#rio x oc!reader

[nobodygetsza]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖨𝖨

〘 Lҽxιʂ Mαƙιαԋ Aʂ Sԋαɳιყαԋ Rσʂʂ 〙

〘 Mҽʅʋιɳ Hσʅʅαɳԃ Jɾ Aʂ JαႦαɾι Sιɱɱσɳʂ 〙

． ＊ ꙳ ✦ ⊹ＦＥＡＴＵＲＩＮＧ...

〘 Rҽɠιɳα Kιɳɠ Aʂ Tαɳια Cαɱҽɾσɳ 〙

〘 Mσɾɾιʂ Cԋҽʂƚɳυƚ Aʂ Mιƈԋαҽʅ Cαɱҽɾσɳ 〙

〘 Qυҽɳιʂԋα Qιαɳα Aʂ Aʋαɳι Mαɾƚιɳҽȥ 〙

〘 Cԋɾιʂƚιɳα Hҽɳԃɾιƈƙʂ Aʂ Bҽƚԋ Bσʅαɳԃ 〙

〘 Mαҽ Wԋιƚɱαɳ Aʂ Aɳɳιҽ Mαɾƙʂ 〙

〘 Rҽƚƚα Aʂ RυႦყ Hιʅʅ 〙

[nobitchs-world]

Me after explaining the multiverse of different people and characters where I have different ocs in my head to my sisters

[blvefilm]

Her Shadow

Word Count: 1010

Warnings: death? 

Summary: What if Lady Death’s very essence split in two when she went against her nature to give Nicky more time?

Part two Here!

1750

I am born of darkness, pulled violently into the light. 

My existence has always been an echo of Rio’s, her emotions my own. A whisper within her grief, her rage. My very substance is formed by her thoughts and memories. I am nothing but a silent flicker in her periphery. 

Then, torn from a void, I become.

I am ripped from the cocoon of perpetual night in the dark corner of her mind and into somewhere bright and sharp, exposed. Somewhere I am separate. A distinct figure standing behind her slouched form. Like a knotted string unraveling, I find myself...aware. Present. 

My form, real and substantial, is shrouded in shadows that reach toward Rio and caress her skin. They waver against the air like smoke and I extend an arm, then marvel at the movement as they swirl to cling to me once more. 

She shivers amongst the dirt at my ghostly touch, the shadows and I are driven by the need to remain near her. To protect and guide her. Her emotions still infiltrate my mind, my own bouncing back to hers until there is an infinite circuit tethering our thoughts. She knows what I am, and I know her. We remain silent as her sorrow and pain thumps like a heartbeat through us. I shift to her level, clumsy and without grace, to wrap myself and my darkness around her- willing it to cloak her in comfort as it does me. 

Unfamiliar sensations press on my senses and there is a bittersweet longing to collapse back into her soul teetering with the thrill of being. The force that tore me free pulses through me, a divine knowing of the intentions of my creation. 

I am Umbra, shadow-born, tethered and free.

And as I accept this existence, the threads between us hum in harmony. I may be separate, but I will never be far.

1753

It’s strange to look back at the beginning, when everything felt so raw. I’d grown in the years that followed my birth. We stumbled initially, but we have found our rhythm. 

As Rio’s confidence in me grew- so did I. 

I was able to stretch my limbs, alter my appearance, and even manipulate the darkness around me. I became more than her shadow; I became her confidante, her spy, a silent protector, and an ally in her darkest moments. 

Our connection deepened as we faced everything together. Even the morose visits where she hovers around the witch and our son like a noose around a delicate throat. The witch that convinced Rio to venture from her intended nature. The witch who, I suppose, I owe my existence to. For it was that decision that tore Rio in two. 

The more time she gives the boy, the more she diverts from her nature, the more my urge grows to discover my identity beyond Rio’s presence. A simmering curiosity that calls me to wander, leave her side and savor the quiet. The sensation of wind against my skin and dirt beneath my feet made me feel whole. 

In those moments I felt a life, not borrowed, but my own. 

1756

The forest looms around Rio and I, illuminated by the green torch light fisted in her hand. I remain silent, rarely having to speak my thoughts when I share fragments of her soul. We both knew we had allowed this too long. I was meant to be the one to guide her toward balance, born of her indecision. 

But over the years I grew fond of the brunette pair as well. 

I remain a cloak of darkness around her shoulders, rarely exposing myself as a separate being to others. Grief, rage, fondness, love, and heartbreak swirl between us in a torturous cycle as Nicky kisses his mother’s cheek before approaching us. Rio takes his hand with a bitter smile, and I stretch a limb from the darkness to run a hand comfortingly through his hair. 

He knows I am here, we have visited him many nights as he aged in the hope that it wouldn’t cause him fear when the time finally came. He never showed an ounce of it. Rio and I both speculate it’s due to his heritage. He is technically born of both of us. 

Walking him across the bridge and to the other side was my least favorite feeling so far.

1943

Our little witch has kept us busy over the years. I tire of the bubbling ache in my chest that thuds in time with Rio’s own, but here we stand. I remain at Rio’s back, clinging to her figure like a second skin as my darkness curls around her. 

The shriveled bodies of another coven stare back at us, mouths agape in silent accusation. Their souls, like many others, rise with pleading sobs and furious curses. It’s rare we find a soul ready to cross over, especially in Agatha’s path. 

“She’s escalating.” Rio murmurs when the silence of the forest greets us once more.

I emerge from her, a gust of smoke caught in the wind, and piece myself together in the form I’ve grown fond of. “She mourns.” 

She waves a clawed hand toward the corpses, they rot away to reveal bone and grit as the grass around them eats them up. Purple flowers and fungi sprout from the misshapen lumps in the otherwise smooth Earth in a macabre tribute to her love. 

"So do we," she whispers.

I don’t yet understand the bloodied chains that tether my Rio to Agatha, despite the quiet fondness that has sprouted within me. I imagine it must be something like our bond. Both parts of one soul that has been cleaved in two- each in an infinite dance with the other.

I sway toward her, wrapping my arms around her neck in a tender embrace. I imagine us both to be tall and sturdy like the thick trunks of the trees that surround us. I will that same knowing into our connection and press a featherlight kiss to her cheek.

[polaris-likethestar]

you once called me forever (now you still cant call me back)

hiii hi i present yall with a modern-day second-person fic ab trying to get over agatha by going on dating apps but realizing nothing ever adds up to what she had w agatha (was written for rio x agatha but could work for reader x agatha too)

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

𝑨𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒇𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆

You knew you couldn’t live without her. You knew you loved her. It was hard saying goodbye. You remember her tear stained face screaming at you, cursing your name and calling you crazy. Come to think of it, you are a bit crazy. It's okay though. Because she loved that. She loved your chaos, your possessiveness, your everything.

Agatha Harkness. It was an elegant name if anything, sounded almost royal maybe. Not crazy. No, a “crazy girl” name was something more like yours. But names didn’t really matter. Whether or not you look or sound like a crazy girl didn’t really matter.

Because she was just as crazy. Maybe not just as, because she was contained and controlled, but she was pretty close. She was the only one who ever matched your crazy, the only one who really knew you. You were never one for forever but she made you change your mind. That was scary. But she made your life one worth living. Witches are not typically “socially accepted” or whatever, and you expected your life to be spent in hiding. But she changed that. She changed your perspective on everything. She changed you.

So, when everything fell apart, it was only natural that you’d want to get back together. But you knew you didn’t deserve it, you knew she didn’t want it. No. You knew she did want it. That’s even worse. Because you hurt her and she knows that and she still loves you and you love her but you can’t have her. You have her love, her affection, but not her. Not again. Never again. There was no finding someone else, that would be rare. It’s hard enough finding someone who’s genuinely into you even after learning all the stupid, unhinged habits you have and it's even harder finding someone who’s not gonna question why you look the same in twenty five years.

'𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏 𝑲𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏' 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

But, for now, it couldn’t hurt to try.

So, you go out to bars and clubs. You download dating apps. You do everything in your power to move on. You know it’s not gonna happen but it’s worth a try. You show pretty girls to your cat, Fredrick - otherwise known as Freddy (with a y) - and whether or not he hisses at the picture is an indication as to if said pretty girl is worth it or not. Typically all your getting is hisses. Even Fredrick knows those girls are never gonna measure up to her (although you suspect Freddy had something going on with Señor Scratchy, but hey, who are you to judge?)

So, ultimately, you start messaging a girl named Ari. She’s pretty, a few years older than you put on your dating profile (which is 35) and likes fishing. What a boring hobby, you think. What’s the point of sitting on a rock with a big stick poking at sea creatures who never did anything except just exist. Whatever, she seems pretty chill though. She likes emojis. Typically uses the kissy faces whenever she’s trying to flirt. Agatha used to do that. You used to find it cute, endearing but now it just seems corny. Still, it’s good for you to get out. So you schedule a date. Just a cute little cafe, 2pm. You find yourself not caring all that much how you look, but you try to put into the effort anyways. Agatha would say you looked good no matter what. But this isn’t Agatha, is it?

So you show up. Go on the date. She’s nice, funny, perfectly fine. But you don’t want perfectly fine do you? No, you want someone who would be your alibi when you go and kill someone in cold blood because you were bored. You want someone who call you pretty with said person’s blood smeared all over your face.

But also, you want someone who would stay up laughing with you until three in the morning, holding you when you’re sad and telling you that you’re worth more than you let yourself believe you are. That you’re not a bad person. That you’re worth loving.

But enough with the self pity. Ari was obviously not the one for you, so, onto the next date.

𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏' 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 '𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒄 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝑪𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒔

The next girl was named Dorothy. Dot for short. Like, a polka dot. Who names themself after a polka dot? She does, you suppose. Still, you call her Dorothy in your head. This one is into yoga. Hate to break to you, but you’re 41 and have been at this for 13 years. If you’re not flexible now, it’s not happening any time soon - or anytime in general. You laugh at your silly little jokes, Agatha would think they’re funny. She always thought you were funny.

You meet her at a park. It’s really awkward. She’s not as sociable as Ari, who, as non interesting as she was, at least she tried. This time you were doing all the talking. Acting as if you even wanted to be there. You faked a job interview halfway through, excusing yourself from the conversation. I mean, hey, a girls gotta work, right? (And you totally have been working this whole time, not living in the old apartment of one of your now-unalive victims.)

Agatha would have kept your interest. You would’ve canceled the stupid job interview to hang out with her in some dirty park. But that’s not an option anymore, is it? So, one last try, you decide. One more girl. One more try. Just one can't hurt....right?

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒎, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒎 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒉𝒐𝒍 '𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔

This next girl is named Leena. She likes art. Art is pretty cool, you suppose. It’s pretty cool. Better than provoking innocent animals or having unrealistic body goals, You ignore the fact that she looks a lot like Agatha. You also ignore the fact that the other two girls looked a bit like Agatha as well. Surely, it’s just coincidental. Right?

Not like you base beauty standards around your ex because why would do that? Not like every time you see someone who you’d consider beautiful you think “not beautiful like her” Not like you even think about her because why would you do that. You have no reason to do that.

Whatever. It’s whatever, is what it is.

The date is definitely the best - and it lowkey sucked. You went to some breakfast diner. She was talkative, the conversation flowed, she was even funny. Had a sarcastic, even dark, sense of humor. She was, hypothetically, your type.

Which is what sucked the most. Because she was everything you would have wanted into a girl. But still, you don’t want her.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔

No, you want the girl you spent the last half century loving. You want the girl who knew all your bad habits, your hopes and your dreams, who made you feel like you feel as if perfect as you were, as if you didn’t need to change. You don’t want these other girls who’s name you can’t even remember - what was the last girl, Layla? - you want Agatha. She’s not just any girl, she’s your girl. Was. She was you girl. She said she’d love you forever.

That turned out to be a lie.

Still, you think, maybe someday it will work out. Someday you two would meet again and you could be happy together. Someday everything would be okay. It doesn’t matter that all the signs are pointing to the fact that you two just very obviously aren’t meant to work. You could make it work. You would move the earth and the oceans with your bare hands for a chance to make it work. Because love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a reason. For living, for laughing, for crying, for everything. The reason behind you - behind anyone - getting up out of bed each day isn’t because you have to. It’s because of love. So you can find something you love, so you can do something you love. So you can see someone you love. Touch them. Hold them.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛, you wanted to tell her. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑟𝑒.

Maybe someday you’d get to tell her that.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐

But today was not that day.

[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter 5: Circulus Insutus Fato, Portas Abditas Resera)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

October 1710

There is no amount or combination of words sufficient enough to capture the true horror of war. Even those who avoid the front face of conflict are subject to the cruelty and tragedy that befalls men at arms. There is heartbreak, sorrow, and a pain so immense that it blankets the battlefield and all that surrounds it like a straitjacket, constricting everything until it chokes both sides of the conflict and creates suffering. 

I had not truly known suffering like that. Not even when I left Salem behind in pursuit of a nobler calling, one that would hopefully allow me to one day return to Agatha Harkness and offer her a solution. At the time, I could only assume that she had remained in Salem, carving out her own place in the town and wreaking havoc on those who dared to get in her way. From what I could gather, based on the cries of newsboys from Boston to Philadelphia, the Witch Trials had come to an end, the town nearly destroyed by their own paranoia. It made me wonder just how much influence Agatha had gained in just a few short months, made me try to recall if I could have had the opportunity to see the signs of her inevitable descent into power mongering. 

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to think that she had done so willingly. The love that I had for her remained, despite my best efforts to suppress it. At night, I dreamed of the days we spent together, when there was no barrier between us, no coven driving a wedge between her and her potential for good. Those memories would bring on what ifs that were as blissful as the feeling of her touch on my skin. What if we had left Salem before her mother had found us out? What if I had told her of my love for her before it was too late? What if we could have been happy simply being together, with no magic to get in the way?

"Lots on your mind this morning, eh, Ms. Stuart?" 

My thoughts were abruptly cut off by the voice of the man I was traveling with. Looking over at him from the back of my horse, I smiled wistfully and nodded. Dr. Rupert Kingsley was a rather handsome and kind young man, who came straight off the boat from London proper, with wide, dark eyes and light brown hair the shade of molten bronze. Had my interests been aligned with his, I likely would have married him as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but he was well aware that our paths were parallel to each other, never meant to cross but rather to guide each other to the right destination. So, as a talented young physician, with no ward or servant, he accepted me as an unofficial student and permitted me to travel with him as he moved from Boston northward along the coast of the colonies and into the wilds of French-controlled Acadia. 

"There's always a lot on my mind, Dr. Kingsley. Today though, the thoughts are just a tad bit louder than usual." I replied, tightening the grip on my reins. My gaze fell from the doctor to my hands, buried in the black mane of my mare.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Rupert said solemnly, "But I'm afraid you're going to have to silence them. There's no place for loud thoughts on the battlefield. If you want to be a doctor, and I know you do, you have to calm your mind and senses. Leave no room for distractions, they only lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death." 

"Of course."

We did not speak again after that, instead allowing the silence to be filled by the beat of our horses' hooves beneath us as we urged them forward to a lively trot and continued on the path northward. It had been a week since we had crossed into Acadia, and with Lieutenant-General Nelson on the move with nearly 2,000 men intent on laying siege to the French at Port Royal, we had little time for dawdling.

The troops were meant to make landfall at their destination any day now, a cohort of doctors and their associates not far behind. From there, it was simply the task of removing the French, an objective that had proven surprisingly difficult for the British forces as of late. But the British were unwilling to cave, which was why Dr. Kingsley thought it the perfect opportunity to 'break me in' to the world of mortal medicine. I was thankful that he remained blissfully unaware of my magic, the late nights spent practicing healing spells on wounded animals or patients that had come into his Boston office seeking extended treatment.

In combination with his medical prowess, I found that my magic was sufficient enough to reduce treatment time by nearly half, even with the most basic of spells. And while my power continued to fluctuate with the phases of the moon, I came to the discovery that at different phases, my spells reacted differently with the wounds and diseases they came into contact with. During a dark moon, I might be able to stop a person's vomiting with a simple digestive potion, but the same potion would have no effect on a patient with the same symptom if the moon was waning or it might make matters worse if administered during the full moon. Trial and error, as crude as it may sound, was the only way I was able to make any headway. The results of said experiments were all jotted down in a small black leather book that was tucked in the belt around my waist, a protective rune hidden just under the cover, making it impossible for anyone but myself to read its contents. 

Kingsley thought nothing of it, mostly because he didn't know that I had anything to do with sudden improvement or worsening of conditions amongst his patients. I intended to keep it that way for as long as I could, or at the very least until the end of this war that Queen Anne was so insistent upon waging. 

We trotted onward, surrounded on either side by pine trees and fog, dense and chilling in the early autumn air. The sun was hidden behind a heavy layer of gray clouds, the smell of petrichor hung over us warning of the impending autumnal rains that were sure to hit the shore at any time. The encampment for doctors and their associates was just past the bend in the road ahead, supposedly nestled amongst the pines beside the sheer cliffs of the Acadian shoreline. The not-so-distant sound of crashing waves roared and receded in its powerful, natural rhythm as we trotted on.

As we moved to the right of the road to take the bend, I felt a sudden presence, ancient and dark, reaching out to me from within the darkness beneath the trees. I tugged on the reins, bringing my mount to a halt as I scanned my surroundings. Under my breath, I muttered, "Mater divina me defendat hodie." 

A seductive chuckle echoed in my ear, though I couldn't tell what direction it came from. My head began to swivel back and forth, trying to find the source, only stopping when I came face-to-face with a woman dressed in hues of black and green. The cloak she wore seemed to fade into wisps of smoke as she stood not but five feet from me, a crown that appeared to crafted from fossilized thorns and obsidian resting atop the hood she wore. She had an entertained half-smirk upon her darkly painted lips, her eyes deep brown as the earth as they met my hazel gaze. 

"Prayers aren't going to get you anywhere, princess. Not here, at least." she said with a bit of a laugh. My horse snorted and began to spook, shuffling away from the woman with a frightened snort. Not wanting to agitate her further, I slid from her back and let my boots land softly on the grass, keeping the reins in one hand as I tilted my head at the woman before me. 

"You seem... familiar to me, and yet I know I've never seen you before in my life." 

"I get that a lot." 

There was a change of the light for only a moment, but in that brief time, I saw that the attractive face of the woman in front of me had changed. The lower half of her skull was exposed, no sinew or flesh to cover it, no blood or muscle to keep it living and the exposure spread down to her throat, where her esophagus sat nestled between two walls of cartilage. Just as quickly as the change appeared, it reverted back, and recognition hit me like a wall of stone. 

"Lady Death." I whispered. 

She smirked again, "In the flesh." 

I should have been terrified, scared to... well, death. But there was something about her that told me there was no need for fear. She wasn't here for me. So why was she standing in front me now?

"Why reveal yourself to me?"

She shrugged and began to circle me and my horse slowly, "There's something about you... you're important. And as much as I hate having Lunar witches walking around, you need to stick around for a while."

"That’s not an answer."

"Are you sure?"

I glared at her. She continued to smile back. When I wouldn’t relent, her grin dropped and she rolled her eyes. 

"You do know that most Lunar witches don’t live longer than a century, right?"

"I’m aware I’m on a doomed path.” I replied, trying to mask the slight tremble of my voice with a sharp edge, “A Lunar witch comes around maybe once every three hundred years. They never live long enough to teach the next one. Though I know you’re well aware of that."

"And yet, here I am, telling you that you’re the odd woman out."

"Why? What do you have to gain from my survival?"

Death scoffed at me, as if the whole concept of existence was amusing to her, "Nothing, actually. I'll lose more than I gain with you in the picture. But greater forces in this universe seem insistent on keeping you alive, so alive you’ll stay for now. But I must say, I'm looking forward to checking in on you over the next few centuries." 

I paled, there was no way to hide it, "What do mean?" 

"You're going into war, Aislin!" she exclaimed, as if it weren't obvious, "My favorite stomping grounds! We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I wager. Though I'm sure you'll be sick of me soon enough." 

She stopped her circling and looked to me full on, the intensity of her earthy eyes feeling as though they could bury me beneath the soil with just a hard enough glance. The around me seemed to shift, the petrichor smell growing steadily stronger. With a final smile, she offered me a sultry wave and said, "Te veo." 

And suddenly, I was alone in the clearing.

--------------------------------------------------

The doctors that had been summoned to serve did not take kindly to women in their presence. Of course, they had to tolerate the caretakers who sacrificed their white linens to the spatters of blood and fragments of flesh, but to have a woman stand among them as a student of the art, was far less palatable. After all, women had no place amongst the respectable ranks of surgeons and physicians, nor did the Iroquois healers who offered their services as their own warriors joined the British forces gathering on the coast, though given the choice, I'd have taken care from the Cayuga over Charles Cromwell any day. 

Kingsley found me as I led my horse on foot through camp aimlessly with my saddle pack and bedroll tucked under my free arm. He had taken no notice of my sudden absence, nor had he been subject to a surprise meeting with Death herself, but simply kept on riding to camp, claiming his large-framed tent and a much smaller one beside it. 

"Ah, did you get lost, Miss Stuart?" he asked me with a charming grin, "Or were you simply taking in the scenery?" 

"A bit of both I suppose." I answered honestly. I took my horse to the hitching post and tied her there, allowing her access to the trough and a bale of fresh hay before turning back to the young doctor. "Have I missed anything?" 

He shook his head, "Nothing at all. Lieutenant-General Nelson won't make landfall 'til midday on the 'morrow, at which time we'll board a smaller vessel and cross the channel to wait for incoming wounded and dead. I should warn you though, this siege may take weeks, months even. You still have time to return to Boston-"

I held up a hand to silence him, sending a sharp glare his way, "As much as I respect your offer, Rupert, I simply must decline. Despite the maliciously loud whispers I've heard about this camp already, I am most certainly needed here, so here I will stay. I do not shy away from the sword when it is flashed in my face." 

Kingsley's grin softened in understanding, a small nod rocked his head back and forth, "Spoken like a true fellow of medical academia, Miss Stuart. I suggest you take the evening to study, and if you're so inclined, I'd write to your family. Simply because we bear the caduceus, it does not mean we are immune from cannon and gun fire. You'll find all you need for the night in your tent."

Overhead, the skies finally broke, the satisfying drip of rainfall pattering against the trees and the waxed canvas tents. A few of the horses snorted in discontent but continued to eat away at the hay in front of them. As the heavy drops landed on our shoulders and heads, chilling us to the bone, we gave each other a silent farewell and retreated beneath the cover of our tents for the night. While I had no doubt that Kingsley's tent boasted all the necessary equipment he would need for operations and examinations, not to mention cigars and cheap liquor to numb his mind to the horrors incoming, mine was much reserved, containing only a camp bed with several woolen blankets, a pair of white cover aprons, and a small bedside table with a pair of lit candles.

Rupert must have placed the small stack of parchment on the table, along with an inkwell and quill. There was no way the other doctors would have extended such kindness to me, not when they didn't even want me there. Heaving a loud sigh, I dropped my bedroll and saddle pack onto the ground at my feet. I slumped onto the camp bed and let my head fall into my hands, my interaction with Death replaying over and over again in my mind.

She had told me that I was important, though at the moment, I couldn't possibly see how. And the way she had looked at me, as though I were a fresh piece of bloodied meat and she was a ravenous wolf... it was unsettling, though I suppose she always intended to be. 

"Oh, Divine Mother, what have you gotten me into?" I whispered, so softly that even I could barely hear myself. I dropped my hands and let my eyes wander back to the parchment on the small wooden table. I don't know how long I sat there staring at it, but by the time I had come to the conclusion to write, the gentle shower outside had increased to a torrential downpour, the weight of the water pounding against the roof of the tent as I dipped the quill into the murky black ink. As I took hold of the topmost sheet, I paused, wondering if sending a letter would make any difference. But then I thought of her, and the doubt melted away. I put the quill to the parchment and began to write in my most elegant script. 

Darling Agatha,

I hope that this letter finds you in suitable spirits after we departed on such egregious terms. Not that I fear for your well-being; I know you are certainly capable of taking care of yourself. I write to inform you that I have undertaken a task most unbecoming for women of our talents and station, serving as the student and assistant of one Doctor Rupert Kingsley of Boston. We, in response to the request made by the British Crown, have joined a cohort of other physicians and surgeons at a posting in Acadia, not thirty miles from the French stronghold of Port Royal, and are awaiting the order to cross the channel to provide medical assistance during the attempted siege of the fort. 

Having not heard from you in well over a decade, I am certain that you did not intend to seek me out again, and in truth, I was hesitant to write. But I am told that we, like the soldiers who will march onto the shore, will be subject to the shock and awe of war, and at the risk of walking into the next world without having settled the grievances between us, I found the courage to pen this letter. 

You may no long care for me, you may no longer wish to think of me, but I think of you often. And I shall be thinking of you on the 'morrow, when cannons roar overhead and the blood of dying men coats my hands. I shall be thinking of the days we spent in the peaceful solitude of the forest, relishing in the quiet hours that we spent together. I shall be thinking of you not as someone I once knew, but as someone I know and care for. For a witch should never abandon her coven and I, in my own anger and fear, have abandoned you.

It is my hope that upon my, with any luck inevitable, survival, that we may cross paths again, and I will once again be able to relish in peace with you as we once did. Until then, I shall think of you, darling, and hope that you think of me. 

With all my love, 

Aislin Stuart

I set the quill down and folded the parchment carefully once the ink had dried. Muttering a simple sending incantation, I lifted the letter to the candle on the left and let one corner light, before repeating the gesture with the candle on the right. I gripped the parchment tight between my fingers as the flames inched closer to my hand until I could no longer hold it. As I released my grip, I whispered, "Agatha Harkness." 

The ashes scattered in an invisible wind, drifting beneath the canvas walls of the tent and carrying my message to wherever she was. I lay back on my bed, and started at the roof in the eerie quiet, only drifting off to sleep when thunder finally began to roll in.  

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🦇 — 5. RIO

A/N: had a dream about my man the other night so I guess that was his way of telling me that he misses me? We love delulu!!! Anyways thought this would be fun to actually write something on the line of thriller/spooky this time around. This is me making up for not writing part two’s to my other fall inspired prompt on this man way back when. Hope y’all enjoy this 🧡🫶🏽!!!

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: A Begs B to come explore an old house that they believe is haunted. B is hesitant, especially after hearing the scary tales A knows so much about.

*GIF + PHOTO DO NOT BELONG TO ME!

WARNINGS: some France slander, language & hints of sexual content.

<- read my previous October anthology prompt here.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Being in France for the month of October initially wasn’t the plan.

Khadijah and Rio ventured out here for a couple days for Khadijah’s birthday and for Rio to tie up some loose ends for business. What was supposed to be a four day trip turned into a much longer adventure.

“I know y’all done heard they got bed bugs out there, why are your asses staying out there longer?” Khadijah’s mother blurted into the FaceTime call.

Rio chuckled to himself by the mini bar, fixing himself something brown before entering the main living room part of the suite.

“Mom,” Khadijah hissed as she flicked through the channels, “this was a unexpected extended birthday trip.”

“Uh huh, sure it is.” The older woman said not entirely believing that, “Don’t think you can get cute on us and decide not to come back.”

“I’m already cute,” Khadijah modeled with extra shoulder as she sat on the tan couch while her mother brings the camera to show that she’s rolling her eyes.

“Well where do you think you get it from?”

“My father.”

“More like you got his smart mouth.” Khadijah’s mom comments, making her child hold up her finger to interject.

Now she loved her mom dearly but it was no secret that Khadijah was a daddy’s girl and her father’s favorite daughter despite what her two sisters thought. She was one of four children while her youngest sibling happened to be the only boy.

“Aw c’mon, don’t do Mr. Wells like that, especially if he’s not here to defend himself. Where is he anyway? It’s gotta be after 10:30 back home?” Rio came into frame, crouching behind Khadijah, who turned to peck his cheek before facing her phone once more.

The woman sighed, “where else? Working, working, working. I’ve been telling him he needs to slow down, he’s not some twenty year old no more. Lord knows it.”

Mr. Wells had a heart attack last year and had to have a stint put in. Rio’s never seen Khadijah’s so stressed before in his life and although the hardworking man had a good job with good insurance working for the city, they slammed him with some bills that Rio paid off. Which Mr. Wells wouldn’t let slide and already was in the process of paying back.

His choice, not Rio’s.

“He’s close to retirement and he loves supporting his family which is respectable.” Rio starts before joking, “once that happens then the both of you can come with us to Paris next time.”

“Uh uh. I’m never going over there, never had the desire to which is why I want y’all asses to get out of there fast!” Mrs. Wells’ large glasses come into frame now as she holds the phone at not the best angle, “I’d love to see Dubai or St. Lucia with Kayode, your father, and I guess your big headed brother can come too, Deej.”

Khadijah laughs, “yeah and he can bring Eliza too.”

“if I catch him even thinking about it, I’ll click my heels three times and send her bony ass right to hell.”

Laughter bubbles in Khadijah’s throat as she sends a teasing smile to Rio who winked back at his wife, knowing that neither of Khadijah’s parents were fond of their youngest child’s significant other. He was nineteen and found his supposed first love so it was evident that the pair were clingy and so in love with each other. They went to the same high school together, weren’t in the same cliques but ended up at the same community college and decided to give each other a try.

In shorter terms.

“We’ll make it happen,” Rio sighs as he comes around to plop down on the couch next to Khadijah, tossing a hand around the back of the couch, “minus Eliza right?”

“Damn straight,” Mrs. Wells humphed, “she can date somebody else’s son and boss them around for all i care. I just hope it’s over before thanksgiving.”

“Now Mom! Let’s not spread that negative energy for your birthday month, do you need some lavender and Kirk Franklin to keep your blood pressure down?”

The woman with the now bonnet secured around her micro locs fanned her hand, “I already had my session with Mr. Franklin around 7pm so hush! You know that’s what I’m wishing for and hoping you don’t wait around and decide to come back then.”

Khadijah blinks at Rio, who meets her stare. He had no plans of staying here longer than another few days, things got delayed and he offered to send Khadijah back to Detroit if that’s what she wanted but she had some vacation time that she didn’t mind using and she didn’t want to leave Rio behind either.

He’s been busy lately and she just knows as soon as they get back to Detroit, he’ll probably disappear for a little awhile again. So sue the woman if she wanted to be a little selfish and spend more time with her man.

“We’re gonna bring you something much better,” Rio smirks after taking a sip of his liquor, “maybe even a new bundle of joy.”

“WHAT?!” Mrs. Wells yells, “don’t play with me right now. When was your last cycle? I’ve been saying your tatas been looking fuller, ooooh I’ll have to tell your grandmomma.”

“Hey, hey! I’m not pregnant—

“Yet. We’ve been practicing though.” Rio announces, biting down on his bottom lip while Khadijah gasps and shoved at his knee.

Mrs. Wells claps her hands in joy, “y’all keep doing that but don’t bring those bed bugs back with you.”

“We won’t and did our research. If it makes you feel any better, we’re leaving this hotel tonight to stay at this castle for the rest of our trip and then tomorrow we’re gonna go explore this historic house since Rio wanted to have a rest day.” Khadijah informs her mother while Rio slowly nods his head, not knowing of the exploring a house portion but they’d discuss it later.

Mrs. Wells yawns as she sits up in bed now, “sounds fancy but okay then, mom’s tired and ready to knock out. But continue to be safe, the both of you and I’ll see you soon?”

“You sure will, night momma Wells.” Rio gave a two finger salute while Khadijah shared, “I love you’s, talk soon.” Before hanging up the call.

Khadijah leans back against the couch with a sigh, “told you mom’s got serious seperation anxiety all thanks to Kaliyah moving to Toronto with her girlfriend and we’re only traveling!”

“Which is exactly why I tried to smooth over her worries with baby talk, it worked didn’t it?” Rio lifts a thick brow while Khadijah shrugs her shoulders.

Soon she rests her head on Rio’s chest, locking her arms around his waist, “it’ll happen when it’s meant to…and we need to make sure we’re all packed for our new temporary home.”

“Oh I know I am, it’s you you gotta worry about mamas.” Rio presses a kiss to Khadijah’s rosemary scented hair.

Khadijah scoffs, “sorry but I had to buy more for this trip…which I’m not complaining! BUT! Paris’ fashion is really for the petite girlies.”

“They’re forreal missing out on the inclusion and better get on that.” Rio hummed.

“Siobhán is.” Khadijah grins while Rio slowly dips his head at the mention of his old designer friend.

Before Khadijah could get into asking about how she’s been doing, Rio sips from his drink once more and changes the subject, “what’s this about exploring tomorrow?”

“We maybe moving into a castle mansion for a little awhile but there’s no way I’m staying cooped up any longer without seeing what Dordogne has to offer.” Khadijah tells her husband with the perfect pronunciation of the town—or rather department as France calls it.

Rio raises the hand the rests against his wife’s shoulder, “heard you, mamas. No arguing on my part but you know it’s beneficial to have reset days too.”

“Which YouTuber told you that?” Khadijah smirks up at the buzz haired man, figuring that he was probably logged onto her account instead of switching over to his own to watch whatever it is he gets into.

Rio snorts, “don’t try and play me, my aesthetician did.”

“Of course they did.” Khadijah nods believing that since Rio didn’t mess around when it came to his skincare, “and you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with rest days. You’ve been running around x2 compared to me so I get it. You get a nap in and I’ll get the bags ready since we have what? An hour before the service comes and gets us.”

Rio grips Khadijah’s hand as she gets up from the couch, “you sure all an hour is what you need?”

“Shut up, Christopher.” Khadijah laughs, matching Rio’s smile before leaving the man to get his nap on.

With the city life behind the married couple, they settled in Dordogne late last night into the 18th century home. Surprisingly Rio wakes up late the next day, like around eleven am late compared to his seven am timeline. However Khadijah doesn’t mind letting him sleep, snapping a picture of his rest with the camera she brought along for the trip. She watches the clock from time to time, knowing just when to order breakfast to be sent to their room.

Khadijah’s sitting on a olive couch pushed underneath the windows which are half pulled back, sipping on caffe viennese, stomach half full from a classic French breakfast as she stares out into the scenery acting like the main character in a Victorian film.

“Morning, mamas. You starting the day without me?” Rio’s rough morning voice greets the brown skinned woman, who glances over her shoulder at him.

A soft smile meets her full lips, “good morning but someone has to get this party started. But don’t worry, I’ll never not let you in on the thrill. Got you one of these,” she holds the mug up in the air, nodding with her chin on the nightstand next to the man, “and there’s breakfast waiting for you underneath the cloche.”

“Did I mention hearing you speak French is sexy?” Rio states as he slowly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Khadijah smirks, “plenty when you were tipsy on the late night ride here.”

“I regret nothing,” Rio laughs before turning to reach and sip at the warm coffee, “this is delicious.”

Khadijah pops her tongue, “Yeah it is.”

“What we doin’ today? Hold up, what time is it?” Rio turns his eyes into slits, reaching for his phone to let out a low whistle, “damn, haven’t slept that long—

“Since you got shot?”

Rio let’s out a cough, “whoa, that was dark.”

“Sorry,” Khadijah says, “kinda just slipped out.”

“Something you wanna talk about, Dija?” Rio hums, staring at his wife from their temporary shared bed.

Khadijah shakes her head, “nothing I want to get into on this brand new day, no. So!”

She uncurls her feet from underneath her to stand in her floral print lace trim set, placing a smile on her lips as she plops down on the bed. Taking a quick sip of the coffee again, she places it on her side of the nightstand and reaches inside to pull out two slips of paper.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Rio suspiciously tries to peek at the papers but Khadijah slaps them right on her chest.

“You asked what we’re gonna do.”

“Didn’t you say exploring some house last night?” Rio frowns, trying to remember.

Khadijah’s little smile to herself seems wicked but as soon as it appeared it vanished while she wiggled a bit on the bed, “that’s tonight’s adventure after dinner. We have at least a few hours before then to do something else so…pick one, anyone.”

The two options were: Château des Milandes OR Canoeing on the Brantôme.

Rio doesn’t wipe the frown off his brows but holds out his thumb and pointer finger while Khadijah holds onto the deck of two pieces. The tatted man makes a show of taking his time debating, just to irritate Khadijah for a little until he smiles picking the paper to the left.

And the winner is…

“Great choice! Now get your butt up and let’s shower, they’ve been open since 9 this morning.”

Chateau des Milandes!

Rio hums as he studies the paper, sipping at his coffee then replies, “can I enjoy my breakfast along with the view first?”

Khadijah dramatically sighs as she flops beside Rio, resting on her elbow to stare back at the ajar windows, “oh fine but I promise you, the one outside is much better.”

“personally I like the one right next to me.”

Khadijah flicks her head back to meet Rio’s brown eyes and she can’t help but to let a smile split over her lips, then puckering them for Rio to peck and lick his own smiling lips afterwards, “you think you’re so smooth.”

“I mean give a guy some credit. How else do you think I got you?” Rio chuckled while Khadijah just nodded her head from side to side mockingly.

“Just eat your food Christopher.”

It was Rio’s turn to mimic his wife.

“Aight, Khadijah.” He said over his shoulder, sitting on his knees and reaching over for the second tray of food.

Chateau Des Milandes was a sight to see and was a wonderful experience. Ugh!!! here Khadijah was sounding like her very emotional Granny Mozella but she never took moments like these with Rio for granted. On the outside it may seem like Rio was only street smart since that’s what he preferred yet he didn’t mind listening in on historical facts from time to time and no he wasn’t really into podcasts—unless it was true crime content—but no one could ever say he wasn’t open to learning new material and translating it into his own life.

He was good at finding purpose in anything.

He also liked draping his arm across Khadijah’s shoulders as they took the tour around the home that used to be owned by the successful Josephine Baker. That was more interesting to Khadijah than the Lords that lived it way before Ms. Baker but nonetheless they took it all in together including the architecture.

No one could deny that France had a way with its design and art.

They explored the garden, which led to a picnic and wine for dinner with the French sunset as the perfect backdrop, then they ended their time at the Chateau with a bird experience, much to Rio’s surprise as Khadijah winked and placed a kiss on the tattoo on his neck, before clenching onto his arm for dear life once the various of birds—specifically the one that was very similar to the one on Rio’s skin started flying around.

Rio found amusement in that, even when they made it back to the rental car.

“If that big ass bird would have crapped on me, we would have been having a whole different type of bird for thanksgiving this year.” Khadijah continuously checked her outfit for any unfamiliar marks, the paranoia getting to her.

Rio couldn’t help but to throw his head back against the headrest laughing. “They’ve been trained, that wasn’t gonna happen. Plus it may just wanted a strand of your hair for warmth, huh? French winters can be brutal so I hear.”

The man went to curl a strand of his wife’s loose curl that framed her face who scoffed at him.

“You’re far from funny, Mr. Montoya.” Khadijah slapped his hand away to fix her pin curl updo in the drop down mirror.

Rio chuckled some more, watching her, “you’re right…I’m hilarious, Mrs. Montoya.”

“Im glad you had fun, baby. I can tell the bird part was your favorite,” Khadijah gave the man a playful side eye, “but now it’s time for my activity.”

Rio glanced at the watch on his wrist, “it’s going on seven…what else you trying to get into besides drinking more wine and eating cheese?”

“Whew! No more cheese for me.” Khadijah flicked the sun visor back up, “so…I have this other place to visit.”

Rio tapped on the GPS, “aight, what’s the address?”

“I don’t think the GPS will fully locate it…just to a certain point.”

Rio thought about this for a second and asked, “what? It’s some underground event or something?”

“Well sure, yeah. Kinda.” Khadijah shrugged her shoulders making Rio sigh and sit back with his hands clasped.

Khadijah was tapping away on her phone for a moment while Rio just studied her. When she realized the car wasn’t moving, Khadijah turned her attention back to Rio who was patiently waiting for her to come right on out with it.

“We’re not going anywhere until you give me the info I need. No shady shit allowed.”

Khadijah turned sideways to face Rio, “Okay so…there’s this house that we should see.”

“You said that already. But Why? To buy?”

“Hell no,” Khadijah was quick to say, further making Rio put his guard up as to what this whole adventure was even about, “I mean no…yeah no that’s exactly what I mean. It wouldn’t be for us to live…just to see.”

Rio pried, “what’s so special about it?”

“It has a colorful story.”

“Which is…?”

“The year was 1666–

“Nah,” Rio immediately said leaning forward to start the engine but Khadijah flew her hand out to stop Rio from switching the gears.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Rio leans on the console to completely face Khadijah, “by the way you’re dragging this out let’s me know you’re about to tell me some bullshit, that you know I’m not about to let fly.”

“Can’t a bitch add some extra flavor to the tale?” Khadijah scrunches up her face, “Sheesh.”

“Stop playin’ with me, Dija.”

“So hostile,” Khadijah flicked her hair off her shoulder, “alright you want the synopsis? Got it. So this house is special because during the year of 1666 a woman named Blanche lived there with her father, mother, two siblings, and new husband. Allegedly she was later accused of poisoning her family and beheaded her husband after they all suspected she was a witch because of some rumors started at the hospital she volunteered at. Her sickly father was the one to put her down after his wife and other children slowly started to die one by one. They say Blanche still haunts the home and asks when and or if you visit, to leave a ribbon and tea bag’s on their front step as a offering and for her to rid any vengeance in your life.”

Rio caressed his facial hair in thought, “Question for you, mamas? Did that eagle peck at your brain when i wasn’t around or…”

Khadijah sucks her teeth, “it’s spooky season, asshole!”

“I know that,” Rio lifts his shoulders carelessly, “but you’re trying to get into some serious shit and I can tell you one thing: I’m not feelin’ it.”

“Are you scared?” Khadijah leaned into the center console ready to comfort him, “I never said we had to go inside the house. Just see it and leave something for Blanche.”

Rio didn’t miss how Khadijah started to trail her hands over him but he didn’t fold, “Her business ain’t ours.”

It was Khadijah’s turn to laugh now, “you’re definitely scared!”

“No I’m not.” Rio scowled, “I’m just saying you have to be careful what you expose yourself to. I told moms we’d bring her back a baby, not a witch that may latch onto your body.”

Khadijah frowns, “why would you think Blanche would latch onto mine and not yours?”

“Whoever! And I really can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re trying to mess with some spirits.”

Khadijah wasn’t trying to “‘mess with spirits,” she always respected the dead but this sounded better than visiting the catacombs to be honest.

So she challenged, “Hey! It’s something to do.”

“I can find plenty of other things we can get into.” Rio placed his chin into the palm of his hand, “We’re not about to be here much longer anyway.”

Khadijah sighs as she grabs Rio’s hand to place in her lap, “I’ll let you try out our new toy at the same time while you’re inside…”

Rio’s eyes begin to darken as they meet Khadijah’s much lighter ones. This was a promising bargain and this Khadijah knew as Rio trailed his own hand up her stomach, between her breasts, and to grip her chin.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Rio states as he presses their lips together and leads the way with his tongue dancing along hers.

It’s passionate and a little nasty just the way the married couple liked their kisses but brief enough that he leaves Khadijah panting on the passenger side. He smirks to himself, lifting up from the driver’s side to pull out his Glock 17 from his black jeans to rest on the dashboard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Rio tells Khadijah who shortly follows through, “and not a word of this to my abuelita.”

Khadijah makes a cross my heart motion as Rio puts the car in drive.

The drive to this supposed haunted home was a good half hour north from where they were staying and the decline of the countryside was clear. There seemed to be no livelihood as the skies got even darker. Rio could sense to the left of him that Khadijah seemed to be at unease the deeper they got into the area.

He checks in, “How we doing?”

“Hm? Oh, there it is. Stop.”

Rio turns his attention back to the lack of road up ahead and notices that there’s a tunnel with no lighting. He steps on the breaks, witnessing to the left of the tunnel the narrow road carried upwards to what exactly? That he didn’t know. There was no homes or animals in sight on this drive since they started getting further away from the chateau.

“What’s this?”

“That’s the tunnel that leads to Blanche’s house.” Khadijah is sitting on the edge of the passenger seat now.

Rio tightens his hold on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the scenery with the help of the automatic headlights. If they went through that tunnel, which was surely to be just as narrow as the roads out here in the countryside he wasn’t positive they would make it back. His intuition  was telling him since the beginning that this didn’t feel right and being physically here was enough to confirm that for Rio.

Turning his eyes into slits towards the right of the tunnel, Rio can see a decaying headstone with a bunch of colorful ribbons tossed around and possibly some rocks that were most likely teabags scattered below it.

“This is what you came for,” Rio says keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oui-Oui.” Khadijah says suddenly halfhearted and any other time Rio would have laughed but the expression on her face made him aware that the tension was also felt by her as well.

Rio steps on the gas, driving full speed towards the tunnel but stops just at edge, parallel to the headstone, making Khadijah grip the dashboard at the abruptness.

“Get going, sweetheart.” Rio tells Khadijah with a lift of his chin.

Khadijah swallows, prying her eyes away from the tunnel then to the headstone and back to her husband. “W-what? You’re not coming with me?”

“I never said I was going in there. I have sense.” Rio tapped at his temple.

Khadijah glares, “wow. So here’s to trying new things was just another one of your lies then huh?”

“Another? Don’t go there, I’m not doing that with you this evening. You brought this terrible idea to me and I brought you here so go head, show me you’re the one who isn’t scared.” Rio’s hardened stare was now on the fuming woman.

Khadijah didn’t know what the fuck Rio’s problem was and why he thought this energy was okay? Khadijah didn’t like Rio’s tone so she snatched her baguette bag from beside her feet and went to push on the door but remained right inside.

“Are you serious?!”

Rio made a U-Turn and began driving back in the direction they came, “are you forreal thinking I’m about to have our asses messing around with the actual dead? Let alone your indecisive ass? And we don’t even have the full context?”

“I mean…do you not have bodies? You don’t see me questioning you about them.” Khadijah muttered.

Rio snapped his eyes to his wife, “two completely different things and you know that.”

It really wasn’t but okay, if Rio hated her riding the fence then let’s see if he hated it now.

“Whatever.” Khadijah slouched against the seat, “You just wasted our time, like why entertain the fact that you were with it if you’re just gonna try to clown me?”

“I wasn’t letting you do that and you should have known that.” Rio clenched his jaw, “I would never willingly put you in harm’s way and that’s exactly what you were signing up for.”

Khadijah knows Rio wouldn’t and if she wanted to be petty she could but she just mumbles, “You just ruined spooky season in France like?”

“Better throw that ribbon and teabags out the window and get glad. Who knows what would have happened if we went down that dark ass tunnel with only the Glock against a whole spirit mind you, that we don’t even know if she’s still vengeful or not.”

“I mean you make valid arguments…and I don’t even know if the house is still standing. The last update online was from 2021 so I guess I can’t be too pressed about it.” Khadijah explains as she starts to search through her bag, “but you can’t say I was indecisive this time, yet you locked me in here like I’m a child.”

Rio deeply exhales, rubbing at his face in slight aggravation, “yeah we gotta get back to Detroit and quick. I think you need to go back to work and continue spreading peaceful energy at that non-profit instead whatever this is.”

“What?” Khadijah sucked her teeth, “Trying to be on theme?”

“We could easily rent a movie at the spot and call it a day.”

“I wanna be one with nature!”

“As soon as we get far away from Blanche’s murder site, I’ll take the locks off so you can touch some grass.”

“Ohhhh, I cannot stand you!” Khadijah scowled followed by some laughter before ghosting her fingers over the window button, “is this going to work for me or am I still being held hostage?”

Rio just hums to himself, glancing in the rear view spotting a blur of white in the distance along with something that wasn’t tumbleweed rolling right by their feet.

Khadijah doesn’t notice as she cracks the window to toss a pink ribbon and a teabag out on the dirt road.

And when she looks in the rearview, she doesn’t see anything unusual or creepy. So she rolls her window back up and presses her elbow into the arm of the door, resting her cheek along her fingers, watching the night scenery whip by her highlighter eyes.

Soon Rio’s hand reaches for the Glock to rest in the cup holders before sneaking his hand over to bring Khadijah’s hand up to his lips. He knew she was a little sour with him over this and probably a bunch of other built up issues but Khadijah always tried to make the best of it.

Rio was trying to get better at validating her feelings but this shit right here was not it and Khadijah knew that inside. Which is why he had a more safer route up his sleeve to spend the day with Khadijah tomorrow since celebrating Halloween was apparently too american for the French. So he did the best that he could choosing a theme park that would be “on theme” for Khadijah’s spooky cravings.

That would be his gift to her and routine of keeping her best interest at heart, even if she didn’t fully want to see it that way sometimes…

Ah, she’ll be aight.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

[blair-vidal]

I was just chilling on the counter when all of a sudden Rio sprayed me with water!!! It was uncalled for. Have I been told multiple times not to lay on her counter? Yes. Did she warn me multiple times before she sprayed me? Also yes. But Still!

[marleyybluu]

Would you be okay writing some bestfriends brother!rio smut? :)

Don Julio

Best friends brother!Rio x f!black!OC (Honey)

Word count: 1.1k

Content warning: literally nothing, just swearing and hangovers lol, Honey is 21 and Rio is 26 (just testing a little age gap😗)

A/N: I just want to apologize to you anon because this request has been sitting in my inbox, collecting dust because I had no idea how to even come up with anything but here we are bitch.

decided to do OC because... I'm loving the OC streak that I'm on right now.

also, OC is written as a black woman in mind, I don't describe her in detail just yet.

There will be a part 2 yall don't worry

(Not my gif)

And that damn Don Julio made me a fool for you…

•• ••

Sunday mornings were for soaking in the regrets of Saturday night events, they were for dealing with pounding hangovers and lounging on the couch to recover. At least that's how most of her Sundays went and this one was no different. Light snores left her lips while the heat of the morning sun beamed on her bare back warming up her skin. She groaned as the heat became too much, suddenly she wished she hadn't been so drunk last night, she would've been able to close the curtains. She pulled the covers over her body and smiled, that felt better. She readjusted herself, getting in a more comfortable position, she sighed her eyes opening just for a millisecond but, in that quick time, she noticed something off.

Her room was blue... well no it wasn't, her room was actually Sage green. There were posters on her wall of old movies and her favourite artists, this wall didn't have any. Her eyes blew wide open when she realized the lack of softness in her pillow, well it wasn't a pillow at all it was someone's chest—slowlyrisingand falling with sleep. She sighed, of course, she had to start her Sunday in a stranger's bed. Honey sat up slowly, sleep very apparent in her bones as she stretched and her joints cracked, her head felt heavy and her eyes narrowed as she squinted away the bright light of the sun's beams. She groaned tossing the covers off of her legs, her lower half scantily clad, she laughed to herself and shook her head.

Her feet met the cold floor, she grabbed a shirt, she could only assume it was his, oh well-- he wouldn't mind would he?

Honey stumbled through the halls looking for a bathroom, her bladder full of last night's drinks and after pushing every door open she was finally successful in finding a bathroom. She closed the door for privacy while she handled her business as if this man hadn't seen every inch of her business the night before. Once she was done she wiped and flushed, washed her hands and splashed a bit of cold water on her face waking herself up and hoping to stay awake long enough to get home safely. She opened the door and flicked off the light making her way back to the room.

As she walked down the hall she noticed a wall of photos in her peripheral, she was curious and decided to take a quick look at the photos. She smiled at a family picture, two adults and two young children-- a boy with a bowl cut and a little girl with pigtails. Her head tilted. "Kinda looks like Cherry when she was a kid." Honey quietly said to herself. Her eyes scanned the wall, another picture of the children catching her attention, the boy doing bunny ears behind his sister while she cried. It looked... familiar. As if she'd seen it before. And, again, the little girl looked like Cherry. Cherry was Honey's best friend since kindergarten, you couldn't see one without the other, they were attached at the hip. Cherry did have an older brother, Christopher but everyone called him Rio, and if Honey remembered correctly... he did have a... bowl cut when they were younger.

Her heart dropped at the realization, she gasped softly. "No... no, no, no."

She quickly walked back to the room, she stood behind the wall taking in a deep breath before she leered past it to poke her head into the door frame. The not-so-mysterious man was now lying on his side, facing her, eyes still closed. Honey covered her mouth in utter shock, there was no way this was happening. Her eyes fell to the floor, their clothes mixed and scattered all over the boards along with an empty bottle of Don Julio 1942. She had to get the fuck out before he woke up, she quietly thanked God that Cherry was always at her man's house otherwise this would've been a very awkward morning. She tiptoed back inside the room, bending down to scoop up her pants, her top, her bra and her panties... sigh... where were her panties?

Honey shuffled around looking on top of his dresser, inside the drawers and under the bed. She couldn't find them, she'd have to leave them. She pulled on her pants and swapped his shirt for her own, she was putting her faux locs in a quick bun when suddenly her phone rang at a violently loud volume, it even vibrated against the wood of his nightstand.

"Shit! Shut up!" She whined through gritted teeth, in an attempt to quickly grab the phone she tripped over the empty bottle of tequila, just her luck. The loud thud caused a stirring in the bed, Rio groaned and yawned carefully sitting up. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight and shook his head, he had a pounding headache. "What the fuuuck." He grunted at the phone. Eventually, it stopped, and he blindly picked it up to see who it was. A missed call from his little sister, Cherry, but the longer he stared at the screen he noticed a picture of her and her best friend. His eyes popped, his lips parted slightly.

"Honey..." He called out unsurely and with the slight hope that she wasn't in the house.

"...Yeah?" She answered from the floor. "Oh... shit."

"Yup."

Honey got off the floor, stood on her feet and smiled sheepishly. "Hi..."

"Hi..." He returned. Rio scanned the room, his eyes widening at the empty bottle of Tequila, his hands covering his eyes. But even though this was not an ideal situation, his seeming frustration or maybe regret made her feel a way.

She'd always had a crush on Rio, but being her best friend's older brother, it was an unspoken rule that he was off limits. So, Honey just admired him from afar. God, he was... something. He was handsome. So fine. And the older he got, the better. He'd gotten taller, facial hair had grown in but those pretty brown eyes remained the same along with that charming smirk he always had. Then came the haircut and the tattoos and... oof! It levelled him up.

Rio cleared his throat, Honey blinked a few times realizing she'd been caught in her trance. "Sorry... I- sorry." Though she didn't know what she was apologizing for. She grabbed her phone and the rest of her stuff and dashed downstairs. Rio shook his head, "Wait." He mumbled still dazed with sleep and a wicked hangover.

"Honey-"

The front door slammed. Honey fumbled with her car keys, and as bad as driving intoxicated is— she quietly hoped she didn't drive here completely sober. Intentionally pulling up to fuck Cherry's brother? She would never let herself live it down. Fuck.

Her car started, the heavy engine rumbling and vibrating the walls of the Martínez house. Her tires screeched getting herself the fuck out of there.

Once she got home she slumped onto the couch, she checked her phone. Seven missed calls from Cherry, and a slew of text messages asking if she was okay, if she needed someone to talk to. Honey squinted trying to remember what happened, what would have her friend in a panic state. What did she do?

A hesitant finger hovered over her name in the call log, Honey tapped it and the phone rang only once before Cherry picked up. "Honey!? Bitch! Where were you? Are you okay?"

"I'm- Cher, I'm fine. I'm sorry if I scared you. But what... did I say?"

Cherry said, "You called me, you were crying about Julien," Her ex. "And then you left me a voice note like an hour later slurring your words, and then you were talking to someone else but— were you with him last night?"

She threw her head back on the cushion of the couch. "No, I wasn't with him I was with... someone else. Fuck. Look, I need some coffee in my system, my head is killing me. I'll call you tonight, and again I'm sorry for scaring you."

Also sorry for sleeping with your brother.

"It's fine, I'm just glad you're safe and... home?"

"Yes, home, I am home." She said nervously. "Okay, well, I'll talk to you later then. Love you."

"Love you too... bye."

The call ended, she tossed her phone on the couch. She had to at least try and remember what happened last night.

If you liked this fic free to like this fic, likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

peace and love, see you in the next one 🤙🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @rio-reid-whoreee @skyesthebomb @bigenergy777 @realhotgurlshit @lovedlover

[sukunasbow]

hii which should i post first

(not gonna spoil details of what each one is..just who it’s for)

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

Is it just me or is Rio hella Agora Hills coded ???

[delightfulmoonsandwich]

[corawithfanfiction]

The Next Step Is Evolution & White Wolf and Polaris

all this time that i have spent away (episode 8)

episode 7 - episode 9

After Sam and Bucky detained Lorna (Polaris) and Remy (Gambit). During the interrogation, they learn why Remy was in the casino.

warnings: conflict, swearing, explosion, fight, human trafficking, gore, blood, depression, panic attacks, human limbs, unconscious amusements

✗

How could you lose yourself, how did that nervous breakdown come. What kind of uncertainty. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

With Remy's second blast, Lorna had used up the last of her strength. Her legs could no longer support her as the black flecks in front of her grew darker and darker. She felt a strong arm quickly grab her, but the rest was a blur to her dark mind.

Logan's body lay on the ground, as still as it had been for hours. Bucky and Sam didn't recognize the man on the ground. Or one of them had been telling him some lies. Either way, they had learned about him while Lorna was downstairs doing her show before the explosion. But the man was an enigma, even though Sam had sent him to Joaquin for information.

Lorna stirred uncomfortably where she lay with a throbbing head. She tried to hold her head with hands, but it didn't take her long to realize that her hands were tied. Blinking her eyes several times, she tried to clarify her vision, In the meantime, she had involuntarily fidgeted a lot. She couldn't stop her skirt from falling open, but she couldn't fix it with her bound hands.

As Remy let out a small whistle at the sight before him, Lorna saw that he was tied up too. He was trapped in the twisted pipes. Twisted pipes?

Sam and Bucky tore their gaze away from the young woman in front of them, causing Lorna o giggle involuntarily. "I'm okay with everything you've done - including being tied up against my will - but an unbuttoned skirt offends you gentlemen." Lorna involuntarily squirmed when she saw Bucky approaching her. Was she scared? She wasn't sure. I mean, she had heard stories about the Winter Soldier, but there was something very different about this man. Lorna couldn't put her finger on it, and frankly she wasn't sure if she would like it if she did. She continued as if all these thoughts were not confusing her. "What a great example of virtue!"

When Bucky came to Lorna's side, he bowed quickly. During this time he never broke eye contact. Eyes that were a shade of blue with a gray tint, like an eternity. Lorna shifted her gaze to his hands, trying to shake them off.

Bucky hadn't broken eye contact. Lorna could still feel his gaze on her face. Bucky idly smoothed Lorna's skirt with his metal hand. For a brief moment his fingers brushed Lorna's thighs. Even that fraction of a second took Lorna's breath away. When the young woman looked up at the man standing up, she saw that the blues were still in her own eyes. This made her swallow involuntarily.

As Bucky turned and walked back to his friend, Lorna did what she knew best to regain her composure. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," she managed to say, drawing attention back to herself. The pleasant attention never left her. Despite the sound of Lorna's voice, Bucky didn't bother to turn his gaze to the young woman.

"At least this is not where I want my hands tied, ah but if we are playing this game why don't we make it more fun." the danger in her eys was on her tongue. The dangerous smile on her face was growing by the moment.

"Look, young lady, this is not a game. You need to understand that first." Sam stepped into the conversation, finally deciding to turn his gaze to Lorna.

"Nobody claimed otherwise, big guy, calm down!" Lorna rolled her eyes. "Anyway, look, you've interrupted all my work and I don't have all this time. So if you'll excuse me," she turned to Remy. "Are you going to start telling me?"

With a deep sight, Remy drew attention to himself. "After you left, to go to the Academy, this place wasn't as much as it used to be. The people in charge decided to look for someone new, someone who would be famous for her family, but who would also be stronger than you. Someone who wouldn't leave us. In the meantime, they kept looking for you. Him too."

Remy began to explain the events in a matter - of - fact yet calm manner. Occasionally he paused for a few seconds between sentences to gauge Lorna's reaction. He had known the young woman for years, but this was certainly new for Remy.

"After a while they stopped looking you, at least you weren't the subject of meetings. It was like they had forgotten. No one was mentioning your name." He blew out his breath loudly. Sam and Bucky were listening to him carefully, but they didn't stop checking in on the young woman.

"After a while it started to get weird. I started looking for you outside the Casino. You know, it is nice that we still have a few secret places that they don't know about, if you remember." Lorna rolled her eyes and shook her head left and right as a flirtatious smile settled on Remy's face, but she too had a small smile on her face.

"Anyway, I wasn't always very popular at the Casino, they were used to me disappearing for long periods of time, so I disappeared for a while, pretending to be on the run from another theft-" Remy was interrupted by Lorna, "What did you steal this time Remy?!"

"To tell you the truth, L. I didn't steal much," his smile was extremely goofy. Lorna couldn't help frowning at the sight. "She stole my heart."

"Her," said all three of Remy's listeners at the same time.

Remy looked at them and laughed, but turned his gaze back to Lorna and continued. "I'm in love L. And for real this time." Remy laughed involuntarily as Lorna raised one eyebrow and looked at her old friend, Sam checking on Logan on the floor while Bucky listened with a frown.

"Don't get me wrong, honey, you and I had a really crazy love life. But let's not kid anyone, it wasn't exactly a love affair," the crooked smile on his face would have annoyed Lorna under normal circumstances, but here was Remy taking about someone else and his eyes sparkling. It wasn't something you saw very often.

"Anyway, stay on topic, L." He said, but he hadn't yet managed to wipe the goofy smile off his face. "When I was looking for you, suddenly she was all I could focus on. I admit she made me forget to even look for you. She had people on the run too," He sighed deeply and they realized he was getting angry. But Remy quickly continued. "She was with me when I went back to the Casino. I hoped maybe I could arrange something. I hadn't heard a word from you anyway." Although his voice remained calm, his clenched jaw gave him away. "So I thought I could at least help Anne Marie."

Lorna's eyebrows furrowed at the name. Her mouth formed a small 'o' and before she could say anything, Remy picked up where he left off.

"Casino had found that 'perfect' person. Stronger than you. Her family is strong and behind her. That ad name that won't leave them." He turned his eyes to the two men listening to him and waited a moment. As if searching for the right words. The silence was starting to get on Lorna's nerves and she couldn't take it anymore. "Who did they bring!" She asked. But it was more like an order than a question.

"Bella Donna Boudreaux"

Lorna wanted to get up quickly at the sound of the name, but her restraints prevented her from doing so. The fact that Bella had been brought to the Casino instead of her was the final straw that infuriated the young woman. Tragically funny. She thought this Casino had a better sense of humor.

As the brown of their eyes turned green in thin veins, the knife on Bucky's belt flew into the air, cutting the ropes that held Lorna bound. Before Bucky realized what had happened, Sam was ready to lash out, but Bucky stopped his friend.

"With all due respect, gentlemen, I'm here on a mission and," her gaze flickered to the eyes of the two men waiting to attack her, "If you are going to tie me up and do nothing, then you'll agree there's no point in me sitting here." Ignoring the sound of her heels on the floor, Lorna stomped over to Remy, pulled Remy out of the pipes and said,

"Come on, let's get littlr Anna Marie out of Bella's hands and get the hell out of here!" She said.

TAG LIST:

@oscarissac2099 @mandybug39 @elliegrace5853 @oxoxkittyxoxo

@redshinypearls @loganskittycatears @strxngegirl @verytyrantcat

@angelesgmez @lillianadreams @kds1990-blog @deathangelraven @birbita @spideyboycoy @thatgirl101blog @iconicredhoodie @aizawash0e @katherinethewitch @i-crossed-kriss @rose2love @cottagewitchybitch @norwalkballer @freedreampeach @supersoldatbarnesstuff @lumenseal @aestheticgrungecrybaby @bex-03 @vikizzy @loganskittycatears @putbloghere @dinogoofymutated @corawithfanfiction @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

[yourlocalsaiko]

Im bored, anyone need a Rio for an Rp? Either Agario or just a OC/Self insert

[blvefilm]

If I can't Reach You

Word Count:2406

Warnings:None? Yearning? Slow-burn ish?

Pairings:Agatha x Rio x Fem!OC

Summary:Rio and Umbra are summoned to The Road.

Notes: This is part 2! I didn't mean to be so dramatic with the word count...wasn't even sure if I would do a second part initially. I tried to keep the dialogue pretty accurate. I hope you enjoy!

Part One Here

2026

The ground beneath my feet parts like a gaping maw and I am pulled into the dark- a suffocating mockery of my own. My form distorts, scatters, and reforms against the weight of the Earth as I am summoned elsewhere- the call a violent tug in my gut. 

Light breaches my coffin of dirt and tendrils of my being claw toward the opening. I emerge with distorted limbs, shifting to piece themselves back together, and a low growl of annoyance. 

Her emotions, more separate after all this time but still sewn into my being, filter through me like water. Amusement. Annoyance. Sadness. Longing. 

The dark voice that formed me bites into a thick vein in my mind. 

You are here to guide. To protect. To collect.

I turn to her, my shadows already seeking her out. A dark mirror to her fire. We twine together as if we are still one and she sends reassurance through our bond along with a pleading to play along. 

It's then that I notice she has taken her green witch form, and that we have an audience. 

The witch that has haunted our hearts for centuries stands before me, mouth agape. I freeze at her presence, tendrils twisting around me in agitation. I can’t identify the fluttering emotion that stirs within me when her gaze locks onto me for the first time- seeing me for what I am after years of shifting around Rio’s neck like a viper.

Rio squeezes my waist before stepping in front of me, and toward the odd group currently cringing away from us in horror. 

“Heard you were having a party.” She states with a grin as she brushes dirt from her torso.

“How did you-” Agatha sputters, hair in messy waves around her shoulders. 

“I was in the neighborhood.” she mockingly gasps and bows before her, brandishing a flower. “Surprise, My Lady.”

I am not shocked when the witch screams and lunges toward Rio in a rage, but the coven holding her back and shouting that they need her ignites my curiosity. 

I will myself completely corporeal and step flush with Rio’s back protectively. Agatha’s gaze flickers between the two of us with conflicting emotions before she spins with a grunt and walks in the other direction. The youngest of the coven, a teen boy whose love for black looked like it rivaled my own, follows after her.

I shove down the rising disappointment at her easy dismissal. 

Rio faces the remaining three witches before us. “What's up? I’m Rio.”

“Umbra.” My voice echoes hauntingly like a multitude of speakers were hidden amongst the limbs swaying above us. They flinch backward and glance around warily. 

“Hello.”

“Sup.”

“Hey.”

My other half cracks her neck ominously. 

“So you’re a green witch?” Asks the short woman with bright orange streaks through her inky hair. The one that bears the dark mark of a curse on her soul. 

“Um…Less a green witch. More like The Green Witch.” Rio’s voice drops so low I’m sure it rattled the bones of the trio- if their faces are anything to go by. I rest my chin against her shoulder and eye them with thinly veiled amusement. 

“And you are..?” The elegant woman in pink silk questions me warily. 

“She is my familiar.” Rio mutters, “We’re supposed to walk this thing right?”

I raise a brow, and pinch her side petulantly at being labeled a pet. 

“Yeah”

“Right that way.”

“Yes we are.”

They mumble over each other, physically leaning away from us. I must admit, I do enjoy being seen, even if they stink of fear. 

“Wow. Witches Road, huh?” States Rio as she skips ahead with crisp leaves crunching beneath her feet. 

She must sense my apprehension at the reference, mentally tugging me along. The trio still stare unblinkingly and I simply shrug and trail behind her gracefully. 

The false moon drapes strings of light between the branches of the forest around us, the shadows they cast take the shape of boney hands reaching out eerily. I ignore Rio’s sardonic remarks as she too eyes the foliage around her, choosing instead to listen in on the conversation occurring behind me. 

“So, what do we think? Can we trust her?”

“We know nothing about her.”

“We know Agatha hates her. I’d say that goes in the ‘pro’ column.” 

I smile fondly when she begins to swing her knife in the air, movements sporadic and violent. Rio has always relished in the fear her mere presence seemed to strike in those around her, often leaning into it as she was now. 

“Honestly I don’t know how to feel. Do I hate her? Or do I want her number?” 

“Same.”

“Right?”

I chuckle softly in agreement, sliding a tendril of darkness along her jaw teasingly as her lips quirk into a smirk. She whips to face them swiftly, startling them for her own amusement. 

Honestly, they were close enough that even a human could hear them. I’m not sure what they are thinking.  

“Rio.” I croon sweetly in an attempt to give the poor coven’s heart rates a break. 

“What scary bitches.” The Sicilian woman with a messy top knot mumbles after we continue walking forward. 

“Why are we playing with our food this time?” I question softly once we are a few paces ahead, hand sliding down her arm to curl my fingers with hers. 

She’s quiet for a moment, and I tune into our bond to ride the crashing wave of thoughts and emotions along with her. I hum thoughtfully squeezing her hand, and she returns the gesture. 

She doesn’t have to say it. She is doing this for our little witch. 

The same little witch we are currently closing in on, teen right on her tail. I note an odd waver to his form. As if a piece of him is splitting from the rest and his edges are blurred. Sharing a look with Rio, I know she sees the same thing. 

We cluster together as Agatha draws to a halt, staring ahead at a dimly lit house with an angled roof that sits idly in a clearing- as if the trees themselves wanted to keep their distance. 

“Pass.” States the cursed witch flatly, spinning to walk in the opposite direction. 

“Uh oh. Mutiny already?” 

Agatha sighs, ignoring Rio and pushing past her in a swirl of navy fabric to call after the disgruntled witch. 

The rest of us share an awkward glance before retracing our footsteps along the path, drawing close to Agatha as she questions the woman’s plan with obvious frustration. 

“Go back, Go around. Go anywhere but in that house.” She grouses only to gasp and stop in her tracks when The Road leads her right back to it. 

“Uh…I agree, but The Road clearly does not.” Utters Agatha, spreading her hands before her with a shrug. “So, I guess we go.”

The coven walks forward cautiously, sending pitying looks back to the woman who remains hunched with uncertainty. I slide past her as well and don’t glance back- keeping my eyes on the only two figures they ever sought out.  

Rio continues to twirl the flower between her fingers as they chatter about the moon on the wooden front porch, a forlorn expression marring her features that is quickly wiped away when any eyes drift toward her. 

I edge closer and nudge her with my shoulder tenderly, waiting until her warm brown stare meets mine to supply a soft smile. Her lips twitch, not a full grin, and she tugs a strand of my hair playfully- stepping away when Agatha finally swings the door open. 

The room is drenched in shades of fire. Reds, oranges, and yellows culminate to mimic a flame. Various instruments crowd the center of the room, and it has a distinct 70s style with funky carpets and a patterned room divider. 

I’m reassured of my assumptions when I glance down to see we have all been draped in costumes like dolls. Leather pants embossed with jeweled skulls cling to my legs while my torso is strapped into a glittery top that digs into my shoulders gratingly. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Warns who I now know is Alice, having learned their names from their squabbling on the porch.

Rio smirks her way with wide eyes, “Feels like there's a story there.”

“Oh. Check me out!” Calls Agatha as she purses her lips sensually at her reflection. 

I am happy to oblige, ogling the deep V of her top heatedly. Her eyes clash with mine briefly, twitching back to herself with a grimace as if she didn’t mean to allow herself that little glimpse. 

“I mean, seriously, we are an album cover waiting to happen.” Quips Teen, his hair now shaggy and shoulders draped in a light blue fur coat.

My stare is drawn to Rio, hair pulled up to reveal her slender throat and V neck plunging in a similar fashion to Agatha’s, much to my delight. 

“What’s going to happen next?” She questions with glee as she leans forward suggestively.

Teen offers up the idea of looking for clues and the group dissipates in different directions, leaving us three and the gaping chasm between us. I remain silent, ever the observer at Lady Death’s side as she molds herself to Agatha’s back and regards her languidly in the mirror.

“Boo.” She whispers, her lips brush against the witch’s ear and I shift closer at the sight, only pausing when Agatha slowly turns to face us. 

“No.” She denies flatly, whether for her own reassurance or because she actually meant it- I couldn’t tell. 

My brows cinch at the sting of Rio’s emotion through the bond- the rope between us growing barbs. She steps past us, close enough that her arm brushes mine and the cloying scent of spiced clove wraps around me. Such a miniscule thing, but it immediately imbeds itself in my mind as the first time we’ve touched. 

Rio and I don’t have to discuss our intentions, both following her resolutely as she disappears through a doorway. 

“Knock, Knock.” Rio sings. 

We enter the recording booth without waiting for a response, I rest against a dark portion of the wall as Rio steps right up to her. “How’s the quest for power going?” 

“It’s going.”

“Who are these people?” She asks incredulously, staring through the tinted glass at the coven that’s currently shuffling through the other room in search of clues. 

“Who is she?” Agatha diverts attention to my wispy figure, always one to revert to mockery and sarcasm. A small part of me jumps at the attention.

“I am her.”

“And she is me.” Rio finishes with a smirk. 

Her blue eyes flicker between us as she runs her tongue along her teeth. “Mhm.” 

Her tone conveys her confusion, and I suspect, a hint of jealousy. I glide closer, voice dropping to a low tone. “I was merely a piece of her soul before I was torn away and spit out. I am an act of balance. Where she hesitates, I do not.” 

“So..” She draws the word out to urge us forward. 

“I am her.” 

“And she is me.” We repeat. 

“Clarifying.” She mutters, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

“I am Umbra, her other half. Her shadow.” I sigh, a confusing mix of emotions churn within me at the strangeness of it all. I have centuries of memories that are not my own, fuzzy, but they are what made me, me. The soft moments we, they, shared along with the heartbreak. The days Rio and I watched her from a distance… To her, though, I am merely a stranger. 

One that is strikingly close to her ex-lover.

“I’m feeling impatient,” Rio interrupts our heated eye contact with an agitated nod- whipping out her dagger. “I’m feeling like I wanna cause some damage.”

Agatha slumps in her chair, “You’re too early.”

“It wasn’t up to me. Magic, as it often does,” she leans back against the various controls on the panel that borders the glass window, “Chose the path of least resistance. Ferried the closest, most appropriate candidate down. Or up.” 

Agatha chews on her cheek thoughtfully, arms crossed, and narrowed eyes directed at Teen through the glass. 

“Why did you bring that boy?” I question, intrigued by his odd presence amongst the group. 

“Oh…Many hands.” She mutters cryptically. 

I note the miniscule flash of panic in her gaze when Rio turns her calculating stare to him. Her usual mask falls back into place a second later as she stands and sways toward us. 

“Maybe The Road is like Switzerland. What if we just call a truce?”

I sidle closer to Rio as she mulls over her words. I can feel her doubt, but I can also feel the tiniest sliver of hope. Agatha’s eyes track how we lean against each other with familiarity, before twitching her gaze back to Rio's face. 

“Just one more big adventure,” She continues, “You and me.”

I clear my throat.

“And you.” She adds with a wave. 

Rio rolls her head on her shoulders, I suspect to break eye contact. It’s always been hard for her to deny Agatha when she gazes at her like that- especially with the guilt that incessantly claws at her heart for how they ended.

“I just need these witches to get me to the end. So you tell me, what happens next?” Agatha’s tone drops to a sultry whisper at the end of her sentence. 

“I get the pleasure of watching you do what you do best, kill all the witches around you. One by one.” Rio murmurs. 

“Then what?” Agatha urges her to continue, and from the corner of my eye I note the forms of the ragtag coven crowding the booth. A look of trepidation carves their features. 

“You get your power, and I get my bodies.” 

“Hey! That’s my coven you’re talking about. I’m not that kind of witch anymore!” She gasps theatrically.

It’s then that we both note her fingers on the intercom button, projecting the conversation to the now agitated group. Their muffled yells echo through the glass as Rio drops her head with a derisive chuckle. 

My brows fall low in exasperation. “You-” A shrill screech cuts through all other noise, causing all but Rio and I to hunch in pain and smack their hands over their ears. 

[undevidedattentionsblog]

HURRY TF UP AND MAKE A CONNIE X BLACK READER FIC NOWWW

[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter 6: Profectus Semper Deinceps Sub Ligneo Adyto)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

As written in Familiaritas et Maleficis, the familiar of a witch can take any form, but commonly take the form of birds and small woodland creatures, or most common of all, the form of a feline, in an effort to conspicuously serve their mistresses without fear of capture or persecution. Not every witch may have a familiar; it is not within the rights of a witch to claim one, rather, they must be chosen by a familiar who deems them worthy of their service.

To be chosen is an incredible honor. It means that you exhibit not only talent as a witch, but also the potential to do and be more than what you have been limited to in your current station. More often than not, the arrival of a familiar comes in the form of some great tragedy or victory, a sign so clear from the Divine Mother that it cannot be ignored.

Mine was the former. 

He was young. Couldn't have been older than seventeen when he was carted onto the deck of the HMS Collie, but if he survived would forever carry the scars of a man who had seen enough tragedy to haunt him for a lifetime. Rupert and I were running triage, sending the operable cases to the surgeons below deck, taking the dead to the stern to be wrapped, treating the wounded who could be saved with a quick fix. When the boy came in on a stretcher, his head wrapped in the bloodied scarlet wool of a redcoat, a gaping wound against his right side which he clutched at in agonizing pain. When he was lowered onto the table, he let out a low groan. 

"Private Theodore Hatchet, sir," one of the soldiers who had carried him explained, "Caught the edge of a cannon ball as we tried to make a forward push." 

It had been like this for nearly a week now, everyone was hit as the British tried to make the forward advance, whether it was bullets or cannon balls, there was no escaping it if you weren't a commissioned officer sitting on the back of a horse. But this boy, this Theodore Hatchet... he didn't deserve this.

"Just... doing my duty, sir..." Hatchet said with a wince as Rupert began to inspect the wound in his side. I moved to unwrap the makeshift bandage on his head to assess the damage beneath it. Bits of singed flesh and clumps of coal black hair peeled away with the congealed blood as I pulled gently back on the fabric. He hissed in pain, his bloodstained teeth grinding against each other as it finally came loose. 

"Not much we can do about the pain, right now, lad." Rupert said apologetically as he took hold of a pair of forceps, "Miss Stuart, what can you make of it?" 

I leaned in to get a good look at the gash across Hatchet's forehead. It was messy, no doubt a result of hitting his head on a stone or against the butt of his rifle as he fell. But most blows to the head were shallow, easy to clean and care for. If he survived the injury to his side, the cut on his head would be of minimal concern. 

"It's minor, I can clean it and stitch it up."  

"Excellent." Kingsley replied, not bothering to check it himself, "It'll give you the opportunity to practice your surgeon's knot while I clean this up. You're awfully lucky, Private Hatchet, not many men could take a cannon ball to the ribs and have a chance at survival."

Hatchet tried to laugh, cracking open his pale green eyes a sliver as he tried to look down at Kingsley, but the pain became too overwhelming, making him groan again. Once the wave of discomfort passed, he opened his eyes again and glanced up at me as I prepared the needle and catsgut before taking a cloth to the wound to wipe the dried blood away. 

"A woman as a doctor," Theodore muttered, his voice barely audible above the distant gunfire and shouting soldiers, "I must truly be in heaven then." 

I smiled at him, pressing the rag gently against his forehead, "Not yet, Mr. Hatchet." 

"Please, call me Hatch." 

"Hatch." I corrected myself as I continued to clean his wound, "And I'm not a doctor. Not yet, anyway. Just a student of Dr. Kingsley's." 

Hatch’s smile broke through the pain, his bloodied teeth still forming a handsome half-grin as he watched me dab oil of vitriol and ethanol on his wound to numb it. “Well, even so, I’m grateful for your gentle hand, Miss uh?”

"Stuart. Aislin Stuart."

"Pretty name. You Irish?" 

I began to start stitching up his wound as Rupert continued to pull shrapnel and dead flesh from the gaping wound on his side. I shrugged as I worked, "I wouldn't know. My mother never spoke of her heritage, though if I had to guess, she might have actually been Welsh." 

"And your father? What about him?" he asked. My smile dropped, replaced by an apathetic expression at mention of fathers.

"I don't have one."

"Everyone has a father, Miss Stuart."

"I don't." 

My eyes became emblazoned with warning as I met his innocent look. He dropped the subject, instead glancing down at Kingsley who was starting to bandage the wound. 

"What about you, Doctor? Where all are you from?" 

"London." replied Kingsley blandly, "But my father was born in York."

Hatch's smile returned, "I was born in Kingston upon Hull. Father is a Commodore in the Navy, I suppose I was meant to serve. It's in my blood." 

I turned away for a moment, just a moment to grab a clean rag to dab away the blood that had formed at the base of the stitches. But glancing up for just a split second, I saw her again. Death stood across the deck with that entertained smirk, watching Hatch with a hungry gleam in her eye. Everything around me seemed to freeze in place, no cannons fired, no screams of pain rang out. I looked over at Hatch, whose smile was still plastered on his face as Kingsley was caught in place tying off the bandage around his abdomen. This boy... this kind, hopeful boy, deserved better than this. 

"No." I said firmly. I knew only she could hear me. Her malicious laugh echoed in my ears again. 

"You think you can tell me no?" 

Earthy brown met hazel, I didn't flinch or shy away. Theodore Hatchet had more to give this world, he was good, he didn't deserve to have such a kind light snuffed out when so much life was left to be lived. 

Death's grin fell away, her expression became disturbingly reserved, "He won't survive the night. Theodore Hatchet is meant to die, nothing can stop that." 

"One thing can. I can convince him to pledge his service to me."

She tilted her head curiously, almost... impressed, "He'll never walk the earth as a man again. He won't be able to say goodbye to his family." 

"He wouldn't have been able to do that if you claimed him either." I quipped, "All I ask is that you give me 'til dawn to try." 

The air hung heavy between us. Things slowly started to move again. Soldiers started to run as if they were moving through molasses, the faint echo of crackling gunfire finally reached my ears. I felt as though my heart would stop beating in that frozen moment, the hardened look of Death making me wonder if she might exchange Hatchet's life for mine. But then she nodded, and her gaze softened ever so slightly.

"Fine." she said, her nose scrunching up a bit in the disgust of having to cave, "You have until first light. But don't expect this to be a regular occurrence. I'm only doing this as a favor to her." 

My brow furrowed, my eyes narrowed, "Her? Who are you talking about?" 

Death's smirk returned, "Who indeed?"

She vanished, and everything started to move all at once, making me flinch as the noises and smells of war flooded my senses. 

"Are you alright, Miss Stuart?" Rupert's gentle baritone interrupted the noise, drawing my attention back to where he and Hatch were sat. My wide eyes and stock-still position must have been off-putting as they both looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted a second head. 

"Yes," I replied, returning to Hatch's side with a rag in my hand, "Just tired, I suppose. It's been a long week for all of us." 

The boy's smile faded a bit, becoming more wistful, "Last I knew, we were breaching the wall. Our cannons can't be more than a hundred meters from the fort. I wager by the end of the day, the Union Jack will be flying over us." 

"Well, I certainly hope so." Rupert said with a stiff, practiced grin, "We've done all we can do for you, Private. Miss Stuart will check on you in a few hours. For now, we'll get you below deck so you can rest." 

Hatch nodded slowly, painfully. A pair of soldiers stationed on board moved toward us when Kingsley waved them over, carrying a stretcher. They gingerly rolled the boy onto the canvas and lifted him with ease, ignoring the pained moans and grunts they elicited. I watched them take step after step until they vanished below deck and my timer officially started.

---------------------------------------------

The boy certainly had a knack for predicting the future, but I wouldn't call him a divination witch just yet. By sundown on the twelfth of October, the French had surrendered, and terms had been agreed upon. It was over. 

As the faintest sliver of a waxing moon offered no light on board the Collie, I sat beside Theodore Hatchet, the only one awake below deck. A chorus of heavy snores echoed through bowels of the ship as we talked in hushed tones. It was tricky, trying to find the right way to propose what I wanted to propose. Most people would curse my name or try to kill me if I blatantly announced that I was, in fact, a witch. To offer to save a young man's life by less than normal means would certainly take some careful wording. 

"In the end, it took my mother three hours to get Louis out of the tree and to this day, he won't take any sweets from her." Hatch said, concluding a rather entertaining story from his primary school days. I smiled softly as he chuckled a bit, though the pain in his side quickly put a stop to it. My smile faltered as I glanced down toward his bandages. Blood was starting to soak through them, he was going to bleed out by morning. 

"I'm not going to make it, am I, Miss Stuart?" he croaked. Looking back into his eyes, they were sad, heartbroken even. I didn't say anything, but I knew he was able to read the expression on my face. He knew. 

"I'm sorry, Hatch." I finally whispered when I couldn't fight the apology forming in my throat, "I'm so sorry." 

He swallowed harshly, blinked hard to fight back the tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes, "Is there nothing you can do?" 

There was no avoiding it now. No beating around the bush or distracting with alternative topics. 

"There is... something." I started, my voice quiet and shaky as I leaned in nervously, "But you would have to trust me entirely. And... you would not be the same person as you are now." 

Confusion replaced his sadness, his sharply defined brow furrowed, "What do you mean?" 

I leaned in, huddling over him to form a shell around my hand as I conjured up a few silvery wisps of my magic in my open palm, "I can offer you an alternative, but-"

"You're a witch?" he whisper-yelled, looking quickly around the deck to make sure no one was listening in. The only sign of life around us was the continuing cacophony of snores. He looked back at me, "Why couldn't you just heal me then?" 

I rolled my eyes; of course that would be the first thing he would ask. I shifted back on the stool by his bed and threaded my fingers together, shaking my head. 

"That's not how it works, Hatch." I said lowly, "Magic isn't a cure to every ailment. And I... I haven't been studying magic long enough to heal wounds as serious as yours. What I'm proposing to you is not healing, it's transformation." 

An inkling of fear crossed his face, "So, w-what you want to turn me into a- a toad? A newt? A cat?" 

I clapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up as his tone started to become loud. I held my hand there for a moment until he calmed down before withdrawing it, but the look on his face was still one of fear and partial disgust. 

"I am offering you the chance to become my associate." I explained, "Every so often, a candidate appears to a witch, usually in times of tragedy or triumph. This candidate can either pledge their service and take on a new form or deny it and..."

"Die?" 

"Or go about their lives as they used to."

"But not me."

"No... not you, Hatch." I said with a heavy sigh, "You're going to die."

Tears sprang forward. He sobbed, despite the pain it was undoubtedly causing him. I sat beside him quietly, my eyes glued to the seeping bloody bandage that was right in my face. He continued to cry for a while, but when his sobs finally ceased, and his chest rhythm fell back to normal, I took a gentle hold of his hand and directed his gaze toward me. 

"Theodore, you need to decide, and you need to do it now." I told him, "You said it yourself; you were always meant to serve. Serve me and I promise you that your life will be long and fulfilling. Refuse and you leave this world without ever having truly lived. What do you want to do?" 

He froze, took a minute or two to think on it. 

Then he nodded. 

"I, Theodore Edmund Hatchet, pledge my service to you, Miss Aislin Stuart, 'til death divides us."

I rose from my seat and set a hand on his chest. His eyes widened as he watched me prepare myself. I knew what he was silently asking me. A small, reassuring smile decorated my face. 

"It won't hurt, I promise." 

Looking back at my hand I muttered the famous incantation under my breath, "Derivare et formare, mutare et ministrare. Derivare et formare, mutare et ministrare."

As I continued to repeat the spell over and over, silvery tendrils wrapped around Hatch's body like long, ghost-like fingers. Slowly, they began to constrict him, encasing him in a shroud of pure moonlight. The pale glow grew brighter and brighter until I could no longer see Hatch beneath it. Glancing around the room, I was shocked that no one had awoken yet, that no one was even disturbed. But then I thought back to my brief interaction with Death earlier in the day. This was a favor, not to me... but to someone else. My mother perhaps? If anyone would be so daring as to court Death, it would be her. 

The light became dimmer, the form it encased became smaller. I continued my recitation without pause until the light was finally gone and the comforting sensation of magic at my fingertips faded away. Where Theodore Hatchet's body had once been, a raven stood, with gleaming obsidian feathers and the faintest smattering of green in its dark, beady eyes. It looked up at me curiously, then stretched out its wings as if it still expected them to be arms. 

"Hello, Hatch." I said with a wide grin, "How do you feel?"

What would have sounded like the call of a raven to any mortal sounded like Hatch's voice to me, clear and strong, as it had been before he was wounded. 

"Strange," he replied, "as if my body isn't really my own. But... it feels... right somehow. Miss Stuart-"

"Please, call me Ash." 

"Ash... was I always meant to become... this?"

I shrugged, "I don't know, Hatch. No one really knows if familiars are born or made. But when the opportunity presents itself to find one... we know it. A part of us can feel it. That sense of duty and service that you carry within you is what makes you special, Hatch. It's what brought you to me. And because of it, you will get to live a very long, very interesting life." 

If a raven could laugh, he would have. Instead, it came out as a cross between a caw and a chuckle, an amalgamation of his former and current forms, "Well, then I suppose I made the right choice. So... my lady, what would you like me to do first?"

I lowered my hand and allowed him to perch on it. With no one left to watch over, I left the lower deck and took Hatch up top to feel the gentle, cool breeze wafting across the bay. I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the chill of autumn bathe me like it had the first night I had set foot in the Colonies. I reached into the pocket of my coat and produced a piece of folded parchment that I had written on two days ago. 

"I'd like you to take a crack at flying." I said, holding up the letter, "I need you to deliver this to someone in Salem, Massachusetts. Are you up for it?" 

Hatch bobbed his head, his new way of nodding, "Of course. May I ask who I have the pleasure of delivering it to?"

"Her name is Agatha Harkness. She's the only living witch in the village, it should be no trouble to find her." 

Hatch took hold of the letter with his broad beak and started to flap his wings. After a few efforts, he lifted off my hand and flew upward, turning south and disappearing against the star-flecked navy sky. Giving a small sigh, I continued to watch the stars until they gave way to the faintest rays of morning light and for the first time in nearly a year, I felt happiness tug at my heartstrings.