, she had pulled the rug from right underneath his feet. What had she done to him?

I have to go now. But I am going to contact you again as soon as I can.

Fingers paused over the keyboard, when would he be able to text her again? He hoped it would be soon.......he would make it be soon.

Hey, Jake?

Yes?

A small panic swarmed inside his head, he could feel his cheeks flush red. Was she going to say I love you? What would he say????

Thank you....for confiding in me despite all this

Phew. A relieved but somewhat disappointed sigh escaped his lips, god he was hormonal. He had never experienced such fast mood swings as he had ever since he met MC. Damn, he had it bad.

Thank you for never making me regret confiding in you.

Forcing himself to log off, he quickly set to work tearing his computer and work station down. Would he ever be able to rest without having to look over his shoulder? Would his life always be laced with risk and uncertainty? Was there a happily ever after in store for him? God he hoped so, he really REALLY hoped so.

[gothicmama]

Pirates of Erebor Chapter 8 (Rough Draft?)

I'm posting this here before I post it to AO3, not sure how much editing I'll do to it later but it's just in case there's anything I missed during proofreading, or I fiddle with it some more.

Waking up with a hangover wasn’t an unfamiliar occurrence for Thorin. He’d done it many times during his traveling, on nights when drinking was all he could do and the weight of missing his family and the responsibilities he took upon himself grew too heavy. But waking up with a splitting headache, a special kind of pain that only the strong alcohol provided at Ered Luin could cause, and finding himself staring up at the wooden ceiling of his bedroom, brought about a strange feeling. It was like confirming he really was home and for a moment he closed his eyes and let himself lay, boneless, on the thick rug that covered his floor. For just a little while he could pretend nothing had changed and everything was okay.

But the longer he lay there, the more awake he became, and the more reality began to disturb the peace he wanted. The responsibilities he’d burdened himself with wasted no time in pushing to the forefront of his mind, despite his best efforts to not think about them. Finally, after several minutes of failing to go back to sleep, he let out a heavy sigh, rolled sideways, and got up on his hands and knees. Immediately his head and stomach protested the movement, but he pulled himself the rest of the way up anyway. The time for relaxing and celebrating had passed last night, with dozens of bottles of Ered Luin’s best, a few good-natured fights between cousins and siblings, and story after story from both himself and his family to catch everyone up. Now, it was time for work.

Standing upright, he took a moment to stretch and work out the kinks he’d gained from awkwardly sleeping on the floor for hours. As he moved, he became aware of various bruises all over his body, unsurprisingly he only remembered getting some of them. The others were mysteries that he discovered, with groans and pained hisses, as he moved about. Dropping his arms, he turned around and saw why he’d ended up on the floor. Not that it was the worst place to sleep since his room was big enough for two, a silent message from his parents who he knew were hoping he wouldn’t be alone forever, and the rug was thick, soft, and warm against his body. But when given the choice, he still would’ve chosen his bed, if it had been unoccupied. It unfortunately wasn’t, because Dwalin was sprawled out on it. His large frame dwarfed Thorin’s bed, despite it’s larger than normal size. That probably explained some of the mysterious bruises on him, as he and Dwalin had a habit of fighting over the bed after drinking. Snorting, Thorin lightly kicked his cousin’s leg and barked out, “Dwalin!” Dwalin clumsily kicked back at him with a sleep muffled curse before he returned to snoring.

Thorin chuckled as he moved past his bed to the other side of the room where his bathroom was. It was only the size of a closet, but it had everything he needed. He quickly relieved his bladder and got to work cleaning himself up. He was relieved to see he had changed at some point last night. He’d made the mistake of getting drunk in his good clothes before and they had almost always ended up ruined, either by blood or drink. He pulled off the worn-out pants and undershirt, both of which were surprisingly only stained with sweat, and briskly washed himself off with cold water in the tub. He didn’t have the patience to wait for hot water and after drying himself off just as quickly, he hurried to his dresser. He pulled open the first drawer he touched and randomly pulled out clothes. Everything was the same color, so it was guaranteed to match. He dressed quickly and pulled his boots on, then returned to the bathroom.

He took a quick look in the mirror above the sink before he ran a brush through his hair in record time, wincing each time he caught a tangle. He tied his hair back with a piece of leather and kicked Dwalin’s leg again on his way to the bedroom door. He ignored his cousin’s sleepy grumble but made a point to slam the door on his way out. He heard a muffled shout from inside, right before someone else yelled his name. Flinching, he turned to find his mother glaring at him from the end of the hallway. She looked just as put together as she always did, with her hair done up in the same intricate braids she always wore and her colorful clothing neat and clean. She’d clearly been awake for a while and didn’t appear to be as affected by the previous night’s activities as he and Dwalin were. Which was astounding because Thorin knew for a fact she’d drank as much as, if not more than, they both had.

He ducked his head to avoid her glare and walked towards her, apologizing, “Sorry, mother. I was messing with Dwalin.” He stopped in front of her, head tilted up slightly to meet her gaze.

As the seconds passed, Fris’ gaze softened until finally she cracked a small smile. “It’s past time he woke up. Past time you woke up, as well, son.” She reached up and began fussing with his hair, brushing down the loose strands into some semblance of control. “Did you get into a fight with the hairbrush, Thorin? Goodness.”

Thorin smiled sheepishly and stood still as she cleaned him up to her liking. Or as much as she could when he was only wearing a shirt, pants, and boots. She straightened everything, tucked his shirt in, laced the front ties up, and with a sigh let his hair loose so she could redo his ponytail completely. Her hands were insistent but gentle as she combed through the unruly curls with her fingers, likely because she knew his head was pounding with his hangover. As much as he wanted to protest, remind her that he was an adult and he liked the way he looked just fine, he found himself leaning into her touch. It had been many months since he’d last felt it, since she’d last lovingly fussed over him. That was his own fault, of course, he was the one who ran off on his own. Guilt surged up in him and he couldn’t stop himself from suddenly wrapping his arms around her. She let out a surprised gasp before she returned the gesture, hugging him just as hard as he was squeezing her.

Neither spoke for a long moment, until finally he whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she replied immediately. She gave him one extra tight squeeze then stepped back. He dropped his arms as she stared at his shirt, needlessly untying then retying the laces. He didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were filling with tears. “Enough of that now. We had enough last night.”

“Aye, you cried plenty for the both of us,” he teased. He gently grabbed her hands and pulled them away from his shirt. He gave them a careful squeeze which she returned.

“I’ll have you know, you cried more than me.” After reluctantly pulling her hands from his, she raised her head with a sniff and turned away from him. She started down the hallway towards the dining room and he fell into step next to her, loosely wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walked.

“And Father cried more than both of us.” He chuckled, vividly remembering how many times his father had randomly started crying into his cup.

Fris rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hold back an affectionate smile. “He’s always been an emotional drunk. But I don’t think anyone can blame him this time.” Laughing softly, he nodded his agreement.

The conversation stopped for a moment when they reached the end of the hallway and the door they were looking for. He automatically stepped ahead of her to open the door, the action engrained in him from years of seeing his father and grandfather do the same for his mother and grandmother. She patted his cheek, pulling a soft smile from him, then she entered ahead of him. He followed in after her and wasn’t surprised to see the table was already occupied. His father was slumped over, head in his hands. He looked much like Thorin had when he'd first awoken, his hair and beard a frizzled mess and his clothes rumpled and stained. In contrast, his sister, who was sitting next to him and gently pushing a bowl towards him, looked almost as put together as Fris did. She'd left her hair down, save her important braids, and she wore an apron over her clean clothes. She looked up when they entered and smiled.

“Good morning, mother, Thorin. I fixed a little breakfast for us, would you like some?” Ignoring Thrain’s moan in response to her cheerful voice, she stood up and moved over to the counter. She didn’t wait for them to answer before she began fixing them both plates. The “little” breakfast wasn’t actually so little, there was a large platter piled high with various meats, two bowls full of soup, and a smaller platter stacked with bread. She picked up an empty plate and quickly filled it with meat and bread. Just as Thorin sat down, she set the plate in front of him. It was quickly followed by a bowlful of soup and a cup. He knew not to get his hopes up but he was still slightly disappointed when he lifted it up and smelled nothing but fresh water in it.

Despite the disappointing lack of alcohol, the first sip had him chugging it down. He hadn’t realized how much he missed fresh water after months at sea. All too soon his cup was empty and his face was wet with the drops that had missed his mouth in his frenzy. He set it down and, ignoring his mother’s glare, wiped his face dry with his sleeve. Dis refilled his cup without having to be asked and he managed not to gulp the second cupful down, too. Setting the cup down half empty, he pulled the bowl to him. The smell hit him immediately and sent a brief bit of nausea curling in his stomach, but it was squashed by the sudden hunger exploding through him. He’d had his fair share of food while he’d been drinking just hours ago, but months traveling and eating whatever he could scrounge up needed more than just one night of good food to be completely erased. He dug into the soup ravenously, earning a good-natured huff from his mother. She reached over and brushed some loose hair behind his ear before it could land in his bowl.

“Just a few months at sea and you’ve forgotten all the manners I taught you,” Fris huffed, though the affection in her voice made it clear she was only teasing. Dis set a plate, bowl, and cup in front of her before she sat back down by Thrain. The older man had yet to raise his head and hadn’t moved since Thorin and Fris had entered. Thorin wasn’t certain he was even awake until Dis patted his back and his father let out a loud, painfilled groan. Fris glanced at her husband disapprovingly before she began to eat, with much less hurry than her son had. She dipped the bread into the soup before taking her first bite. Mouthful, she closed her eyes and hummed approvingly, then after swallowing she said, “This is quite good, Dis, darling, thank you.”

Without looking at her husband, she added, “It’s too bad your father can’t appreciate it. But I suppose when you get to be his age, you just can’t handle your drink like you did when you were young.”

Her teasing worked and instantly Thrain picked his head up, grumbling, “At my age? I’m a perfectly respectable age and I can hold my drink just fine, thank you very much.” Still grumbling, he rubbed his eyes repeatedly to clear them, then blinked a few times before they focused on Fris. As if only just realizing she was there, he stopped grumbling and his face brightened immediately. He clumsily reached over the table and grabbed Fris’ free hand with both of his She hid her smile by taking another bite of bread, but she let him entwine their fingers. “Fris! My dear, Fris, my darling jewel, you look ever so lovely this morning!”

Ignoring Dis and Thorin’s snickers, Thrain scooted his chair around the table to Fris’ side. When he was close enough, he leaned towards her, lips puckered for a kiss. Instead of her lips however, he was met with a large chunk of bread. He leaned back, eyes growing wide with confusion, and the bread followed him. Fris rubbed the bread against his lips, and he followed the silent command and opened his mouth. Under her watchful gaze, he took a bite, chewed it up slowly, and swallowed it. Satisfied, Fris smiled at him and reached out to caress his cheek. He leaned into the touch until she was holding his head up. Still staring and smiling dopily at her, he let her feed him, opening his mouth each time she offered something.

With their parents focused on each other, Dis and Thorin looked away from them, an attempt to offer them some semblance of privacy. Huffing, she stood up from the table and picked up the bowl she’d been trying to give Thrain. Still eating, Thorin watched her pour the soup back into the bigger bowl and put the now empty bowl in the sink. After she rejoined him at the table, he swallowed his mouthful and asked, “Are you not going to eat?”

“I ate earlier, while I was cooking,” she explained. She glanced over at Thrain and Fris, rolling her eyes even as she smiled. “I’ve been trying to get him to eat something, or just drink some water, for almost an hour.”

Thorin followed her gaze and watched Fris literally spoon feed his father a bit of soup, being careful not to let any drip into his beard. Chuckling, he stuffed a bit of sausage into his mouth and said, “He’s always been a fool for mother, Dis. You know only she can get him to listen when he’s hungover.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Thorin, goodness,” Dis leaned away from him, fighting back a smile, and shooed her hand playfully at him. “How old are you, brother? It seems you’ve forgotten.”

“I’m old enough,” Thorin responded after swallowing his mouthful. He took a long drink of water to wash it down and pushed his plate away. Now that he’d stuffed himself, his hunger was appeased, at least for the moment. Wiping his mouth dry, he stood up. Neither of his parents reacted to his movement and he wasn’t about to disturb them, but he couldn’t sit there and watch them either. He set his empty bowl in the sink with the other dirty dishes, finished the rest of his water before adding it to the growing pile, and then set his plate that was still partially full on the counter, out of the way of the rest of the food.

With his mess cleaned up, he leaned over and kissed Dis’ hair. She caught his sleeve before he could walk away and asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Shrugging, he replied, “I’m going to find Bil- Master Baggins and get started with planning. We can at least get something started, and Father and everyone else can join us later when they’re ready.”

Something gleamed in Dis’ eyes in response to his answer. She smiled sweetly up at him and asked, “Could you wake the boys first, please? I want them to eat while the food is hot.” He was instantly suspicious of her smile and the sweetness in her voice, but there was nothing unusual in her request. So, staring at her with narrowed eyes, he hesitantly nodded. “Oh, thank you, brother!” She grinned and pushed him away from the table, causing him to stumble before he caught himself. He glanced back at her, still trying to figure out what she was planning, but when her smile didn’t budge, he had no choice but to let it go.

Sighing, he turned away from her and left the room. Whatever it was, he was confident it wasn’t as bad as anything else she’d done to him when they were younger. He could handle it. Holding onto that confidence, he leisurely walked through the hallways. As much as he wanted to rush and get the boys up as quickly as possible, so he could get started planning as fast as possible, being at home for the first time in months was enough to calm his impatience. He was surprised by the simple joy he found just being in the familiar halls, seeing the doors to his family’s various rooms. He passed a few people, a few cousins, but most people were still sleeping off their hangover or they’d already started their day’s work.

It took him a few minutes to finally reach the door to the room that his nephews shared with Gimli, but for once he didn’t mind the time it took. He was so calmed and relaxed by the walk that when he reached it, he’d forgotten all about Dis’ strange behavior. He stopped in front of the door and paused when he heard voices on the other side. He recognized his nephews, it was impossible not to with how loud they were, and he knew one of the other voices had to be Gimli. But the fourth eluded him, even when he leaned closer to the door he couldn’t place it. He wasn’t worried, as he trusted that no one could make it to the family side of the inn without permission, but his curiosity was piqued.

He really wanted to open the door and surprise them all, his nephews, Gimli, and the stranger, but he restrained himself. He raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door suddenly opened. He looked down and suddenly found himself staring into Bilbo’s eyes. He froze, his hand stuck in the air. Bilbo was just as frozen, his mouth dropping open. They stared at each other, neither moving nor making a sound, for a long moment. Finally, they both snapped out of it. And then they, simultaneously, spoke.

“Thorin?!”

“Bilbo?!”

The Italics are Khuzdul and if I missed anything or something just doesn't seem right, please let me know!

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Journey

Ship: Agatha Harkness x Wanda Maximoff (minor)

Summary: Agatha always had a complex relationship with the idea of motherhood, given her relationship with her own mother. It takes quite a bit of time for her to figure it out.

Word Count: 9.3k

Rating: M

Disclaimer: This story contains themes that may be triggering for some. Please read accordingly.

Warnings: abuse, whipping, imprisonment, starvation, torture, scars, minor character death, somewhat graphic description of violence/gore, loss of childhood, angst, accidental parental figure, dark themes, dead dove do not eat - what it says on the tin, ambiguously happy ending

Agatha has always known she had wanted to be a mother.

Long before the fear of becoming like hers had settled deep into her bones, she had often been found following the women of Salem around, if they had little ones to care for.

Mother had allowed it, because it made them look good.

Made Agatha look good.

Caring. Nurturing. Future wife material.

Which, as she got older, would have been amusing, to look back on, given her orientation if it hadn't been for… Well.

Agatha was an only child. A lonely child.

Friends were hard to make, and Mother was far too careful of matters concerning the coven to be pleased that Agatha's closest friends were Caitlin and Elise.

It tied their families too close together for Mother's comfort.

So she had turned towards the children younger than she, the infants and the toddlers, who tended to have mothers all too relieved to have a responsible, quiet girl hold their baby for a while and take the break readily given to them.

Agatha was good with them too.

She could play and entertain them for hours if given the opportunity, and had no qualms about cleaning up their messes.

After all, if she wanted children of her own one day, she'll have to get used to it anyhow.

But she had only just been started to be allowed to watch the town's littles ones around the same time Mother had started to-

No.

No, she won't invite those memories back.

Her scars ache, and she rubs her wrists.

Not those scars.

She can't reach those scars.

She had had maybe two, three years before she had fully retreated away from the younger kids entirely, shutting herself out from the bubbles of joy and happiness they tended to form, when she had lost her patience with one of the toddlers and had caused them to cry after shouting at them.

Never mind they had somehow gotten a hold of their father's razor and she had been scared out of her mind.

She had shouted, and they had cried.

Because of her.

Because of something she had done.

And she won't be Mother.

She will not.

So she had retreated. Carefully built up her reasonings, excuses.

Mother needs me more now that I'm getting older. She'd explain. When I marry, my husband will inherit our business, but until then… Just in case, she wants me to know how to run it. It's very time consuming.

But those mothers usually were well versed in being able to sense when a child was lying to them, and they had rushed to assure her that they all lose their temper with their children at some point. That it was natural.

Especially if the child was doing something dangerous.

I don't want to be that sort of person. Agatha would firmly reply. I think it's best that I don't watch them anymore. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Mother had not been happy.

It was easy to avoid accusations and rumors when Agatha had been making herself invaluable to the wives of Salem.

She hadn't punished her for it though.

It almost would have been a relief if she hadn't spent the next few months waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It hadn't helped she no longer had babysitting to fill her time.

That she could no longer find what was a valid reason to Mother to be out of the house.

She supposes she got punished for it everytime she had messed something up in those months.

Mother had finally arranged for Agatha to be kept busy by helping out an elderly seamstress, one who was deeply old fashioned and did not have many kind words to offer.

Luckily, Agatha long since had learned how to hold her tongue and keep her hands working even as she fantasized of all the ways she could shut the spiteful old woman up.

And then she had said the wrong thing about the wrong child.

And Agatha had snapped.

She doesn't recall what she had said, or how she had ended up hiding behind a barn farther out towards the farms.

She had blacked out, in her anger.

Because while yes, Agatha had done her best to distance herself from the children of Salem, she still had a large soft spot for them, especially the ones she helped watch.

And hearing the old bat hiss poisoned words against one of the young girls, one who was a bit slower than the others, a bit more immature, a bit more naïve, lamenting her inability to accuse the child of witchcraft for the simple crime of being a bit simpler than her peers…

Well.

Is it any wonder that she had snapped?

Mother eventually found her, hours and hours later, hands still shaking violently as she focused on keeping her breaths even.

Mother was furious.

Agatha didn't bother to try and defend herself.

At fourteen she already well knew that keeping quiet and accepting whatever fate Mother deemed appropriate would be the best outcome she could hope for, to avoid making things worse for herself.

She doesn't find out for weeks, locked away, but apparently the seamstress had suffered some sort of heart attack shortly after she had chased Agatha out of her shop.

Mother clearly thought Agatha was the cause.

Otherwise, why would she have thrown Agatha into her room, locked in, with too tight bands of metal around her wrists, a constant, deep burning pain?

Agatha would never say anything, but she's sure she did cause the old woman to die.

But from the stress of what had happened.

Agatha would not have used magic, even blacked out in her anger.

Not since she had been nine.

Not since she had left a furiously burning handprint on Caitlin's face, one that Mother herself had to carefully construct a glamor anchored to a simple ring in order to cover.

Caitlin has yet to go anywhere without it, which tells Agatha all she needs to know.

Even at fourteen, she slowly is becoming aware that perhaps she can't be as good as she dreams of being.

Even at fourteen, it's a dream, and not a hope.

Mother doesn't bother to try and arrange for Agatha to be kept busy again.

Instead, she's to stay at home, keeping the house neat and tidy, and to cook all the meals.

She's only allowed out to buy household necessities, and for coven gatherings.

She notices somewhere around age sixteen that the mothers of Salem carefully guide their children away from the now deemed too quiet young woman, that if she even so much as looks at a child too long she'll get glared at.

Agatha isn't certain on the why.

Her best guess is that there's now suspicion that she is a witch, because the seamstress had passed not even an hour after Agatha had been seen running from her store.

It's dangerous.

Especially because Mother has decided that Agatha is irredeemable in the eyes of the town, and that no one would care if they noticed a bruise.

Not that Mother would ever allow her to get away with any of her wounds being exposed.

No, Mother's still carful that the only places Agatha ever sports an injury is her back or wrists.

Agatha doesn't think Mother is even aware of the scarring that her sleeves cover up.

It's not like those were being purposefully inflicted, they were just an unfortunate side effect of a far more painful punishment.

Agatha often loses her right to her magic these days, over the smallest infractions.

Though perhaps it's not that the townspeople suspect she's a witch, perhaps they presume she's ill, given the deep, dark circles she has underneath her eyes, the paleness of skin that rarely gets enough sun, the way it stretches across her bones, giving her a gaunt look.

Magic isn't the only thing Mother denies her.

Once, and only once, does Mother send her out too soon after a particularly harsh lashing, and the innocent cry that stems from a little boy’s lips brings attention to how one of the fresh wounds have been pulled back open, and caused blood to seep through her shirt.

Agatha has to lie on the spot, and says she had fallen onto a particularly sharp tree branch.

She can tell nobody believes her, but they still pretend to accept her excuse.

No one wants to get too involved with her in any capacity.

She's been outcasted.

Still, she finds herself quietly slipping the young boy a handful of blueberries from her groceries in her basket, putting a finger to her lips with a wink.

Children, she finds, are far kinder than adults.

It's why she generally stays far, far away from them.

She will never be the reason for a child to turn cruel if she can help it.

She's relieved to find that no one gossips about the incident, because she's certain if they had, Mother would not have cared that her back is still unhealed from the last lashing.

These scar particularly terribly, and she finds her range of movement vastly limited as she readjusts to the new ways her skin pulls at them, relearns how to live with the pain.

She supposes she should feel lucky that they hadn't infected.

It always was much, much worse when they did, often resulting in days of fevered hazes before Mother finally deemed Agatha ill enough that she required healing.

Every time, Agatha would have rather chosen to die than to experience the liquid fire that spread across her back and settled deep into the muscles there, aching and burning and causing her to black out from it all.

Mother says she should be grateful for it.

She is not.

For a good while, Agatha's days are filled with careful cooking, thorough cleaning, and weekly trips to the market, and her nights filled with practice in her witchcraft, and once a month, the coven gatherings.

And then Mother finally deems her old enough, mature enough, to handle basic dark magic spells, ones that are not forbidden from the coven due to their healing nature.

She can see the instant regret in her when, unlike with the neutral coven magic of witchcraft, Agatha takes to the dark spells like a fish to water.

She can't help it when her shoulders suddenly slump over in relief, not expecting to suddenly feel nearly pain free when she chants the incantation for an internal healing spell, one that should not have worked as well as it did for Agatha's very high levels of chronic pain.

But, more importantly, her wrists stop aching, which means her fingers and hand joints stop aching.

Which means they stop trembling, stop making it difficult to grasp objects and keep her hands steady.

It's like the dark magic is a balm.

Mother makes a motion to snatch the book away, and for the first time in years Agatha willingly touches her mother in order to still her hands.

Don't. She had said, the beg clear and plaintive. Please, Mother.

Perhaps it was the fact that her daughter's fingers were laid atop her own, or perhaps somewhere within Mother there was still a sense of love for her, but whatever it may have been, Evanora Harkness had closed her eyes and sighed, before retracting her hands.

Agatha was then heavily warned against making her regret this decision.

Dark magic… It's what killed your father.

Agatha had only vaguely known that, and the words often bounced around her head in her mother's weary voice.

Mother always sounded tired when speaking of Father.

Agatha doesn't think she had ever stopped mourning the long dead man.

Some days, rarely, when things got particularly bad, Agatha thinks it would've been better if the universe had decided to kill her instead.

Even then, she usually pushes the thought away.

She's always been a survivor.

It's what gets her through the cruelty she experiences at the hands of those around her.

So Agatha pushes on, and she dives deeper and deeper into dark magic, finding it soothing and a respite from the constant pain she's in, though she's disappointed to discover a spell will only do that for so long before she needs to sneak one of the books forbidden to her to find a more intense spell.

Logically, she's aware it's acting a bit like the addictive substances Mother sometimes prescribes to one of her patients, that her body becomes immune to the effects of the rapidly increasingly large doses of something that will eventually kill her.

But she isn't thinking logically, she can't, not when the dark magic not only feels good in a way Agatha has never experienced before, but when it numbs and soothes away the aches of her scars, specifically the ones left from the manacles she's so often forced to wear.

She hadn't even noticed how swollen the joints in her hands had become until now, with the dark magic keeping it down.

Cleaning and cooking and shopping, even practicing her magic, it all suddenly became easier.

Even neutral magic.

Agatha begins to suspect perhaps the manacles have done more than just suppress her magic.

That they have done some sort of irreparable damage to her.

And for that, for screwing with Agatha's ability for magic, however unknowingly, Agatha hates her mother for.

Magic has been her only reliable companion.

No one touches her magic like that and gets away with it.

She's determined to find a way to fix it, to reverse the damage.

Agatha begins to sneak books in earnest now.

She has plenty of free time during the day to do so.

The trick is to never be caught.

She dreads to even think about what Mother would do if she found Agatha delving further and further into the art of dark magic.

Her natural magic. Something whispers to her late at night, when the rest of the town is asleep. 

Mother is trying to keep you from what is rightfully yours. Don't let her.

Agatha thinks nothing of it.

Her anger is justified.

As is her fear.

Mother still punishes her with great frequency.

Agatha continues to retreat into herself.

If she appears dull, broken, perhaps Mother will become satisfied with the woman she appears to have become.

Perhaps being so lonely will begin to hurt less.

Even Elise has stopped coming by.

From what Agatha can gather, she has a suitor now.

Her friendship with Caitlin had never quite recovered from when she had permanently disfigured the other woman by accident as a child.

Agatha could hardly blame her.

That does not mean she doesn't hold her loneliness against either of them, however unfair that may be.

Mother is the only other person she sees with certain regularity.

Mother makes for a poor friend.

She makes for a poor mother too.

Agatha turns to her magic in an attempt to combat how alone she feels.

At some point, she doesn't feel foolish for talking aloud to it.

Oddly enough, Mother doesn't punish her for it, when she finds Agatha talking to her magic one day, home unexpectedly early.

She doesn't address it either.

Agatha will take her victories where she can get them.

The years while living them felt as if they had been dragging on, but all too quickly,  Agatha rapidly approaches her twentieth.

She's coming of proper age.

Mother grows more lenient with her as the date of her birthday grows closer, her excitement clear.

It makes Agatha nervous.

Agatha is right to be.

A few days before the special gathering Mother had arranged for her birthday, she discovers Agatha pouring over an especially dark tome.

Agatha hadn't even realized she had been caught before Mother's vice like grip was leaving an angry bruise on her arm, yanking her up to her feet and dragging her in silence to the basement.

Panic claws up Agatha's throat.

She knows what it means to be dragged to the basement.

But it's not the wall of Mother's office she's shoved against.

Mother doesn't even go near her office door.

Instead, she drags Agatha through a door she's only ever seen this side of.

Immediately she feels so violently ill, she worries she's going to vomit.

“Mama, what's behind this door? You never let me touch it.”

“You never want to know what's behind that door. It's where we keep witches until they can stand on trial for betrayal to the coven. Promise me, never will you break coven law.”

“Oh. Okay. I promise Mama.”

Agatha blinks away the vestiges of the memory.

She couldn't have been older than seven.

Not if she had been still calling Mother Mama.

Agatha stumbles as Mother shoves her through the door, letting it close behind her, and she shivers from how cold the small stone room is.

She doesn't bother to try a spell to warm herself up.

She doesn't have to look toward the ceiling to know there will be intricate runes preventing her from using her magic.

Agatha picks a corner and curls up.

Something wet slides down her cheek as she focuses on her breathing, on keeping her sudden nausea down.

She lets herself cry.

There isn't a risk of being seen.

Not that it matters.

I'm going to die.

Agatha wishes she could say she felt a sense of peace at the prospect. At least that way, the waiting won't feel so bad.

She only feels more panicked.

I don't want to die.

Her deep, shuddering breaths echo, taunting her.

Weak. It says. Weak.

She feels weak.

Agatha falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she pushes herself back into unconsciousness.

But she can only force her body to sleep for so long, and the cold makes her scars ache.

She doesn't know how long she's kept in the room when Mother returns, carrying a slice of bread and a cup of water.

A prisoner’s fare.

“I don't suppose there's anything I can say to fix the situation.” She rasps out as she accepts the food.

Mother doesn't respond, waiting around only long enough for Agatha to finish her drink so that she may take the cup back upstairs.

It's an answer all on its own.

Not that Agatha had asked it as a question anyhow.

Time quickly loses its measure, and her only way of telling a significant amount of it has passed is when Mother brings her meals.

Or rather, her slice of bread and cup of water.

It becomes a routine, though Agatha feels suffocated by the loneliness.

Unable to access her magic, it no longer sings back to her when she talks to it.

She very quickly stops trying to.

It only serves to exacerbate her loneliness.

And then Mother changes the routine, dangling the manacles Agatha has often experienced from her fingertips.

She knows better than to fight it, when Mother gestures for her to allow her to put them on her.

And then she utters a single word.

“Walk.”

Agatha hates herself for hoping that her trial has finally arrived.

She also hates herself for feeling relieved when Mother leads her to the kitchen, and points clearly to a chair.

Agatha sits.

Mother sits across from her.

And then she proceeds to tell her the most outrageous tale of queens and heirs and magical crowns.

If Agatha wasn't so dehydrated, she would have spat in her mother's face.

It hurts to talk, her voice rough from misuse, but that does not stop her from spitting a different sort of disgust.

After all, if she really was Mother's heir in the sense that the other woman has woven a story of, then Mother should not have mistreated her so grossly.

Agatha's survival instinct flees as she rejects her birthright.

I am no daughter of yours.

She's thrown back into the stone room, but not before she steals one last look at the sunlight through a window, and notes that some of the leaves have started to change colors.

She had been locked away for a while.

Three, maybe four months.

Her trial will be soon.

She had just turned down her one opportunity to escape it.

A part of her feels foolish.

Another feels vicious pleasure at knowing that Mother's legacy will die with her.

She's too old to have another child, even with magic's assistance, and she will never be given someone else's child to raise at this age either.

Oddly enough, that's what brings Agatha a sense of peace.

Mother will not be able to inflict her cruelty upon another innocent.

And Agatha used to be innocent.

Before Mother.

“Mama! Mama, look, I found a flower! I picked it for you.”

“Where did you find this? It's the dead of winter, Ata.”

“Behind the house. Look, it glows.”

“You must be very careful, little witch. You can only use your magic when we have the house to ourselves. But this flower is very pretty. Thank you for picking it for me.”

Her memories of Mama are far and few between, and they hurt worse than anything Mother has ever done.

Perhaps it's because they are the same woman, and Agatha had once known what it felt like to have Mother's love.

Her skin itches.

She finds herself longing for things she should not long for.

She hates herself for that.

Weak. The walls echo again. Weak.

She curls her hands into fists.

Her nails dig into the soft flesh of her palm.

She bleeds where crescent shaped cuts form.

Let it be a sacrifice to the Goddess. She thinks. Let the blood of my suffering appease Her for whatever my past life has done to anger Her so.

Mother doesn't wait long to send two of Agatha's sister witches to fetch her for her trial.

It must be deliberate that she sends Caitlin and Elise.

Suddenly, Agatha's dignity seems to flee, and she finds herself begging, shouting for mercy.

Her childhood friends pay no mind, and it's Caitlin who ties her to the stake.

Poetic, she supposes.

Agatha Harkness, are you a witch.

I am a witch.

It doesn't escape her notice that Mother does not join the coven in casting Agatha in magic that tears at her own, burning and burning and burning.

It always burns.

And then she feels her own magic, angrily pushing against her chest, and something snaps, and she groans with the sensation.

Bright, burning lines of blue turn purple, and Agatha isn't controlling it as it pulls.

She can feel her tears drying on her cheeks.

She pleads.

I can be good.

No, you cannot.

Mother condemns her.

Mother has condemned her the moment she went from Mama to Mother, and Agatha can only feel the rush of her magic as she wins the battle for her life, giving Mother's in exchange for her own.

She doesn't know what to feel, so she doesn't.

She descends the stairs on the raised platform, and makes her way over to her mother's body.

Her brooch catches her eye.

“Why do you always wear that pin, Mama? None of the other mothers wear one.”

“It was a gift from your father. It's one of the only things I have left of him.”

“You have me!”

“I do have you. Now run along, I need to finish this up, and I don't want you to distract me.”

Agatha takes the brooch.

She ends up back home.

For the first time in months, Agatha sleeps in her bed.

When she wakes up, she ransacks the house, using a liberal amount of dark magic to create a pocket space to store all of the things she wishes to keep.

Books, kitchenware, the rocking chair that Mother said Father had made.

The boxes full of love letters between her parents that she discovered underneath her mother's bed.

By the time she's done, the house looks empty.

Hollow.

It matches the feeling in her chest.

She flees Salem before the witch-hunt can make their way to her.

And there will be a witch-hunt, of that she is certain.

She takes Mother's horse, and doesn't bother with the cart.

It will only slow her down.

She makes her way to the city of New York, and spends the increasingly cold nights out in the wilderness for the week it takes to travel there.

She pulls out Mother's carefully kept business papers, and tracks down the man who she had everything handled through.

She sells the horse with his help, and he buys her the small house she wants with her money.

Agatha knows she'll have to replace him very soon, before the news of her being a witch can reach the rumor mills of New York, if she wants to keep hold on her newly inherited business.

It's a bit of a learning curve, but she manages.

Some time passes, and one day some mysterious person demands a meeting with her.

And refuses to accept her new right hand is the one in charge of the business.

They introduce themselves as the Sorcerer Supreme, and somehow manage to wrangle Agatha into a small building they call their Sanctum.

Agatha leaves.

Many times.

And every time, without fail, they fetch her back.

Insist that it's important that Agatha learns from them.

Sorcery is just wannabe witchcraft. Agatha would sneer. I have no use for such… Pale imitations.

And then she discovers a spell, one based in sorcery, that permanently takes away the chronic pain that she lives with from her scars.

Well, the ones on her back are soothed away.

Her wrists are another story, and dark magic continues to be the only remedy.

She's a more willing student after that.

She spends a few years studying under the Sorcerer Supreme, splitting her time between that and running her business.

They finally trust that she will return to the Sanctum willingly, and are content to allow Agatha to once more live in the small house she has now long since called home.

And then one day, while she is walking home from purchasing groceries, a small lad runs by and trips over his feet, panic evident on his face.

Agatha hears an angry bellow, and a man thunders around the corner, the stench of booze wafting from him.

For Goddess sake, it's only noon.

Agatha doesn't think as she scoops the young child up, quickly stepping towards a more crowded street.

“Will your mother protect you?” Agatha asks.

She has no intention of stealing this child.

The young boy shakes as he sways his head back and forth, blubbering.

“Dead?”

Perhaps it's cruel to ask it so callously, but Agatha has always known what it's like to be missing a parent.

The boy nods.

Ah.

“Will anyone look for you?”

The boy shakes his head again.

“Very well.”

She weaves her way expertly through the city, making her way back towards home.

She gently sets the little boy on her couch, and fetches a cloth and dampens it, her long buried material instinct returning.

She wipes his face down gently, the way she used to, years and years ago, when she had watched over the children of Salem.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” She asks as she goes about her task.

“My arm.”

The boy finally speaks, shy and hesitant.

Agatha does not blame him for sounding that way.

“Hold it out, let me see.”

She doesn't know how she missed that the bone was broken, but now that she's been shown it, she bites her lip, before sighing.

“I can heal it.”

The boy frowns, but doesn't say anything.

“What? Spit it out, speak your mind. I won't hurt you for that.”

Agatha regrets her inability to be anything but blunt, but it seems that the directness relaxes the child.

“He'll just rip the castings off.”

He as in the man that had been chasing him.

Agatha wonders if it was the boy's father.

She assumes so.

“I meant I can heal it with magic.”

In the great big city of New York, who will believe a tiny, beaten tyke of an accusation of witchcraft?

The boy’s eyes go wide, but he doesn't scream or try to run.

“Prove it.” Is what he says instead.

So Agatha proves it.

The boy is astonished, and demands she teaches him.

She brings him to the Sorcerer Supreme instead.

“A child, Agatha?” They sigh.

“I won't leave him to his abuser.” She insists. “If you won't take him…”

I will.

But she wouldn't.

She only trusts herself so far around children.

They take mercy on her and spare her a dilemma, finding a nearby family willing to take in another mouth to feed with promises of stipend for their troubles.

Agatha's more than happy to pay for it, and the boy is treated well, his foster family acutely aware of his private tutoring.

His name is Nicholas and he is the first of many.

Agatha's eyes have been open to the hungry children that roam the streets, the little humans who wear decent clothes but suffer from a constant plague of bruises and broken bones, and she has more money than she could ever spend on herself.

Some of the children try calling her mama, before she establishes herself as Aunt Agatha.

She would have preferred sister, but when she ran it by Nicholas he had scrunched his young face up and shook his head.

You're too old for me to just call you by your name, Miss Agatha. He had politely said. How about Aunty Agatha instead?

She had taken his advice, though she had knocked off the “y” at the end of “Aunty”, and ever since she has not once had another panic attack due to a little voice trying to call her mama.

The Sorcerer Supreme teases her about the little army of children that look up to her, and Agatha quietly takes it, never once mentioning why she so infrequently speaks with them properly, or why they are all left craving more of her time.

She'd rather they feel she is a busy, yet kind woman, than a present, menacing keeper.

I will not be Mother.

I will not.

The year Nicholas turns thirteen, she leaves New York for a couple of weeks and travels back to Salem.

It's been ten years since she had killed her coven and mother, and she feels the need to torture herself for it.

The Sorcerer Supreme doesn't say anything when Agatha informs them of her travel plans, they simply hand her a key that opens nothing and tells her it's symbolic when she asks what it was for.

She will always have a home within the Sanctum, with the now growing ranks of sorcerers she has helped cultivate.

Raise. The other would argue.

Whatever helps you sleep at night. She would deflect.

Salem is like a punch to the gut, and memories threaten to break her under its pressure.

It doesn't help the first thing she had done was go back to where she had stood trial, to find her magic had somehow mummified the bodies of her long dead coven.

It's been cordoned off, warnings of proof of witchcraft carved into the wooden fence.

Agatha returns them all to the magic they had been born into, even Mother, and their bodies slowly fade, dissolve.

She thinks she hears them all breathe a sigh of relief at finally being given permission to rest.

She mourns properly then, falling to her knees when her sobs overtake everything else, every ounce of her strength leaving her as she cries for her loss.

Loss of a father before she had even been born, loss of a childhood, loss of a mother, loss of a family, a teacher, a community, her ability to see goodness within herself.

There's plenty more.

She stays in the forest for a long while.

When she's all cried out, red-faced and head aching, she makes her way to her childhood home that has been abandoned.

It's clear there was not one soul brave enough to lay claim to a witch’s house, and Agatha slips inside, careful not to leave signs someone has returned home, and sleeps.

Her nightmares are usually bad.

The dream she has instead is worse.

She dreams of a world where her father had lived, where she had been given a proper childhood, her mother a warm, smiling figure.

She calls them Mama and Papa even at the age of thirty.

She has kids of her own, two of them, with a little one on the way, and she knows in that instant it's an impossible dream her subconscious has concocted because her wife slips her arms around Agatha's round belly and gently kisses her cheek as their children play with the grandparents.

Grandmama and Grandpapa.

That's what the children call them, and her parent’s joy at having grandchildren to spoil is evident.

Agatha doesn't know what sort of man her father truly had been, but the dream is very telling as she watches Mother Mama Mother allow herself to be led in a silly little dance by small hands and big smiles.

It's a dream, with everything she has ever wanted, and it only serves to make her feel more alone than she has in years.

She wakes up silently, and is not surprised to discover that she had been crying in her sleep.

Agatha only stays in Salem for one more day, slipping through the marketplace with well practiced ease.

A bit risky, perhaps. It wouldn't be too hard for the wrong person to recognize her.

But she can't resist returning to the one old haunt she had been granted as a child.

And then she senses a flicker of magic, pitifully small, but overbearingly strong.

Impulsively, she follows it.

There should be no more witches in Salem.

It leads her to an old agemate, the daughter of one of the richer folk in Salem.

Agatha struggles to remember her name, but the instant her hand grasps the other woman’s shoulder, a spark of her magic flares, and it leaves both women breathless.

The woman spins around, eyes wide with fear and recognition.

Agatha Harkness? Are you a witch?

I am a witch.

She leaves with a companion.

Wanda has been struggling with her magic for years now, and she requires a teacher.

She wants to be rid of it, and Agatha does not tell her that through seeking proper control, Wanda will learn to love what is so intricate to her very being.

She suspects it would only hinder, not help.

No one comes after them.

Wanda says she left a letter saying she has ran off to be with some penniless boy, one who held her heart, as an excuse.

Agatha is neither penniless nor a boy, and she certainly does not hold the red head’s heart in her palms.

Still, she cracks a joke about being the other woman’s lover, and Wanda blushes with guilt at the thought.

That's a sin.

Our magic is a sin, if you subscribe to their beliefs.

You don't believe in God?

I believe in the Goddess, and I believe in my magic.

She doesn't say she believes in herself because she doesn't.

That would require trust.

Wanda mulls over Agatha's response in silence.

When they arrive in New York, Agatha is forced to introduce Wanda to the near two dozen children she helped keep off the streets and out of harsh hands, Nicholas having waited for her return every day at her home, and dragged them to the Sanctum to say hello to his sorcerer siblings.

The Sorcerer Supreme smiles warmly in welcome to Wanda, and when the other witch gets distracted by an army of children all vying for her attention, they approach Agatha properly, squeezing her hands in theirs and whispers in her ear I'm glad you found her.

Agatha doesn't know how to feel about that.

The kids draft Wanda into their on going war to convince Agatha to become a bigger presence in their life.

It's a struggle, because Wanda will barter her success in learning witchcraft for Agatha to spend time with the little ones.

Agatha holds her tongue, though she finds it's often a close thing to keep herself from bursting out yelling about all the reasons why this will only end in disaster.

Somehow, it doesn't.

Not for years and years.

The city of New York continues to grow and become a sprawling network of humanity, as does the Sanctum.

No longer does it accept every child into the arms of sorcery, but it does help place them in better homes.

The Sorcerer Supreme has long since passed that task off to people Agatha had hired at their behest, and only the children who have a spark of something more in them ever make it to the Sanctum’s doors these days.

Nicholas comes of age, and requests Agatha fund an orphanage.

Wanda is all for the idea, and she leaves it in their hands to plan out.

When she had said as much, Wanda had excitedly given her a kiss on the cheek, before turning as red as her hair, excusing herself and rushing out of the room, as Nicholas laughed into the shocked silence.

You're good for each other, Ma.

Since when did you call me Ma?

Nicholas had shrugged and given her an easy grin.

You've been the first mother figure in my life. But I promise to keep it just to teasing.

He has the nerve to wink, and Agatha wonders if it's a normal reaction to feel a violent urge in response.

I will not become Mother.

She shoves it away, and offers a pained smile.

I'd rather you didn't at all. She says instead. I'm nobody's mother.

Nicholas just gives her a look, before he too, leaves.

He hadn't been wrong about Wanda being good for her, and she realizes one day that they've been dating for a long time.

She doesn't feel the need to define the relationship, but Wanda does, though it's months and months after Agatha had come to her conclusion.

Wanda brings her a crown made of dandelions and baby's breath, and asks her if she'd like to make it official.

Girlfriends or wives?

Does it look like I have a ring, Harkness?

And then one day Wanda says the wrong thing completely by accident and sends Agatha spiraling into a flashback in front of some of the kids from the orphanage that has been up and running for a few years now, and in her distress, her magic lashes out.

She was never one for a weak stomach, but the sight of seven small bodies is enough to send her running for the nearest trash can.

Visions of tiny child graves dance in front of her, and she's so overwhelmed by it all that she doesn't notice that Wanda has confirmed the little ones are not dead, merely knocked unconscious.

Agatha refuses to go anywhere near kids after that.

I won't turn into Mother, Wanda. I'd rather die.

Her partner drops the subject after that, but there's a noticeable increase of sad looks thrown her way.

Both Nicholas and the Sorcerer Supreme try to talk her around, but she won't hear anything of it.

She chooses, instead, to ask Wanda if she'd be willing to move somewhere quiet with her.

Away from the city.

They're nearing their forty-sixth birthdays, though they don't look a day over twenty-five, and they're been in each other's lives for close to two decades now.

Somehow Wanda can tell Agatha won't stay, with or or without her girlfriend, and so she agrees.

They pack up, and Agatha lets her magic guide her to somewhere that will be healing for her.

She's tired of ignoring how broken she feels.

Wanda pops the question around their little campfire one night, weeks into their travels.

The band is simple, made of strong silver, and matches none of the gold jewelry that Agatha prefers.

My color. Wanda had explained. Because a part of me will always belong to you. But I also bought a gold one. I'll be happy to have either.

Agatha accepts the silver one.

She likes the idea of it standing out in its simplicity.

And she equally likes the idea of Wanda wearing a marital ring in her color.

There's no need for witnesses when they have magic, and when Wanda shows Agatha how much she had delved into the history of witches' marriage rites, she can't help but kiss her, laying her flat on the ground.

But Wanda won't let Agatha show her proof of her love for the red headed witch, instead, insisting on continuing to wait to tie the knot.

The consummation of our vows may not be affected by our purity. She had murmured. But I always thought it was sweet, to save yourself. It's like a gift you give to your love, unique entirely because it's your first.

Agatha would not deny Wanda of her desire.

They marry the next day, calling down on the Goddess as their witness, and She must have been paying more attention than they could have anticipated, because when they perform the magic of the ritual, an unseen, yet unbreakable bond forms, and they realize that they have found their soulmate within one another.

Wanda's magic swirls joyfully, always more powerful with her emotions, and Agatha tilts her head back and moans as Wanda kisses her way down her neck.

There is only one person Agatha will be truly vulnerable to.

They find themselves settling in what will one day be known as Colorado, and they slowly begin to build a life with just the two of them.

Magic pushes at Agatha to build more than the cozy little home she and Wanda so painstakingly created, and they find their days filled with farming and construction, until it feels like they live in a ghost village.

It clicks, one day, when the peaceful quiet is broken by the sounds of travelers.

Agatha feels a rush of panic.

She recognizes them, though they are all much older since she's last seen them, and there are many new, young faces.

Their leader is surprised.

Agatha Harkness? 

Cheryl Winston. 

Agatha greets the elderly witch mother in a flat tone.

And then Wanda steps forward, her hand protectively laying against Agatha's waist and asks why there appears to be a whole coven misplaced.

Their tale is a long one.

Magic had guided them here.

Agatha welcomes them to what she on the spot calls New Salem and helps them settle into the empty homes she and Wanda have spent months building.

Cheryl, someone who Agatha had picked up had a great deal of animosity towards her mother while Evanora Harkness had been living, requests to talk to Agatha privately.

Agatha is astounded to discover Mother had not been exaggerating all those years ago when she had told Agatha of Atlantis, and of the blood that flows through her veins.

She's outright shocked when Cheryl bows her head and clasps a fist over her heart and swears Agatha as her queen.

She finds magic speaking for her.

She accepts, and somehow, she becomes leader of a safe haven for witchkind overnight.

Cheryl suggests she changes the name of the village to New Atlantis.

One day, it will once more be a thriving queendom. Pay homage to our past.

Agatha doesn't fully trust the elderly witch, but she takes her advice.

Agatha unofficially appoints her as her advisor as well.

Mother. She confesses to Cheryl the next day. Only once ever told me of my birthright.

She does not go into the details, but Agatha is certain it must be well known within the coven circles by now that she had single handedly killed hers.

Wanda is the one who holds Agatha together during the adjustment period.

Agatha finds that she despises being treated the way Cheryl's coven seems to think a queen should be, and she equally despises that the only way to get them to stop is to quite literally lay down the law.

She begins to suffer from routine anxiety attacks.

I don't want this, Wans. I'm scared.

And Goddess bless her wife, Wanda simply holds her through it all, kisses her gently, and reassures her.

Leadership will not be the thing to turn you cruel. She whispers. As long as you remember that your power was given to you by your people, and that it lies in their happiness and well-being.

More covens follow the first, as does the odd lone witch, and both Cheryl and Wanda insist they swear a basic oath of peace to the queen.

To Agatha.

Most eventually swear an oath deeper than that, after living in New Atlantis for some time, and Agatha never stops hating the words of obedience to the crown that fall from their lips.

And then Nicholas arrives, throwing the now bustling town into panic when he steps through the sling ring portal.

Agatha makes a note that New Atlantis will need a place for unconventional travelers to arrive and depart from, even as she hugs the man she had once saved when he was just a small child.

The Sorcerer Supreme has asked that I extend an invitation on their behalf to write up a treaty between New Atlantis and the Sanctums.

Cheryl had started to say something unkind about sorcery and Agatha immediately shut it down.

I have used sorcery every day for decades now, and the Supreme is a long time friend. I would be very pleased to have a treaty between our people. 

It's a simple thing, and quickly written up and signed.

New Atlantis gains its first ally.

Cheryl's initial prediction comes to pass as the years move along, and by the time Agatha speaks a eulogy for her at a state funeral, New Atlantis is a vibrant queendom.

New Salem, the original village that had started it all, is its capital city, with sprawling towns that had grown around it.

Agatha and Wanda still live in their cozy home, but several families willingly relocated in order to create a big enough plot of land for a proper palace.

It had not been a Agatha Approved plan, but it had been a state one.

Agatha is very firm about it being a place of work only.

I have no want of such a large, empty home. I have enough ghosts, and there is no need to give them the space to roam. She vents to Wanda.

And then there's an assassination attempt, and the people will not be ignored any longer.

They want to feel that their queen is safe.

She is forced to move into the palace.

She feels spiteful over it, and informs only Wanda that she'll be gone for a week.

She goes to stay at the New York Sanctum.

Nicholas is over the moon to have her nearby for that time.

I miss seeing you in person, Ma.

I am no one's mother, Nick.

She doesn't mention how it's slowly becoming a point of contention between her and Wanda.

Wanda, she is discovering, desperately would like a child, and seems to think Agatha will make for a great parent.

Mother's ghost haunts her, and she rolls her shoulders in an attempt to dispel the phantom pain that pulls at her back.

It doesn't make it worse so Agatha will count it as a victory.

When the week is up, she returns to her new home, and feels significantly more prepared to overcome the change.

Which is to say, she's no longer feeling spiteful enough to abuse her position or power.

It scares her, that it was even a remote possibility, but Wanda soothes away her fears, reminds Agatha that she had done the healthy thing and taken the space and time she had needed.

Reminds her that the people may have raised her above as their queen, but that she is still very human, and is allowed the flaws of her humanity.

Her wife deserves the world, and she tells her as such, and gets a laugh in response.

Her wife is also a manipulative little shit, and Agatha one day finds a young child running around their private quarters.

I told Nicholas we'd foster a kid.

I won't use a child as a test run, Wanda.

Of course not. There are no test runs. You either do, or you don't.

Agatha hates how easily she gets pulled into the kid’s orbit, and she hates how Aunt Agatha sounds the same way coming from them as Mama would.

Their name is Gial and they're four.

By the time they're eighteen, Agatha has allowed them to use her surname, and she has given up trying to insist that they are not her child.

Nicholas is very smug about the whole thing, because he finally won his right to call himself her son as well.

It didn't seem very fair to Agatha to let Gial call themselves her child and not Nicholas.

Not when he had been the first.

And so in the space of a decade Agatha gained two children of her own, though neither of them call her Mama or are of her bloodline.

Agatha finally agrees to try for a baby and Wanda is over the moon.

I have not become Mother. She tells herself. And I will not become her in the future. I won't allow it.

The fear is still bone deep, and she hides her growing panic.

And then she tests positive.

The night she does, she dreams.

Had you meant it?

Even after all these years, something instinctive in Agatha shrinks back from the sound of her mother's voice.

Had you meant it when you said you were no daughter of mine?

Yes. She had.

Really? Because I see a strong daughter of House Harkness, leading as is her natural birthright and legacy.

Agatha may be older now, but she finds herself scrambling for a response like she's a child all over again.

Father was a Harkness before he married you.

Mother frowns, and Agatha flinches back.

Mother frowning was never a good thing, though she had done it constantly.

The Harkness line, as all bloodlines of witchcraft, is matriarchal.

I don't care!

Agatha shouts, long buried fear and anger rushing through her.

I am not your daughter. Let New Atlantis have a new bloodline. I've yet to bear a child and it's not too late for me to take Wanda's name. You think I won't do anything to have your legacy die with you? You were cruel, and vicious, and you don't deserve to be remembered.

The dream swirls around her and it makes her head spin.

She's yanked through warped memories.

Agatha wakes up screaming.

Wanda won't let her discard the Harkness name.

Like it or not, it has too much meaning now. She says. Create a new legacy instead. A brighter, happier one. You're already doing that, even if you haven't realized it yet.

When Agatha goes into labor and gives birth, she does not name her daughter after anyone.

She and Wanda had poured over lists of names and had settled on Claire Elizabeth.

Claire, Wanda had come up with, had said it could mean bright or shining, and they had agreed that it was fitting to name their daughter after their shared joy.

Elizabeth had just… Naturally attached itself to the first name.

Wanda had been happy to inform Agatha that it had roots in her own heritage, that it was derived from the name Elisheva, and Agatha wouldn't trade the beaming smile Wanda had given her in that moment for the world.

Agatha refuses to allow New Atlantis to even catch an official glimpse of her daughter, wishing to protect all of their privacy, until two years later, marking another decade’s pass since she had been crowned queen.

The celebrations start an hour before the little princess’s bedtime, and the cheerful goodnight wishes sound out through the cool night air as both Agatha and Wanda slip inside to tuck their daughter in.

Gial had kindly offered to stay overnight so that Agatha and Wanda could both stay and partake in the celebrations, and once they're sure everything is fine and settled, they return to resounding cheers.

Nearly two and a half years later, Wanda gives birth to their second daughter, and this one is named after those who have passed.

Evalyn, for a part of Agatha still loves her mother, and for the grandmother Wanda has only heard stories of, and Grace, for a father she had never met.

What's a sibling name? Wanda had asked.

Fuck if I know. Agatha had replied. But I like it.

Wanda had startledly laughed at her wife's use of crude language and agreed the name was suiting.

Claire Elizabeth modeled her Big Sister role to Evalyn Grace after how Gial and Nicholas treated her, but she also took cues from her Mama and Ima.

We're raising a good kid. Agatha realizes.

We sure are. Wanda gives her cheek a kiss, and Agatha wraps her arms tighter around her wife.

There's a bit of a fight between Agatha and her people as her girls grow older and they start throwing around the phrase an heir and a spare because neither of her daughters will be seen as lesser than the other, and neither of them will have a crown forced upon their heads should they not want it.

Agatha hadn't wanted it.

She greatly looks forward to retirement.

And then Wanda, half unplanned, half planned, gets Agatha pregnant again, nearly ten years after Evalyn Grace was born, and they welcome Celeste Camille into their family.

Gial brings their husband with them to meet the little infant, and Nicholas pops in for the day.

The Sorcerer Supreme is absent, and Agatha misses her oldest friend dearly, but today is a day of joy and celebration, and not one of mourning.

Agatha has done enough mourning in her long life, and today she is surrounded by her family.

Hey, Ma. Nicholas grins easily as he reaches for his new baby sister.

I just spent a day and a half in labor and you choose to bully me?

Gial’s marriage is still fresh, and their husband looks a bit out of his depth, so Agatha gestures that Celeste Camille should be passed to him.

You're family now, hon. She tells him, and he nervously grins as he immediately starts gently bouncing in order to rock the small infant in his arms.

Gial beams at her, and Agatha can sense a bone crushing hug in her near future.

And then Wanda decides it's okay for her to co-opt the hospital bed Agatha is in for her recovery, and she finds herself distracted trying to shove her wife off.

Children. Claire Elizabeth shakes her head disapprovingly, turning towards Evalyn Grace. Our parents are children.

Evalyn Grace giggles and agrees, and an emotion Agatha can't place settles on top of her chest.

Wanda pulls her close, tucking her underneath her head and pressing a kiss to the top of her skull.

Lucky. Agatha decides. I feel lucky.

She's surrounded by her family, her children and she has not become her mother.

She is now confident she won't ever become like her.

And she feels lucky that Wanda hadn't given up on her, that Nicholas had pushed and pushed, that Gial had come into their lives, and that between the three of them, Agatha had found within herself the bravery to have her own children, to make it a conscious decision instead of something that just happened through circumstance.

She smiles against Wanda's chest.

She has five wonderful, caring children.

She feels warmth spread through her at the thought.

Agatha has always known she had wanted to be a mother.

And here she is.

[im-a-matt-girl]

Omg can you do another fic but with matt and reader having to go to the hospital so she could give birth

sure ♡

"I can't wait to have this baby," I sigh as I lie down next to you in our bed for the night. I can barely get comfortable anymore; my belly is so big, and sleeping in certain positions hurts me.

You rub my arm comfortingly and give me a small kiss on my head. "I'm sorry you passed your due date, Honey," you tell me.

"It's okay, it's not your fault," I smile. "Boys take longer than girls to come out." I was supposed to give birth three days ago, but nothing happened. We have an overnight bag ready to go, just in case.

You hold my hand in yours and kiss it, looking into my eyes. "I love you," you say, slightly pouting your lips like you want a kiss.

"I love you, too," I reply, pressing my lips against yours. "Good night."

"Good night," you whisper, cocooning yourself in one of the blankets on our bed.

I rest my hand on my belly, feeling the baby squirming around inside of me. It's such a strange sensation, but it's wonderful beyond belief. I fall asleep dreaming about what he'll look like when he finally comes out.

Suddenly, a sharp pain rips through the entire lower half of my body, waking me up completely. I feel like I've been run over by a steam roller. It stops for a minute, but then it happens again, causing me to let out an involuntary wail in pain.

You sit straight up in bed, and you look at me with wide eyes. "Are you okay?" you ask me.

"The baby is coming," I gasp. The pain is almost unbearable. I can't focus on anything else.

You jump out of bed and grab your keys, putting them into the pocket of your pajama pants. You come over to my side of the bed and try to help me up. "Can you stand up?" you ask me earnestly.

I try, but I fall back down onto the bed in a sitting position. "No," I shake my head, holding back tears. Everything feels wet where I'm sitting. "I'm sorry, I think my water broke."

"Don't worry about that," you tell me, gently brushing my hair out of my face. "You don't have to apologize. Should I call an ambulance?"

I nod as another wave of pain washes over me. Everything is a blur as I wait for the ambulance to arrive. I wanted you to drive me, but there might not be enough time. I need help as soon as possible. I just hope that nothing goes wrong.

Everything in the hospital is a blur, too. All I can think about is the pain, and getting this baby out of me so that I can hold him in my arms. Unfamiliar faces come and go - doctors and nurses who want to see the miracle of birth - but you remain by my side, holding my hand. I am unspeakably grateful for you.

The doctor tells me to push, and I feel like I already am. She tells me to push harder, and I feel like I'm going to explode. She tells me to push as hard as I can, and I give it everything I've got. "Good job, mom," the doctor announces as my pain finally begins to subside.

"He's here!" you marvel quietly.

Only then do I hear the tiniest baby cry in the world. He kind of sounds like a kitten.

The doctor hands me our son, and it is only then that I begin to cry. He is the most beautiful baby I've ever seen in my whole life. "Hi, Cody!" I greet him.

He cries in response. That's all he can do for now.

"He's hungry," the doctor tells me. "He just did a lot of work. You did, too."

Your hand ever so delicately strokes Cody's tiny head. "He's so soft!" you whisper, a gasp escaping your mouth.

I look up at you, and I notice the tears in your eyes, but I say nothing about them. "I love you," I tell you, wiping my own tears away from my face with my wrist. I can't believe all of my dreams are coming true. I love being part of your family.

[nightrestrp]

With that, we conclude season 2! We’re currently working on season 3 and we understand that the recent (multiple hehe) self-paras, plot drops and the big reveal can be a lot to deal with so we encourage everyone to take all the time they need. Your mental and emotional health is important to us so if you’re in need of a hiatus, we completely understand! Just please let us know.

I can honestly say this has been our best season so far and I want to take this moment to applaud my fellow admin, Jasmine, for all the hard work she did with her character, and not only for sticking to the storyline, but also for moving it along. This season wouldn't have been as great a success without her dedication and talent. Additionally, I'd like to thank Jasmine and Idalis for all the help with the main this season. Thank you both for your continued dedication to this group and I appreciate you both so much ❤️

Fair warning, this post will be a little long because all updates to end this season will be stated here!

Moving forward, we understand that it can be a big change for a lot of characters so if anyone would like to drop characters or switch one for another or edit anything about your current ones, you’re more than welcome to do so! Just shoot the main a message since we’ll be updating the pages today and tomorrow, and will be going back to our regular schedule of acceptances (Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays). As of right now, you may apply for up to TWO ADDITIONAL MUSES, but this will be on a case by case basis, depending on your activity. The only thing we’re asking is for you to only take on the number of characters you’re sure you can handle. You're more than welcome to send in the apps now!

Like at the start of Season 2, we’ll be having a FACE CLAIM RESET, which means that all face claims of all characters who have died prior to the season finale will be reopened. This means that all the face claims of all characters who died during the Season 1 finale will also be reopened. You may check our TAKEN PAGE to see the updated list of everyone currently taken!

We've added a couple of rules to our RULES PAGE so please go over them!

We’re also asking everyone to UNFOLLOW ALL ACCOUNTS AND ONLY REFOLLOW THE ONES THE MAIN CONTINUES TO FOLLOW, because the main will no longer follow dead/retired/killer characters’ blogs moving forward, though all self-paras will still be linked in the timeline page!

Also, this is over a week late but HAPPY SIX MONTHS of Nightrest being open! I can't believe we've been open for over half a year, and this is another cause for celebration. I'm genuinely so, so, so grateful for everyone here, for the dedication to this group and the plot and all your characters and I can't wait to see what the next season will bring!

When it comes to IN CHARACTER INFORMATION, here a few things to take note of:

We are now in real time. The engagement party happened on July 22nd, and it’s been a week since then. You're free to write threads that happened any time between the end of the event until now, or continue your event threads, or start new for the new season. It's all up to you!

People still don’t know who owns the nightrestanonymous Instagram account that tagged Azra and it hasn’t been active since.

It’s now common and accepted knowledge that Adee was the killer and holds responsibility for all deaths and injuries since Enzo was locked up and Kennedy & Peter were killed. You may have your characters wonder if Jake's involvement was greater than just Adee's death, but there will be no proof of that. You may also have your characters wonder if there were more people secretly involved (there weren’t, but you know, curious minds).

Jacob is currently locked up, but won’t be facing that long a sentence. You may check the SEASON 2 TIMELINE page to see which killer was responsible for which death/injury!

I truly hope everybody’s having a great day/night and I’ll be around for the rest of the day if anyone has any questions!