#saving this for pride month was a power move

[mindsafe]

hc + ymir and historia's relationship.

@deiikara || from [ X ] || always accepting

headcanon || ymir + relationship w. historia reiss

846

word of the mistress's daughter reaches her ears, && ymir is CURIOUS. there is someone like her in this world: punished for the sin of existing. unlike her, this is a SOMEBODY masquerading as a NOBODY. if she wants to be especially heinous, that information can fetch a pretty penny. instead, she enlists in the military.

847

the first day is nothing but introductions && initiation rites. a handful of interesting personalities exist among the 104th cadet corps, but they are small fry compared to the one called ‘ krista lenz ’.

night falls && ymir notices two empty bunks: one belonging to ‘ potato girl ’ && the other to krista. now, what business could sweet, innocent, little krista possibly have after curfew? ymir is CURIOUS. she follows animated shadows && inane babble, happening across both missing comrades. it's nothing scandalous. not really.

ymir ends up being the one to carry a half-dead ‘ potato girl ’ back to the barracks, all while contemplating the best way to capitalize on her stupidity. that same night, she lies awake, trying to figure out why krista would risk corporal punishment for something as nonsensical as a ‘ good deed ’.

...

CURIOUSITY evolves: it grows legs && guides her to the mountains. ymir is less sensitive to winter's bite than most, but at the end of the day, she is HUMAN. her flesh is HUMAN flesh. krista is petite && doll-like; she is not built to withstand the elements for so long ― especially with dead weight on her shoulders. if they carry on like this, none of them will live to see the sunrise. unless...

pieces of the truth fall into place, forming a fragmented sense of understanding. this was never about saving a comrade on the brink of death; this was a swan song. ymir recognizes the melody. she has danced to it before && paid the ultimate price. she doesn't know why it bothers her so much. but it does. it bothers her enough that she does something foolish.

it's a gamble, but it pays off.

that night, ymir takes off her mask. it's only fair. precious secrets are exchanged under moonlight; a promise is whispered against the dying winds.

...

CURIOUSITY grows leaves, && blooms into something sweeter; fledgling camaraderie with foundations of stone. they sit together in the mess hall && share meals; it's an invitation for ( intimate ) conversation && heartfelt laughter; it feeds into a sense of belonging that neither believe themselves fully deserving of, while simultaneously trying to dissuade the other // they train together when possible, often sparring in the sunlight. it feels like a dance. ymir catches herself holding back ― she pulls her punches where she can && deliberately stays in krista's shadow. she tells herself that she chooses to stay out of the spotlight for her OWN sake.

850

the graduating class of the 104th cadet corps is two-hundred && eighteen units strong. they stand before the dais ― instructors towering over them, always stone-faced. the chosen ten ( krista included ) will likely go on to live in the interior && want for nothing; ymir will remain among the rest && find her own way in life, for as long as stolen time allows.

...

in the aftermath of trost, the ( surviving ) graduates of the 104th cadet corps stand before the another dais ― erwin smith addresses the crowd && doesn't dare mince his words. of the chosen ten, only annie chooses guaranteed stability. the majority walk away en masse to settle for roses && thorns; the rest offer up their beating hearts, krista included. like a loyal dog, ymir follows. CURIOUSITY grows wings && takes flight.

it might be her undoing.

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away. 

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known. 

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering. 

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready. 

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.

[matan4il]

Happy Pride month to all Jews and our true allies.

On this occasion, as someone who used to volunteer for the Jerusalem Open House (the gay community center) let me offer you a bit of info about our country's LGBTQ history (and correct some anti-Israel distortions).

This is Chaim (Herman) Cohen.

He was born in Germany in 1911, and came to Israel in 1930, to study torah at a yeshiva here. Inspired by his Jewish studies, he decided to turn to the study of law, returning to Germany for that goal and to get married. In 1933, with the rise of the Nazis to power in Germany, he decided to move to Israel permanently. In that sense, he's considered a refugee and Holocaust survivor. His younger brother Leo was murdered by the Nazis.

In 1950, he was appointed Israel's attorney general. In this role, he came across an anti-sodomy law passed by the British Mandate in 1936 (which prohibited all oral and anal sex, including between two men), and which the State of Israel automatically inherited once it was founded in 1948 (source in Hebrew). First he wanted to cancel it, but his jurisdiction fell short of that. As it was within his authority to instruct the Israeli police and state prosecution to ignore it, he did so in 1953. He explained his instruction:

"I thought it was my duty not to uphold a law, which I saw as immoral. [...] And if you should ask, in what is the immorality of the law prohibiting intercourse between men, I will reply to you that such a law against any consenting and private contact between adults contradicts the freedom of man over his own body, and depriving this freedom is a grave infringement against one of the basic human rights."

For comparison's sake, in March 1952, Alan Turing (who saved countless lives for the UK and the allies during WWII) was brought to trial for homosexual consensual private acts, was convicted, and his security clearance was revoked.

In 1978, a special committee of the Knesset (Israel's parliament) recommended several changes to laws addressing various sexual acts, including a recommendation to cancel this anti-sodomy law. In 1980, Israel's first right wing government, under the leadership of Prime Minister Menachem Begin, accepted the committee's recommendations with a corresponding bill (which eventually didn't pass). The bill was presented a second time in 1986, and was passed into law in 1988, decriminalizing same-sex intercourse in Israel (source in Hebrew).

For comparison's sake, in 1990, there were still over 110 jurisdictions in the world criminalizing homosexuality in the world. In the 2020's, RIGHT NOW, there are over 60 that still do.

This is Dr. Doron Maizel (may his memory be a blessing) on the left, with his partner Adir Steiner.

Doron was an army doctor. He was married to a woman with whom he had 3 daughters, before coming out to her in the late 1970's, getting a divorce and eventually openly moving in with his partner Adir. They were together since 1983. Being open about his sexual orientation meant that while Doron was allowed to serve, the same notion that gay men are a security threat (which was applied to Alan Turing), and therefore can't be allowed to serve in top/secret posts in the army, was to stop the promotion that he was about to get. Doron went to visit Ariel Sharon (at the time, Israel's right wing Security Minister, who's in charge of the army) in the latter's private home. IDK what was said in that meeting, but after that, Adir underwent the security check that all partners of a high ranking army officer do, and then Doron got his promotion. When Doron passed away in 1991 from cancer, Adir demanded to be and was recognized as an army widower. Doron's official army commemoration page states, "Left behind a mother, three daughters, a brother and a boyfriend."

Here's Adir with Doron's picture during a 2012 interview:

In 1993, the army order that were meant to prevent Doron and other gay soldiers from serving in certain posts was officially canceled. In 1999, a soldier born as male asked to serve as a woman, because that's what she actually was (this would have made this soldier's service shorter, and in that sense "cost" the army). The request was accepted, and since then, trans soldiers serve in the gender they identify with.

The story of Israel's LGBTQ rights isn't only glitter and fairies. Just like I can talk about a lot of progress that the state made in equalizing our rights in many domains (because I have), I could also talk about the rights we still don't have (because I've done that, too). The situation here isn't perfect (though as far as I'm aware, it isn't anywhere in the world, there are at least a few rights denied to the queer community in every country I know of). But when I look at our history, I feel like Israel isn't just one of the more queer-friendly countries in the world, it was also at certain moments at the very forefront of the struggle to recognizing queer people as deserving of equal treatment.

Which is maybe the most instinctual reason for my fury at the form of the Israel's demonization using the false notion of "pink washing." It is DERANGED to think Chaim Cohen, in 1953, gave his pro-gay instruction in relation to an occupation that Israel wasn't being blamed of until after the Six Day War in 1967, and which didn't gain attention from the regular people (as opposed to foreign politicians, who didn't give a shit about Israel's record on gay rights) until the Derben Conference in 2000. Not to mention how the idea that having a good gay rights record is something a country can brag about is probably even younger than that conference.

The pink washing accusation is de-humanizing. It suggests that it can't be that Israelis simply have a set of values which happens to align with the west's when it comes to the gay community (or women's rights, or ecological awareness, or freedom of speech, or any of the other positives Israel has, which position it high in the Freedom Index, and which anti-Israel activists label "washing" with one color or another). No, the history of these fields in the Jewish state is all about what non-Jews will say about us! It's like you can't fathom that we have an existence of our own, and minds of our own, and desires and wants and struggles of our own, and not everything is centered about what you think of us.

And the source of this self-centered thinking seems to connect with an inability to accept the Jewish state as anything other than the ultimate evil. Because Israel has to be the supervillain of the story, then it can't have a single positive. Everything about it has to be black, otherwise that challenges the black and white narrative that's been developed to demonize the Jewish state. So if it is revealed that there's any domain in which Israel is actually doing good things, reflecting a respect for human rights or a closeness to the values that the anti-Israel crowd claims to uphold, then it must be just a cover up for how Israel treats the Palestinians.

Essentially, the pink/purple/green/whatever washing accusations are as insane and antisemitic, just like claiming that Jews have won so many Nobel Prizes (a reflection of how much our people have benefited humanity) to distract the world from all the non-Jewish kids we kill to use their blood to bake Passover matzos.

But it's actually worse. Because in the process of demonizing Israel, Israeli Arab and Palestinian queers get thrown under the bus, too. As a gay activist, I'm familiar with so many gay and trans Israeli Arabs who get to have a good life thanks to Israel's good gay rights record, who are aware that if the anti-Israel crowd is successful in de-legitimizing and destroying this state, they're fucked as well. I know a lot of gay and trans Palestinians, who only catch a break when they come to the Jerusalem Open House, or generally to Israel, the only place where they can be themselves safely. I know so many queer Palestinians who are scared for their lives because of the violent intolerance of their own families, society and governments. And all the western countries from which the anti-Israel people come from refuse them entry as refugees persecuted for their sexual orientation (yes, I have gay Palestinian friends who have tried, only to be turned down by country after country, no matter how "liberal" or "pro-Palestinian" they officially claim to be).

Meanwhile, gay Palestinians can get temporary asylum in Israel (please don't tell me it's "pink washing" again, when no one from the anti-Israel crowd will even acknowledge this fact) if they fear for their lives, it's just not a proper solution, because just like Palestinian terrorists can get into Israel, carry out an attack and murder innocent civilians, Palestinian homophobes can get inside as well, and murder the queer people who had fled here.

And just to make reality a tad more complex, you know how for the anti-Israel crowd, the worst of the worst of Israeli society, are the religious ("Fanatic! Extremist! Violent!") settlers? I know of more than one case where those religious settlers are the ones who are helping gay Palestinians, but here's one that made it into the Israeli news.

Life is just not black and white, human nature is complex, Israel is a country where human beings are more than just their stance on the conflict and whether foreigners agree with it or not, and the "pink washing accusation" black and white washes all our colors away, trying to reduce us into caricatures that fit into their simplistic, reductive narrative, so they can go on playing "white/western/outsider savior" to the "poor Palestinians" without actually caring about many of the poorest, most marginalized ones.

This vid isn't a representation of all gay Israeli Arabs, but it's def a voice you will not see acknowledged on the anti-Israel side:

Happy Pride to everyone seeing us, all of us, Israelis and Palestinians, queer and straight, with all of our humanity and complexity!

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[legalmente-loca]

Pairing: Godstiel x Female Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+, oral (male receiving)

You were praying. Well… At least before.

You were praying for the salvation of your sinful family. Greed, pride, and avarice had invaded your family, flooding it and trying to drown you with them. So here you were, kneeling in the solitude of the church. A white dress adorned your body, seeking purification, and you thought you had found it… Until you saw him.

This man had appeared in front of you as soon as you opened your eyes. He was wearing a trench coat and his sky-blue eyes mesmerized you from the first second.

A halo of light surrounded him, maybe it was the in vitro window behind him, or the inexplicable glorious power he seemed to carry.

He caressed your chin, looking down at you from above, and gently opened your mouth.

“You will find the forgiveness you seek.” He murmured, his voice so… Heavenly entering your ears.

But that wasn’t the only thing that entered you.

His cock was soon between your lips. His moans echoed throughout the church, your vagina clenching at those same sounds. You could see the statue of Jesus behind him through your eyes glazed over by the tears he wiped away with his thumb as they ran down your cheek.

His hips moved back and forth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly as he watched you. It was a strange observation, with a somewhat sinister smile, but it didn’t scare you. Something about him gave you a lot of security, as if you were under an angel’s wing.

Your cheeks hollowed and he caressed the bulge that formed in a moment. The cross on your neck swayed from side to side due to his movements.

“A good christian… Here is what you seek.” He gasped and closed his eyes for a few moments, concentrating before opening them again. “I will exterminate the evil filth that stalks your family from within.”

Was this not a sin? Was it not the sin of lust? After all, sins had flooded your family, perhaps you had already drowned in them as well. But this did not feel wrong. It felt…

Divine.

His movements became faster and he held the sides of your head with both hands, his fingers tangling in your hair. His eyes began to glow in a blueish color.

“You will receive the seed of forgiveness and with it… With it you will be purified.” He muttered through his teeth.

A blue halo ran through him as you felt your throat filling with his massive amount of cum. His semen was white, as white as the dress you wore and as the purity you wanted to be flooded with to save yourself from drowning in sins. Between gasps and caresses on your face, he pulled his cock out of you after relaxing, the semen running down the corners of your lips, falling down your neck and getting into the neckline of your dress, staining the cross on your necklace in the process.

Your panting breath as you watched Jesus behind him. His empty gaze, perhaps disappointed?

But if his father was disappointed in you at that moment, wait until he was even more disappointed nine months later, when a new pair of blue eyes watched you as you nursed their owner in your arms.

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[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Ten

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This episode was written after episode 7 of Helluva Boss but before Full Moon. Full Moon events have not yet happened. It's also shorter, as some of it was moved to chapter nine.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Ten - Cute

Content Warning: Minors DNI!!!, Smut (let me know if I missed any)

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” The imp dove behind the desk. “Look, I’m sorry! We did everything you asked! Okay! What more do you fucking want!?” 

You appeared in the middle of the office’s conference room, scaring the shit out of Blitz. It was deserted, save for the boss, who had been cleaning his prized horse figurine collection. 

“Mr. Radio Demon sir, please don’t kill me,” Blitz begged from behind the table.

You raised an eyebrow at Alastor, who had taken a seat in a chair and placed his microphone on the table.

“I may have hired him to corroborate your backstory.” The demon purred, his chin resting atop folded hands. Amusement sparked in his eyes.

Ah. Well, no wonder Blitz is terrified - he probably found a whole lot of weird shit. Which meant Alastor heard a whole bunch of weird shit. Which meant Alastor knew you were traipsing around Earth for the past 100 years before "falling" into Hell. Great.

You wondered if he knows about your friend who traipsed with you...

“Hey, Blitzy, why didn’t you tell me someone hired you to find information on me?” You did your best to give a sweet smile. The imp didn’t know you as the Shadow. He knew you as Thestral. Which is why you came dressed in your regular clothes. 

It was now Alastor’s turn to look confused.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” His horns appeared over the table. “It’s the Radio Demon! He woulda killed me on the spot.” 

Hmm. True. 

“Where are Millie and Moxie? You can’t be a third wheel without the other two.” You ran a finger across the desk, feigning interest in the imp's affairs.

“What the fuck is this, a social visit? What do you want, and why did you bring him?” Blitz gestures to Alastor.

“Ignore him. He’s not important.” You think you heard Alastor growl - you did your best to ignore the butterflies it stirred within you. “Your fuck buddy owes me a favor. Where in Hell is he these days? Heard he finally left the bitch, but I didn't know if he got the house or…” 

“Okay,” the imp laughs as if that was the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. “First of all, he’s not my fuck buddy. Where did you hear that?”

“Octavia,” you smiled. 

Yes, the famous Princess of the Night. You just so happened to run into her in the Pride Ring one night she ran away. The responsible thing would have been to return her to the Prince as soon as possible, but you ran into her as Thestral - the piano player at Mimzy’s. She thought you were the coolest. So you two went out, got drunk, and had a fun night. You returned her to Stolas eventually. He was so grateful and none the wiser. 

Octavia has ended up in your apartment a few more times since then. Hence why, you’ve run into the I.M.P. as they were recruited to help find her. 

Stolas loved you, and Octavia loved you. Blitz has mixed feelings towards you. You made his life harder, but you could keep up with his sense of humor, so that made you okay. He also may have made a pass at you, and you rejected him. Not cool. 

Blitz mumbled profanities under his breath before finally giving you an answer, “The Royal took his daughter topside for margaritas.” 

You shot him a dumb look, “Margaritas?” 

“Yeah, she’s been all excited about the human world ever since the fucking Hollywood incident. Stolas takes her on field trips now that she actually likes him again or some shit. I don’t know! It’s her rebellious teenage millennium.”

Great. 

You turned to Alastor, who was thoroughly happy that Stolas was trapped topside and out of reach. Perhaps he thought you would give up now and return to your cage?

But you didn’t give up easily and Lucifer was coming tomorrow. This had to happen now.

“Open it,” you commanded.

“What?” The imp’s voice cracked. 

Alastor frowned, desperately trying to hide his anger. “My darling, I don’t think…”

“Blitz,” you pulled a fat stack of cash from the Void - the remainder of Crim’s money. “Open it.” 

The imp was practically salivating at the sight. 

“Deal!” He swiped it from your hand before Alastor had a chance to protest. You turned to the Radio Demon and stared him down, your eyes daring him to try and stop you. 

Do it. Start a fight right here. You’d take him on. You were practically begging for a fight with the Overlord now. 

No more running, right Rosie? Time to face this head-on.

You were goating him, and he could tell. 

Blitz chanted the spell from the grimoire, and the portal cracked into being. 

“Ready?” You held an elbow out for Alastor, who sat unmoving in the chair beside you.

“Wait, you don’t have human disguises,” Blitz reminded you. 

“Oh, right,” you took the grimoire from his hands and flipped through a few pages before finding the right spell. 

“How the fuck…” Blitz’s jaw dropped. 

The story of this grimoire and you was for another time and another place.

You slid the book over to Alastor and plopped into the seat next to him - summoning a quill and an ink well. You had a human disguise - you had spent nearly a hundred years over there before ending up in Hell - but he didn’t. 

“I need to draw this on your skin,” you pointed to the symbol in the book. “Is that okay?” You asked cautiously. You knew the demon didn’t like to be touched.

His eye’s flit to Blitz. 

Ah, yes, he wouldn’t like an audience. 

“Get out,” you commanded. 

“Yeah, no problem!” He skitted out of the room. 

Your eye’s find Alastors - a deep crinkle weighing down his eyebrows. He was liking this plan less and less by the minute.  

You cleared your throat, the bubbles of anxiety filling your chest. “It needs to be drawn over the heart.” 

There’s no way Alastor was going to…

He stood, took his jacket off, and draped it over the chair. He loosened his black tie and unbuttoned his red suit vest. His eyes never leaving your face, he slowly undid the top buttons of his black collared shirt.

God, you were so jealous of his fingers. They got to undress him. You didn't.

He pulled the clothing aside to reveal the left side of his chest. 

You tried not to gasp, you really did, but the sight was just too shocking. The Radio Demon was covered in scars. You felt the blood drain from your face, the knot in your chest winding itself tighter and tighter until it was hard to breath. 

“Don’t fret too much, darling, these scars are not of this life,” his gaze was hot on your face, heating your cheeks. 

Your heart sank. Did that mean…? 

“These are not what killed me,” he answered as if reading your mind. 

You swallowed dryly, trying to find the ability to move once more. Dipping the quill in ink, you brought the feather to his chest. He stiffened at the contact of the tip against his skin, looking over his right shoulder, his jaw ticking with every stroke. You did your best not to touch him as much as possible as you drew. 

Alastor couldn't even look at you. God, he looked so uncomfortable.

Rosie’s words echo in your mind. “Alastor is scared too…”

You cleared your throat, "Play something for me?”

Alastor shot a questioning glare from the corner of his eye.

“Humor me,” you gave him a soft smile.

The demon thought a moment before his radio clicked through a few channels, finally landing on Louis Armstrong’s “Heebie Jeebies.”

You snorted, “Very funny.”

“I live to entertain, darling,” Alastor’s smile was half-hearted.

And it pained you.

“Why radio?” You ask, dabbing your pen in the ink well. “I mean, you could have done a lot of things in life, but why that?”

"Annonymity," Alastor answered after thinking a moment. "I enjoyed the power of captivating an audience while remaining invisible outside of the booth."

Your heart skipped a beat. Alastor liked staying in the shadows...

"I've heard the stories. Rosie said you remained nameless for a long time after your broadcasts went out. It's how you earned the name 'the Radio Demon.' There wasn't a face to attribute to the deaths until..." Your voice trailed off.

"Until Vox coaxed me from the shadows," there was a gleam in his eye.

You dropped your pen, "What happened with him exactly?"

"Hmmm," Alastor hummed. "For an attempt at a distraction, darling, you are doing a poor job at it." He teased.

Oh, right.

"Fine, what's your favorite song?" You asked instead.

The demon blinked. Did you say something you shouldn't have?

After a long while, he finally said, "I don't think anyone's ever asked me that before."

Your stomach dropped.

Alastor was many things. Alastor the Overlord, Alastor the Radio Demon, Alastor the radio host... And yet, Alastor the lonely was never a persona you thought he'd fill.

You know Alastor has friends - Rosie and Mimzy, for example - but what did that mean? He and Rosie were close, you didn't know anything about how deep his relationship was with Mimzy other than she knew him when she was alive. Yet, from the way Rosie treats him, she's more a mother than a friend. Mimzy seemed more like a friend you kept at arm's length, knowing her proclivity for attracting trouble - a.k.a, she couldn't be trusted completely.

So, who did Alastor have, really?

Husk? Yeah, no. Stupid question.

So, then...

"Shave 'em Dry' by Lucille Bogan*," you answered for him.

Alastor laughed so hard his face was in his hands. His laughter was infectious, and it brought forth giggles of your own. God, the way Alastor's natural joy warmed your heart.

The demon reached out, his other hand finding your fingers wrapped in the feather pen. His thumb stroked the top of your hand, eliciting goosebumps across your skin. Even through his gloves, his hands had a way of making your bones melt.

Alastor didn’t think he had a favorite song. He had never really entertained the thought, and he enjoyed so much of it all.

The demon ran his thumb across your hand to give himself time to think. He let his eyes bleed into your gaze, watching as you stifled a sharp intake of breath.

The demon had never really thought of his favorite song till the day you moved into the hotel, your red lips taunting him from the beginning. He never considered the flutter of feelings in his chest might be worthy of a song until you were dying in his arms. He never let himself consider the weight words of music held till he caught your beautiful voice singing in his kitchen.

The demon never considered he might have a favorite song till you gave him a reason to want, to desire...

“Unforgettable,” he smiled, “by Nat King Cole.”

He watched as your cheeks turned as red as your lips. “Alastor…”

God, he loved hearing his name fall from those lips.

“That’s a love song.”

Of course he knew that.

“Yes, darling, it is.” Alastor simply smiled, and that was enough to have the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

He watched you nervously bite your lip and envied those teeth.

A sharp intake of breath, “I didn’t take you for a romantic….” You drew a few more strokes on his chest before finishing. This time, Alastor faced you and watched as you drew. He chuckled silently at the shake in your hand - he thought it adorable, really.

“You’ll find that there are many things about me..." Alastor ran his hand through your hair, cascading over your shoulder. He felt you shutter at the contact. The demon moved your hair aside with his finger, allowing a clear view of the bruises. Alastor smiled, "...that will surprise you."

He enjoyed seeing you flustered and speechless and decided the sight of you biting your red lips was his new favorite view. The sound of your heart skipping a beat in your chest and the little noise you make when he nibbles on your skin was his new favorite sound. The feel of your magic sparking to life as it reacted to his touch was his new favorite feeling. Satan’s mistress... Alastor the Radio Demon was discovering he had many favorites today.

Your gaze fell, your face heating as you tried to focus on the last few strokes of the rune on his chest. Your hand lingered a moment too long before you cleared your throat, “done.” 

The demon stood abruptly and faced away from you as he reassembled his ensemble. 

Jesus Christ, you were watching Alastor dress - so intimate an action, and yet you couldn't look away. Why didn't you at least offer to help with the buttons? Fuck, you prayed for the strength to get through today in one piece...

“Blitz,” you screamed for the imp when Alastor shrugged on his jacket once more. 

You handed the imp the grimoire. “Drinks on me next time?”

“Oh, Hell yes! You fucking owe me!”

You resisted the urge to point out that you just gave him a fuck ton of money. 

“Ready?” You held your elbow out to the demon. 

“Good luck!” Blitz called after you as you stepped through the portal. “You’re going to fucking need it.” He closed the portal behind you. 

You were in a dark alleyway, the sound of commotion far off. The world was warm and sunny - Hell, the sun. You hadn't seen real sunlight in years. Pulling Alastor to a half-broken mirror, you could see that you had transformed.

Your hair hung in waves down your back, no longer the silver of the damned but a beautiful natural blonde that matched your eyes. Your skin was pink and full of life, but much the rest remained the same.

God, had it been six years already since you were here? The image was quite a shock - a reminder of what came before your life flipped upside down and you packed your bags for the Underworld. 

You caught Alastor staring, your cheeks turning red. A blush crept up Alastor’s neck, the same color as his suit jacket. 

“Your turn,” you smiled, suddenly extremely self-conscious of your appearance. Say, " Transformare.”

“Transformare.” A whirlwind wiped around the alley, twirling its way up Alastor’s body. His skin transformed to a creamy tan, his hair darkening to a light brown, but in the morning sun, at just the right angle, it had a red tint to it. His ears and antlers disappeared as his hair shortened. It was long and curly on top but with a shortened buzz cut around the base. His monocle was replaced with a small pair of reading glasses sitting at the edge of his nose. His eyes stayed their usual red, however, and his canines were sharper than average for a mortal - a reminder that he was not fully human.

Alastor’s entire body went rigid. 

The spell you had used wasn’t simply a disguise spell - it was a sort of rejuvenation spell. The Radio Demon was now staring at the reflection of his former living self. 

Ooooooh, the French, the Voodoo, his taste for jambalaya. Alastor was Creole. "This face was made for radio..." It suddenly made sense...

Alastor ran a hand through his hair in complete disbelief. Cute. The thought hit your brain subconsciously, and you dropped your gaze so he wouldn't see.

“I should have warned you,” it came out as a whisper. 

Alastor took a shallow breath. “No. No. I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t think I would have come if you had.” 

Oh… Why did that make your heart sink? 

You both stood a minute longer, Alastor’s eyes glued to the mirror before taking your arm in his. 

“Shall we?” He asked. 

You nodded. 

Weaving between alleyways, you finally rounded the corner and were met with the deafening roar of people and music. 

“What the…” 

You popped out onto the street in a huge crowd, confetti filling the air, beads being tossed, a band marching down the street. It was an absolute madhouse. 

Alastor laughed next to you as people tried to shove their way around you. He protectively wrapped an arm around your middle, bringing you into him. The rumble of his laugh vibrated through his chest and into yours. His scent overcame you, numbing your senses and clouding your mind with thoughts of him holding you close.

He still smelled like himself. Like the forest after rain...

“Mardi Gras!” A genuine smile formed across his face. “He didn’t say margaritas. He meant Mardi Gras!” 

Oh, shit. You were in New Orleans, the French Quarter specifically - Alastor’s birthplace and hometown. 

You had inadvertently brought Alastor home. 

People shuffled by you in wild outfits of greens, purples, and golds. Feathers and beads decorated an ocean of partygoers hidden beneath masks. 

“Oh, this won’t do,” his eyes were on you now, analyzing your outfit. “If I’m to escort you around New Orleans during Mardi Gras, you certainly can’t dress like that.” With a flick of his wrist, your outfit changed. 

Alastor dressed you in a dress with numerous yellow ruffled skirts and thin straps of tied ribbon holding it up. Your hair had curled into a cute bob iconic of the 1930s, and a mask of yellow feathers completed the look. The top edge of your tattoo was visible beneath the dress, but instead of its iconic silver shade, it had faded to black. Humans have all sorts of tattoos in this day and age; no one would be any the wiser... Besides, Alastor couldn't see anything but the very top of it... He wouldn't know what it was just from that...

Alastor’s suit changed into a matching set of gold, a fedora to accompany, complete with a yellow mask of felt. “Absolutely beautiful, darling,” he grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his. His black leather gloves were soft in your hand. “Now, where to?” 

You pushed down the creep of blush running up your neck and tried to think. You were here for a reason, and it wasn't to ogle at the Overlord, no matter how slim his waist looked in gold or how badly you wanted to run your fingers through his curls...

If Octavia was here then hopefully the card was too. You dug deep behind your navel, searching for the familiar tug of the obsidian calling card you had given the Princess all those years ago. 

She didn’t know what it was when you gave it to her, a precaution for her to use in case she ever got into any trouble. It only worked when you were on the same plane, however, so when she ran away to Hollywood, she couldn't use it to contact you. Now that you are both topside, you should be able to find her. 

There. 

“This way,” you screamed over your shoulder, pulling the Radio Demon through the crowd behind you. 

Pushing through the crowd hurt, but you were on a mission, and the parade was far from over. Finally, you made it to a place called the Hotel Royal - a cute two-story corner hotel just off the main road. Dipping inside, the building led to a courtyard filled with live music and dancing. Off to one side was a bar, complete with a fountain at the center of the cobblestones. Two rows of balconies encircled the yard, with more people dancing and drinking throughout. 

“It’s still here!” Alastor curled in next to you, his hand on your hip, allowing others to pass as you surveyed the scene. 

You shot him a questioning look. 

“Come this way,” he pulled you to the bar, complete with a wooden backdrop. He tugged you down under the bar stool, his fingers running over the wooden panel. “Here!” He screamed over the music. Beneath his fingers were two names etched into the wood: Marcel Gerard and Alastor Hartfelt**.

Holy shit. 

“My mother cleaned for the hotel when we were strapped for cash. She’d bring me along to play with the owner’s son.” The demon smiled at the carving. 

There it was, that concoction of butterflies and bubbles that made you queasy. What was happening? Rosie’s words flitted through your mind again as you surveyed the demon, smiling at the wood. 

You felt terrified, but you were… excited about it? Alstor’s hand was still in yours, your fingers intertwined. It was… nice. The demon hated touch, but here you were, hand in hand. 

Was this romance?

All of last night comes rushing back - of Alastor's hand in yours, of the demon's fists bunched in your pajama bottoms, of his mouth on your lips.

You knew the smell of vanilla was going to hit before it even graced your nose.

You didn't really know what romance was, but you wanted to.

Fuck, you wanted this. You wanted him.

And it terrified you. 

Because if Alastor knew who you were and what you carried with you, he'd kill you...

Fuck.

Alastor would kill you.

You dropped his hand and stood. 

“Is everything alright?” The demon's smile dropped, his face crinkling in concern. 

Before you could find an excuse to explain away your weird behavior, you felt the tug. She was here. 

You spun, surveilling the dance floor. There, in the middle of a group of girls was the tallest human girl you had ever seen. Her dark hair cascaded down her back into a pool of purple tips. She wore a Green dress, her mask covered in glittery sequins, which exploded into a bloom of peacock feathers above her head. 

Octavia. 

You pushed your way through the crowd and tapped her shoulder. She spun, clearly a little tipsy, before her eyes lit up in recognition. “What are you doing here!?” She screamed over the music, bringing you into a hug. You winced when she let you go, grabbing your arms and twirling you about. 

“Same as you!” You lied. “To enjoy the festivities! Where’s your father?” 

“Dad?” She stopped spinning you. “Over here, come with me!” 

She dragged you to the side of the dance floor, where an extremely tall gentleman was sitting in a chair. He twirled the straw in his drink, a glum look plastered across his face. That was until he saw you and Octavia standing before him. He lit up at the sight of you and brought you into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Hi, Stolas,” you managed to breathe out. He dropped you, and you stumbled back into a strong pair of arms: Alastor. 

The Radio Demon bowed to the Royal, “Your Highness.”

“Oh, please, that’s unnecessary,” he waved awkwardly. Stolas hated the attention. He always has. 

The music turned to a dirty jazz, a song Alastor perked his ears up at. 

“You mind distracting the Princess for a moment,” you whisper-screamed into his ear.  

You’d hate dragging her into this. 

His smile turned cockeyed - a knowing grin. He grabbed your hand and placed a kiss atop it. “Of course, ma cherie.”

He grabbed the Princess and twirled her about, dragging her onto the dance floor. You’d heard from Rosie about Alastor's dancing skills. He could kill it on the dance floor. 

Turning back to Stolas, your smile faltered. “I’m afraid I’m not here for fun. I need to call in that favor.” 

“Oh,” he collapsed back into his chair, looking disappointed. God, he looked so lonely. 

The waiter came to take your order: a glass of red and two fingers of rye. 

You pulled a piece of paper from the Void and handed it to him. He read it. Then, read it again. He eyed you suspiciously. “And what do you need this for?” 

“Got into trouble a little while back. I need to take some… necessary precautions.” And Stolas was the only person you knew who knew the spell. Well… He was the only person you knew willing to share it with you. Fucking Goetia and their secrets. They had a whole ass society based on them.

He waited for you to elaborate further, but you didn’t. 

“Very well,” he pulled a quill from the void, awaiting your arm expectantly. “I’m assuming you have the ink?”

You summoned the white liquid from the Void - you took it off Cain after he died. 

The waiter returned not long after, shooting you two a weird look as the demon drew a mark on your arm in sparkly white ink. The liquid was mixed with the bones of a saint - it had to be for the spell to work. 

Your mind turned to the dance floor as you sipped the Cabernet. Alastor was twirling the poor girl around and around in a flurry of drunken giggles. At least she was having fun, and so was the Overlord. A genuine smile plastered across his face as the saxophone dived into a solo. Watching him enjoy himself warmed your heart but also pained it. 

Were you going to tell him?

“Such strange company you keep,” Stolas interrupted your thoughts. Of course, he recognized the Radio Demon. 

“Like I said, necessary precautions.” You shot him a fake smile. You decided to pivot the conversation. “How are you, Stolas?” You genuinely wanted to know. 

“It has been hard,” the Prince started. “But my little owlette has been keeping me busy.” He half-heartedly laughs. 

“I heard about Hollywood. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“It’s quite alright. You have done so much for us already. Besides, I’m glad it happened. We’ve grown closer because of it.” He smiled at his daughter on the dance floor. 

Your heart panged. Pulling a key from the Void, you slowly pushed it across the table. “You’ll find the cabin on the outskirts of Levitowne in Envy. It’s well-hidden and private. Just in case. I’ve heard the stories.”

He eyes the key, then eyes you. He knows Human Sinners can't leave the Pride Ring. He knows there is no way you could ever have gone to Envy, let alone secured a home. There are questions swimming in his eyes, you know he’s thinking if he can trust you. You hope your actions in the past prove true. 

Besides, you needed powerful allies in your back pocket for what you were planning...

“Thank you.” 

Oh, thank the Lord. 

“You always have an ally in Pride, of course. If you ever need it, I’ll drop everything and run.”

A smile found his face again. “You always do.” He returns your forearm to you. You watch the ink set into your skin, its white sparkle fading into black. You hoped that was a good sign. You slip the ink well back into the Void. 

“I hope it works,” the Prince eyes the tattoo now visible on your forearm. “For your sake.”

For everyone's sake.  

“Dad!” The Princess practically falls onto your table. She scrambles for the Prince’s arm. “Come! I must show you this dance Al taught me!” 

Al?

The demon appears next to you, his forehead shining with sweat. He fixes his mask on his face and runs a hand through his wild hair. He laughs and says something to the Princess in French. “Merci pour cette belle danse, chérie.”

She giggles and responds in the language. “Arrête de traîner et fais-le déjà!” 

Since when does she know French!?

“Comment sais-tu que c'est ce qu'elle veut?” Alastor asks. 

Wait a minute; you’re an Angel, you know every language. You flipped the switch in your mind.

“Je vois la façon dont vous vous regardez. Tu as déjà son cœur... mais elle ne le sait pas encore! She just doesn't know it yet!” Octavia laughs hysterically as she drags her father into the crowd. She winks at you as she disappears behind a wall of bodies. 

The Radio Demon shirks off his coat and hangs it over the back of your chair. 

“Do I want to know what that was all about?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly, handing him the drink you ordered for him. 

He downs it in one gulp, then collapses into the chair across from you. "Just a bit of teasing," he laughs, motioning to the two of them on the dance floor. Kicking his legs out in front of him and leaning back in the chair. "The Princess is a quick study."

Hmm...

You sipped your wine. From your seat, you could see the Princess attempting to spin Stolas in the same way you had watched Alastor spin her. The height difference made it difficult, but the Prince was beaming regardless. 

“I didn't realize you were fluent in French?” You asked. 

“Darling, I could speak French before I could walk.” He smiles, his Southern accent slipping through. You were surprised but should have guessed. He was a New Orleans native turned Radio Host Star, of course he adopted the Transatlantic accent. Yet, his words curled around you and whisked your breath away. 

The music changes abruptly, slowing in tempo. You watch as dancers paired off, swaying with the music. Stolas and Octavia have disappeared completely. You’re not worried - the Princess can handle anything thrown at her in this realm. It was Stolas who needed a babysitter. 

You turn to take another sip of your drink but find Alastor leaning on the table. His eyes half-lidded, his smile tipped up in a cockeyed grin, he holds a gloved hand out expectantly. 

“May I have this dance?” He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Your heart skips a beat at the desire glowing in his eyes. He was captivating, all-consuming. He looked at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Like it was just you and him in this club right now. 

“Okay,” you slipped your hand in his. He led you from the table to the fountain at the center of the courtyard. Bringing your hand to his shoulder, he found your waist and pulled you a beat closer, careful of your wounds. You weren’t touching, other than your grips, but the proximity would have been considered scandalous in his day. 

He led you around the dancefloor in a slow waltz, matching the speed of the music. You were a terrible dancer; at every ball you attended in Heaven, you found some way to weasel out of it early. You never danced unless required, finding comfort on the sidelines, preferring to hide in the crowd than be out on display. 

You originally became the Shadow for that very reason - you hated eyes on you. You hated the spotlight. You preferred to work behind the scenes, behind a mask. It was more comfortable there. 

Your eyes slipped down to your feet as Alastor led. You did your best to match his, terrified of stepping on his toes. He had a reputation as a fabulous dancer, after all. 

“Eyes on me, darling,” he said, placing a finger under your chin and guiding your face to meet his. 

The cold steel of red softened as you held his gaze. The room fell away, the music lulling you into a world of your own. Alastor pulled you a beat closer, your chest heaving against his. Your heart rammed against your ribs, and you prayed the demon couldn’t hear it; you prayed he couldn’t smell the adrenaline running through your veins or the vanilla wafting off you in droves. 

You were terrified; you wanted to jump out of your skin and run, but his gaze kept you cemented to his side, like a bird trapped in a cage. Yet the cage didn’t feel like a prison. It didn’t even feel like a cage at all. It was freeing. Like you could take off into flight knowing the sanctity of protection forever remained.

No more running. 

“Alastor, last night..." You swallowed dryly, "was what happened... only about Vox?”

Alastor's eyes lit up in amusement as he pondered. “Hmmm, no.” Your heart skipped a beat. “Although I do admit jealousy is not an emotion I am accustomed to.”

He was jealous. You were right. So, does that mean...?

You smiled nervously. Thank God Alastor was wearing gloves right now because your palms were sweating. "So you didn’t know about the date when it was happening then?”

The demon ran his hands through your hair, giving him a clear view of your bruised neck. “I assure you, ma cherie, had I known about it at the time, Vox would not currently be breathing.” The demon leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “I do not like it when someone tries to take what is mine.”

Butterflies erupted in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. “Mine?” You breathed, your mind fully aware of the closeness of his lips, of the demon leaning in more and more as you swayed.

“Mine.” Alastor growled as his mouth found yours.

It was far softer this time. Last night, Alastor was hungry; now he kissed you like a delicacy he wanted to savor - like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to be nowhere.

The demon cupped your cheek, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He held you like you might flee from his grip, like you might fade away beneath his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You tipped up on to your toes, leaning your body into him, letting your hands fist the lapels of his suit jacket. The taste of rye flooded your mouth as Alastor's tongue found its way between your teeth. You moaned into him as little bolts of Alastor's static zipped across your skin.

Your senses were on fire as the demon threaded his fingers through your hair. God, you set a mental reminder to wear your hair down more often, if only to feel Alastor's fingers play with it as he kissed you.

You pushed your magic through the connection and actually felt Alastor's adrenaline surge through his veins. The demon spun the two of you around, walking you backward to the brick wall. His lips never left yours, his soft kisses turning hungrier.

With one hand fisting in your hair, his other trailed down your side, and you actually whined when he skipped your breasts and went straight for your hips.

"Such a greedy little thing," he murmured against your lips as he pressed his waist into you.

You yelped.

Jesus Christ, he was hard.

Fuck you knew Alastor was big, but you didn’t really know. That day in the bayou, when you ground your hips into him, you only stuck around long enough to feel the beginning of his erection and not the process of it.

You threw your hands around his neck, needing the extra leverage to arch your body into him. Your fingers brushed the base of his hair, reminding you of the earlier itch to play with his curls. So you did just that. It was different, not having the antlers or the ears, but his hair was so soft, softer than his short-cropped red hair in Hell. The curls wrapped your fingers as you played with it before grabbing hold. The demon growled into your mouth, his hot tongue swiping over yours, his hands falling from your hair straight to your hips.

The demon used his teeth to pull off a glove, before moving lower and grabbing hold of your skirt...

"Alastor!" You gasped, trying to break apart, but Alasotr held you firmly in his grasp. "We're in public!"

The demon's chuckles rumbled through your chest, his forehead never leaving yours, “Ah, and yet we are completely alone."

You blinked.

What?

You surveyed the room, which was thoroughly on fire. Blues and greens bled into the walls and furniture, slowly overtaking the building. Your and Alastor's magic had ignited at some point during your kiss, billowing out of control and spilling out into the world around you.

The crowd must have run at the sight of the flames, and yet you heard none of it. The two of you were too completely and absolutely entranced with one another to notice.

"Oh," you squeaked.

The demon pressed his lips to your ear, his voice deep and smokey as he said, “You started sparking the second I asked you to dance.”

Shit. You weren’t paying attention. Your mind was elsewhere…

Alastor's hands moved again, bunching your skirts in his fist to allow access to...

"Oh, my God!" You yelped as Alastor cupped your sex.

"I assure you, darling, he had nothing to do with this," the demon growls.

Alastor moved your underwear aside, his finger separating your folds, feeling your wetness...

"Al...Alastor!" You gasped as a finger entered you.

"That's better," he smiled.

"What happened to waiting till I'm healed?" Your nails dug into his shoulders as he started to move. Tiny gasps escaped your lungs as he slipped in and out of you.

It was a foreign feeling for you; you had never had this kind of stimulation before, but GOD did it feel good. When did you get so wet? It was like your body knew what was happening before you did and was already prepared.

"I don't know if you noticed, ma cherie," the demon catches your gaze, his irises flashing back and forth between pupils and radio dials, "but I'm fighting restraint." His lips ghost over yours, his grip on your waist hardening. "And I'm losing terribly."

The demon's lips swallow your moans as a second finger presses in. First knuckle. Second knuckle. In and out. In and out.

Jesus, Alastor was teasing you.

How rude.

You bit down on Alastor's bottom lip as you ground down into his hand, your body begging for more friction. The demon moaned this time, his hips bucking on instinct.

He pressed into you, his knee coming to rest between your thighs to give himself more leverage. You could feel it, though, the throb of his dick in his pants.

You reached out to cup him through his pants - to do exactly what you didn't know. You'd never done anything like this before, but your body, heart, and mind were screaming at you - want, want, want!

Alastor pulled his hips back, just out of reach. You actually whined when your fingers met nothing but air.

"Uh, uh, darling, it's my turn to play." He growled, the vibrations reverberating through your chest.

"But, Al-!" You started to protest, but then Alastor curled his fingers, and the pleasure wave that rolled through you had you gasping for breath. It was so much more.

Somewhere, off in the distance, there was a crash, but your mind was too numb to process it.

"There it is," the demon smiled against your cheek, clearly proud of the control he had over you, over your body. The demon placed a kiss on your cheek as you continued to grind down into his hand. His mouth trailed to your neck...

You collapsed into the demon when his teeth bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to nibble, to send your skin alight with his static. The demon sucked and then licked at the sore spot with his forked tongue, soothing the pain. Your hands clenched in his suit jacket for stability as your legs begin to give out, your climax building.

Alastor's hands thrust up into you harder, his other hand pressing down on your lower abdomen. Jesus, why did that make everything feel so much better?

"Cum for me, darling." He commanded his lips on your neck. Nipping. Sucking. Licking.

"Al, I'm... Oh, God!" And you obeyed.

You screamed into his shirt, your walls twitching around him as you rode that wave of ecstasy. It wasn't like before, like in your dream. Then your pussy throbbed on nothing but air, but now, now Alastor filled you with his warmth, and the high was so so much better.

Alastor continued to pump into you until your thighs stopped convulsing around him, your walls desperately milking his fingers for more. Each small thrust of Alastor's hand had your body shaking, had the pleasure prolonging more and more. The demon held you up against the wall, your legs nothing but jelly, your mind numb, and your thoughts muddled.

You swore you heard glass break.

Alastor kissed you on the top of the head, "Good girl."

You moaned when he slipped out of you, his other hand fixing the skirt of your dress. God, how could anyone function after something like that?

"Mmmmmm," Alastor hummed, sucking his fingers dry. "Heavenly." The demon shot you a knowing smile. He wrapped a finger around your chin, tilting your head towards his. "You taste so sweet."

Goddamn...

The look of pride in Alastor's eyes made your heart swell as he whispered, “We should probably leave, ma cherie, before we burn the place to the ground.” 

Somewhere in you, you found your bones again. Forcing clarity into your mind, you not only registered fire, but the building itself had begun to crumble. Walls had collapsed, glass had broken, and the bar was in shambles. The only thing still standing was the brick wall surrounding you, as if the blue and green magic knew to protect the pleasure swimming between the two of you.

Well, shit. Your orgasm had practically leveled a building.

Wait.

"What about you?" You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his pants. Still weak, you continued to hold on to his shirt, letting the scent of musk swirl around your numb brain.

God, you never wanted to move again.

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, "Oh, darling, these are not the first pair of good trousers I have ruined.”

Your cheeks heated. Wait, did that mean that he...? Wait. Wait. Wait. What does he mean by "not the first"...?

The sound of sirens brought you back to the situation. You needed to leave, but first...

You shot Alastor a smug look, his hands still wrapped around your chin as you - SNAP! The colored fire disappeared. The demon tipped his head back and laughed again before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

Rolf shadowed you outside to the alley. The building was plagued with blackened walls, the air impregnated with ash. The structure was crumbling in on itself. You had left mere seconds before being crushed.

Holy, shit, you did that.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, your stomach dropping. "That was a childhood memory, and I destroyed it..."

"And made a new memory," Alastor smiled at you, running his thumb across your cheek.

He wasn't mad. If anything, he looked proud.

Alastor laughed at the sight before taking your hand. “Come, I want to show you something.” He led you back out onto the street, your legs jelly as you followed after him.

Out of the chaos, he sat you on a bench a few blocks down before disappearing into a storefront. He came out a few moments later with a donut topped in green, gold, and purple sprinkles. 

“A King Cake,” he called it, breaking it in half for you. “Winner finds the baby.”

You scrunched your nose in confusion, making him laugh.

“An old French tradition,” he took a bite. “To celebrate the coming of the Three Kings. A small object is hidden in the dough; whoever finds the trinket - a small plastic baby Jesus - is brought luck and prosperity for the next year.” 

You giggled, “Why does it feel fitting that a former Angel and a cannibalistic demon are sitting on a bench in the human realm eating a metaphorical baby Jesus?” You took a bite. 

He laughed. “Yes, if Mother could see me now.”

Your heart sank. “What was your mother like?”

His eyes wandered off as if viewing a memory. “She was the kindest soul. Her smile lit up a room, her laugh infectious. She could make the sun shine on a rainy day and cure anything with a bowl of her jambalaya.”

Ah, that’s where he learned that recipe. 

“She would have adored you,” he smiled to himself, tilting his head. 

You forgot about the pastry for a second. Placing your hand in his, you squeezed. “And I’m sure I would have adored her.” You smiled at each other for a moment before returning to the cake. 

“You know, when they sent me down here in search of Eve, I went everywhere; New York, L.A., London, Tokyo, Prague, Moscow, you name it. Yet, I never made my way to New Orleans. We might have met if I had.” You giggled. 

“And did you find her?” 

“Who?”

“Eve.”

You froze, finally realizing your mistake. 

“Ma cherie?” Alastor leaned forward into your vision, worry creasing his face. 

Oh, fuck. 

“Uhm!” You jumped to your feet, wincing from the pain. “We should… We should go.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a panic. “The Hotel needs work before Lucifer shows up and I’m sure Charlie is panicking right now. You know how she gets when she’s stressed. And I haven’t seen them in two weeks nor have I checked in with Husk and Angel after I collapsed. They’re probably worried sick. And I… And I…” You were hyperventilating now. “And I should help clean up the Hotel. You’re the Manager so you should definitely be there. What if Nifty get’s stuck again and…”

Alastor gripped your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“You need to calm down, darling, you’re on fire.” He said calmly. 

You looked down at your hands to see flames licking your skin. You jumped back out of Alastor’s grip. “No. No. No.” You repeated to yourself under your breath, trying desperately to smother the flames. 

The demon tried again to reach out for you, but you held up a hand and backed away. “Don’t touch me.” You snapped. 

He froze right on the spot, his look of concern melting into cold steel. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Don’t!” You held a finger up to him. “I don’t need your help. I didn’t ask for it.” 

Both his eyebrows rose in surprise, “Oh? Come now, darling, there’s no need to be mean.” 

You needed to get away from him. You snapped your fingers, and a portal to Hell appeared. Alastor’s look of surprise was not lost on you. 

You were far, far more powerful than he thought. 

He raised an eyebrow in question, staring at the cracks in reality surrounding the portal. “Keeping secrets, are we? What happened to our quid-pro-quo, darling?” 

Your heart cracked. You couldn’t tell him. Not because you didn’t trust him but because you were afraid. He wouldn’t understand. He would never look at you the same again. 

And he'd kill you in a heartbeat.

You didn't know what would be worse, seeing the look of betrayal flash across his face or him actually stabbing you in the heart with a Carmine blade.

You sniffed, tears threatening to spill, "I... I'm sorry. I can't..."

“Apparently,” he mumbled. “Well,” he summoned his microphone, twirled it behind his back, and nodded to you. “Don’t let me keep you waiting.” 

His look of disbelief had been replaced with his mask, the same look reserved for everyone else but you - the Radio Demon persona. Something in his gaze made you realize the cavern you had created between the two of you - the silent battle waged between you by simply denying him the truth.

And to Alastor, the truth was everything. You had promised. Yet, here you are breaking it a mere days later.

It didn't go against your contract, technically. The information didn't benefit you both, but he didn't know that.

You practically ran through the portal, closing it behind you, when you heard Alastor step through. You dashed up the steps and flung yourself into your room and onto your bed in a heap of sobs. 

The door rattled off his hinges, swinging to reveal Rolf waiting for you on the precipice. The shadow looked devastated as he desperately tried to enter the room, but the wards you put up after Angel’s incident still held. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn't getting in. 

And when he finally realized that, a look of hurt spread across his face which had your heart breaking all over again. 

“What the fuck,” Angel appeared in the doorway, sidestepping the shadow. Realizing the situation, he quickly closed the door and collected you in his arms. 

You sobbed as the spider demon held you...

Translate the last line of French, I dare you. (I'm also lowkey so curious to know ya'll's theories)

*Shave 'em Dry bu Lucille Bogan is considered one of the most scandalous and lewd jazz songs of the 1930s: Link

** Yes, this is a Vampire Diaries reference! Same hotel, too.

-> Chapter Eleven

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub

@fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

[aboutcustardcreams]

It's not that easy

Summary: Nicky remembers meeting a woman named Rio, and you feel on cloud nine at the possibility of the four of you finally becoming the family you were always meant to be. But Agatha has doubts. She wants this just as much as you do, but she isn’t sure that wish will be granted that easily.

a/n: I'm sorry, sooooo sorry for the slow updates- I'm studying because at the end of the month I'll be attending a public competition and I'm doing by best to pass it.

Hope you enjoy the chapter :3 Have I proofread? Of course not, hihi! Bye for now!

previous chapter

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed tenderly at your son. Your hands cupped his cheeks and the pads of your fingers grazed his newly warm skin. 

“You’re back– you’re safe,” you breathed out, with a watery, yet sincere smile. You could barely stifle back a sob the moment he mouthed ‘mama’ to you, then ‘mom’ to Agatha, with his tiny precious voice you had missed like air.  

Agatha’s lips cracked into a weak smile as she mouthed her gratitude to you over and over. In response a confused crease formed on your forehead, because honestly, whatever was she thanking you for? Nicky was your son, too. Of course, you’d try anything in your power to bring him back to you. 

She pulled the boy in, her arms wrapped tightly around his middle, her chin rested atop his head as she inhaled deeply. 

You moved a strand of hair from your face and looked closely at the scene unfolding before you. Your chest filled with a pleasant warmth, that helped ease the slight shivering of your body, perhaps given by the exhaustion that was catching up with you. 

“Mom, you’re squishing me–” 

You chuckled quietly at his small whine. 

Her hands glided up from his hips to his cheeks as she pulled away. “Sorry, I’m sorry… I just–” She replied in a stutter.

Nicky tilted his head, leaning into his mom’s cuddle. He knew what she was trying to say, so he helped out, with a smile. “I’m happy to see you too, mom.” 

She froze. You did too, and your heart ached for him. The possibility that he had, after all, been aware of everything, turned into a certainty. Nicky knew he died. He knew to have crossed over, only to be brought back shortly after. Swallowing a thick lump inside your throat, you locked eyes with Agatha, her jaw set in both guilt and sadness. You inhaled a shaky breath, trying to put it together, for Agatha and for him. He was there, he was alive. 

You leaned over, lips a few millimeters from his ear as you whispered, “haven’t I been missed?” 

He giggled, when your voice tickled his skin. That sound alone was enough for Agatha’s expression to shift completely, turn calm again, relieved. 

“Of course mama!” 

Your head lolled to the side as you hummed, “Um, and how much are we talking here?” 

“This much!” He squealed as he turned around. You barely had the time to open your arms when he threw himself into your embrace. You caught him with an ‘oof’ as your legs flew up and you rolled on your back, making sure your arms were wrapped around him protectively. 

Agatha sniffled amusedly. “Careful, you two–” She chided, wiping a single tear with her finger. 

Burying your face in his hair, you let your nostrils fill up with his scent. You inhaled and exhaled. He was there. Against all odds and despite the warnings you received. Nicky was alive. You felt his magic, still raw and buried inside him, waiting to blossom at the right time. It brought a sense of pride within you, the thought that someday he’d become a great witch. 

“Mama?” His hands moved from your neck, down to the fabric of your garment at your hips. 

You pulled yourself up, with Nicky still secured in your lap, “yeah?” 

“You saved me, didn’t you?” 

Your lips curled upwards as you locked eyes with Agatha for a brief moment. You caught the quivering of her chin as she nodded her head, swallowing those salty tears that kept falling on her lips. 

“I s’pose, I did, my love,” you muttered, reaching out to comb his hair. 

His eyes twinkled with gratitude, as he pressed his head against your chest one more time, “I knew it was you.” 

You sniffled, then pursed your lips to the side of your cheek. Your arms tightened around him once more, making you feel as if you were holding your own life in your hands. “I didn’t do it all by myself, though,” you continued in a whisper, “I couldn’t have done it without your mother.” 

Agatha inched closer until she was right beside you and your boy. She hummed, a sound between a light scoff and a chuckle. Of course you’d give her the credit for what you did. With extreme gentleness, she cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer, before pressing a kiss upon your forehead. Her brows furrowed, as she lingered, noticing you were a bit warm. 

You sensed her worry even before pulling away, but didn’t give her the chance to indulge in her concerns.

“How are you feeling?” You asked Nicky. 

Agatha sighed, she knew what you were doing and for now she let it drop. 

“I feel fine,” he said with a shrug. No more coughing– nor that bothersome tickle in the back of his throat. No pressure in his chest whatsoever. None of that anymore. 

“Like really really fine.” 

Your fingers traced his hairline and forehead. Beautiful hazel eyes bored into yours and in that moment you sensed he had other things to tell you. You playfully nipped at his nose, “Oh, I know that look of yours–” you teased, and Agatha’s brow shot up in curiosity.  “Is there something you’re not telling us?” 

He looked conflicted as he started fidgeting, “No, not really mom, I mean– I was going to tell you now,” he replied, though by the sound of his voice you caught a pinch of insecurity. Agatha placed a hand upon his shoulder. “It’s okay– we’re not mad or anything. We’re here for you, Nicky. You can tell us anything.” 

“Always,” you added sincerely. 

“I know, moms–” he smiled, finally seeming to have achieved newfound confidence. “I just– I have memories of a woman. It’s all coming back now in bits and pieces.”

Agataha held her breath, eyes widening a bit, quickly assuming who he was talking about. 

A lump formed in your throat, and you did your best to swallow it down. “Yeah?” Your eyes flickering back to Agatha, whose trembling hands remained on his shoulder. “What do you remember?”

“She umm, she used to visit me… pretty often. I don’t know how it happened, I still don’t– she wouldn’t tell me that. But it was always in a forest, pretty much like this but… different, prettier and quieter, with no one else around,” your thumbs stroked his palms encouragingly as he told the tale. “I would feel fine, just like I am now, and we would talk a lot, mostly about me– she loved listening to whatever I had to say to her–” He recalled with a sweet smile tugging at his lips. He appeared serene and that was all you needed. All you ever needed. 

Rio was good for him, she had always been. How could she not be? She was his mother, too. 

“She seems nice,” you let your comment slip with ease. 

“She was– is,” he scrunched up his nose at the mistake. 

Agatha leaned over, the pads of her fingers came up to cradle the boy’s face, “where’s this place you’re referring to, my love?” 

He hummed in thought, “I don’t know—” he began. “She said it was safe, and I just believed her. You and mama were never there with us,” he added, making you and Agatha feel weird in your stomachs. “But it’s okay because she was kind. And funny,” he added with a giggle. “She said the funniest things.” 

A quiet, moved chuckle bubbled out of you, because of course Rio would be the fun parent among the three of you. That was just so her. And oh, how you wished you could see it. To watch her take on the role that was rightfully hers as much as it was yours and Agatha’s. 

Agatha’s tension mirrored your own, but when she caught the emotion flickering in your eyes, she didn’t hesitate. She reached out, fingers laced with your own. 

Your lip quivered, your eyes watered. You wanted to tell him everything. 

“That’s because she–” But you couldn’t. Not yet. Not like that. So for now, you swallowed it back.

“She what, mama?” Nicky asked, with that curious little voice of his. 

Sniffling, you forced a better smile out of you. “She loves you like your mom and I do.” Rio needed to be the one telling him, she was his mother too. Her joy alone. Her victory. “Maybe someday, we’ll all be together, as a family.” 

Nicky’s eyes widened in sheer delight. 

“Would you like that?” Agatha continued. A warmth bloomed in her chest as she stroked his hair. 

He nodded excitedly, briefly turning towards her. “I’d love it if you three met. So yes, can we? Can we really?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the way Agatha’s expression shifted. Her lips twitched, almost as if she wanted to smile but wasn’t sure she should. Because yes—that would be the dream. The best possible future they could carve out. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want it to work, that she didn’t long for it as much as you did. And apparently Nicky, too. 

But she also worried, and sometimes she couldn’t help it. 

“We can definitely try,” she said in a low murmur. 

“Do you remember the woman’s name, Nicky?” You asked. 

His lips slightly parted ajar and a soft ‘oh, slipped out. That alone gave you the answer you were looking for as a little crease found its way between his brows. 

“No worries,” Agatha was quick to add, hating to see  her boy struggling so much. “You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to collect your thoughts.” 

Agatha was right. If you were feeling tired, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how stressful it must have been for Nicky to die and then come back to life in such a small time lapse. 

“It will come back to you in a jiffy,” you reassured him.

“Kay,” he sighed, and by his focused expression you and Agatha realized he was still trying to remember her name.

Agatha rolled her eyes, ruffling his hair with a fond smile. “Why don’t you rest for a bit, hmm?” 

“I’m not even tired, mom,” he shot back instantly, springing to his feet with an energy that took you by surprise. If you’d tried a move like that, you were pretty sure your vision would have been swimming with black spots. So instead, you stayed put, knees still tucked beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that–” you mused. “Did you get super strength and super speed?” 

He nodded proudly, and swelled his chest. “I think so, mama. I feel like I can run up and down the hill without breaks all day!”

Unlike him, you weren’t exactly brimming with energy, though you were certain a proper nap would set you right. Agatha, however, wasn’t as easily reassured. Now that she had confirmed Nicky was well and healthy, her attention shifted to you, her sharp eyes taking in every detail.

Without a word, she reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering just a second too long, as if she was trying to prove a point. 

“You’re warm–” she noted, but you shrugged it off, “I’m fine, Ags. I could use a nap, though,” you admitted, because there was really no point in lying, not to Agatha. 

Nicky plopped down beside you again, scooting closer until his knees bumped against yours and his fingers pressed against your cheeks. “You got the sleepy eyes, mama.”

You blinked at him, and before you could prevent it, a yawn slipped from your lips. “The sleepy eyes, huh?”

He nodded with a chuckle. “You should sleep now so later we can look for Rio together and–” 

The moment the name left his lips, you gasped. Nicky, always attuned to you, mimicked your reaction with wide eyes and a startled expression, before it shifted in something different. A realization. A recognition. 

“I—” he blinked, breath catching. “I remembered.”

Nodding your head, you smiled. “You did!” 

Agatha, however, did not share in his delight, nor yours. She didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe. Her entire body went still, rigid, as if the mere sound of that name had reached inside her chest and tightened its grip around her heart, suddenly too big to be contained in her chest. 

“We are gonna find her,” a promise, you made it your own mission to make you four a family. “Right, Agatha?” 

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. She didn’t know how to feel. Didn’t know what was the right thing to feel after everything that happened. 

But when she looked at you, really looked at you, at Nicky, at the unwavering hope in both of your faces, she knew she couldn’t bring herself to be the one to dim that light. 

She wouldn’t be the one to dim your hope. Not when she wanted this just as much as you did. But she would be vigilant this time, making sure nobody would attempt to harm either of you, nor her newfound inner peace. 

“Yeah,” she conceded, her voice quieter than she intended, but no less certain. “We can definitely try.”

*

“Are you sure about this?” 

“Hm?” Your eyes darted from Nicky to Agatha, and you immediately noticed the scowl on her face. Nicky was trotting a few steps ahead, the three of you were headed towards the nearest village for something to eat. 

“Sure about… the supper?” You began, an eyebrow shot up confusedly. “Because yes, I am. I love you, but we need some real cooking. We are good at many things, but that–” you wiggled your fingers in support of your reasoning, “isn’t really our strong suit, is it?” An amused smirk tugged at Agatha’s lips. She couldn’t exactly say you were wrong. You were terrible at cooking. And she was even worse. 

“I feel like I haven’t eaten in days–” 

Agatha drew closer, brows furrowing in concern. "The ritual took quite a toll on you, huh?”  

Binding your soul to another’s had been a first. You had read about it in the Darkhold long ago, back when you and Agatha were desperately searching for a way to live with Nicky without a countdown—one that didn’t involve tearing through the Multiverse to ‘steal’ a healthier version of him from another world where he was happy and loved by other versions of you. No, you wanted your Nicky, from this Universe to be by your side. 

You shrugged, with a small smile. “Perhaps, but I’m all good now. Just hungry.” 

The nap clearly helped you out. You looked like yourself again, and that alone should’ve been enough of a relief to Agatha, yet it wasn’t. Not completely at least. You didn’t know, but she had been awake when you took a nap earlier with Nicky. The boy had assured you both he wasn’t tired, though the moment he laid his head over your chest, he closed his eyes and fell asleep with you within minutes.   

And while you slept, Agatha refused to let her eyes flutter close, refused to let her guard down. Because when she did, Nicky had slipped away from her. It had been her negligence, a lapse in attention that had cost her everything. But things were different now. Nicky was safe. Whole. It was unlikely he would slip away again, not when he was finally healthy. Not when you had made it possible for him to be—with that impossible magic of yours.

She averted her eyes and inhaled. “When I asked you if you were sure about this, I didn’t mean the supper–”

A placid smile tugged at your lips as you held out a hand towards her. “I know–” Her steps faltered, before coming to a stop. To be frank, you only pretended not to understand, because you did. A part of you was just afraid to talk about it, because you wished with all your heart to be on the same page as Agatha, but you knew that there could be a possibility you two weren’t. 

“It’s about Rio, isn’t it?” 

She nodded, her smile wavered at the mention of her name. That made your heart ache for her, for Rio. Perhaps, the vision you had of family was still a long way off. So annoyingly out of reach. 

“I don’t know if we can trust her. Not after everything–”

Your face fell, but you tried not to show. You called out for Nicky before focusing your entire attention back on her, told him to take a short break, and to not wander off in the meantime. Luck was on your side, since there was a small stretch of water that caught Nicky’s attention. Blessed childhood. 

Turning around, you took a slow step closer to Agatha. Gentle. Encouraging. “I know you’re skeptical about this, and you have all the reasons to be, but I want to believe it can work out,” you breathed out, a hand came up to cradle her cheek. “ I need to–” you added, almost desperate, in a plea. “Don’t you?” 

Her nostrils flared as she bored her eyes into yours. She hesitated only for a second, but not because she didn’t want this, it was more complicated than that. “Of course I do–” she trailed, trying to mask the veil of fear darkening her eyes to no avail. She exhaled in a long shaky breath. “What if she tries to take him again? What if she comes for you? For any of us?” 

Your lips pursed in a grimace as you drew closer, so close your hips brushed against hers. Your hands found her face, fingertips gliding over her skin with the softest touch, meant to ground her and reassure her. “Nicky’s thread of life is completely restored,” you assured. “It won’t be his time to go for a long, long, looooong time from now,” a pause, where your lips stretched into a smile. 

Agatha wanted to believe you, put her full trust in you like she’s already done but she was scared. Something was holding her back. 

“And as for me and you… she wouldn’t. I know that. I just do,” you hoped your conviction could be enough for her. But sometimes words couldn’t suffice. When she didn’t react, you playfully nudged at her arm, offering her a wink. “Come on– have I ever let you down before?” 

With a slow shake of her head, she let out a slow, measured sigh and leaned in, closer, impossibly closer, hands tangling in your hair, almost possessively, almost  desperately. As though keeping you close could somehow keep you safe. It was silly really, all things considered. Why? Because you were the one that in the end always kept her safe, she and Nicky. 

Of course the answer to your question was no. You’ve never let her down, and you never would. 

Agatha needed you, in a way that sometimes scared her. The depth of it, the ache of it—it gnawed at her, relentless and consuming. And yet, there you were, ever steady, ever certain. Always so damn optimistic, sometimes it annoyed her and yet...

She needed you to be you.

Optimistic. Courageous. Generous in ways only you could be.

“I wish I was strong like you. But I guess that’s something that cannot be taught–” She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The sound of your laughter broke through and Agatha felt like falling. Her heart pounded, tickled against her ribs, filled her ears, although drowned her out in the best possible way. 

“Funny,” you mused, tilting your head just so, your fingers still cradling her face. “Because to me, you’re the strong one.”

Agatha tried to object, to tell you how ridiculous what you just said was, but you didn’t let her. You couldn’t. “It’s true. I see you, Agatha. Past the walls, the surface. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, in the softest, most breathtaking way and that is so beautiful.” Your thumb brushed against her cheek, just in time to wipe a solitary tear that had just slipped down. “You’re so beautiful, Agatha Harkness.”

Agatha’s throat tightened. Her eyes turned red and puffy and damn you– it was your doing. A chuckle slipped from your lips, when she grumbled something under her breath, something along the lines of ‘you’re an absolute idiot.’ 

“Moms!” Nicky cried out. “Can we go now?”

“Hear that?” You grinned, teasingly. “Your son demands our attention.”

Her fingers brushed against your cheeks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, as she huffed, “I carried him for nine months only for him to act exactly like you.” 

You chuckled, reaching for her hand and lacing your fingers together. “And to look exactly like her,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper, before turning to walk on again.

Her breath hitched just for a second. She swallowed, before muttering a quiet ‘yeah’ in return. “I suppose I can let it slide for now.” 

“Gee, thanks,” you deadpanned, making her roll her eyes at you and your antics. 

“But the conversation isn’t over,” she added, rather serious this time. 

“Never entered my mind, it was,” you soothed, gently grazing the back of her hand with your thumb.

[d-z20]

Echoes Of The Past

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Summary: Agatha Harkness, stripped of her magic and trapped in the mundane life of Agnes O'Connor, grapples with her feelings of powerlessness, grief, and lingering hatred towards Wanda. When an old foe returns, a series of events forces Agatha to confront painful memories, unexpected alliances, and the deep emotional scars of losing her son.

-OR-

Rio saves Agatha but gets punished for it, leading Agatha to confront her unresolved grief, guilt, and complex emotions towards the woman who took her son.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst(ish), mentions death of a child (Nicholas), description of injury/blood, mild violence, just a little fluff at the end

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Agatha All Along Week Day 4: Hurt/Comfort. Based off a request

AO3 | Masterlist

Westview was calm now; its residents were trying their hardest to return to their lives after the chaos Wanda Maximoff had unleashed. Streets were mundane again: smiling neighbours mowing lawns, morning greetings, grocery runs. But to Agatha Harkness, it was purgatory.

She could still hear Wanda’s voice in her head: "I'll keep you here. You’ll play the role you chose... the nosy neighbour."

Agnes O'Connor.

She had managed to break free from the spell a few months ago but the disguise still clung to her like cobwebs. Floral dresses, cheap pearls, and a Cheshire smile. Every morning, Agatha brushed her curls into place, slipped on the same smile, and went about her day pretending to be someone she wasn’t. All the while, she seethed. Not only because she was powerless—no longer a witch capable of bending magic to her will—but because of her. Wanda Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch. That girl had walked away with everything Agatha had worked centuries for, leaving her in this cruel mortal prison.

But that wasn’t all. When she looked into the mirror, Agatha saw something deeper in the lines of her face: failure. Losing her magic was one thing, but losing Nicholas…

Her throat tightened. No, don’t think about Nicky.

Shaking the thoughts away, Agatha stepped onto her front porch, watering can in hand.

"Morning, Agnes!"

The voice of her neighbour, Sarah Proctor, cut through the silence. Agatha turned and flashed her perfect grin.

"Oh, good morning! Isn’t it just lovely out today?"

It was exhausting. Pretending. Hiding. But it was better than confronting the truth—she had nothing left. Not her power, not her son, not her pride. Just her hatred for Wanda and a mask she wore far too well.

—

Agatha felt them before she saw them.

Late that evening, she stood in her dimly lit kitchen, sipping a lukewarm beer and staring into nothing. The hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house were the only sounds keeping her company.

Then it came. A ripple.

A crawling sensation against her skin—like unseen eyes turning her way. Her hands trembled as she set the bottle down, the glass clinking against the countertop.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

It couldn’t be.

The knock came moments later. Sharp. Intentional.

Agatha turned toward the door, dread pooling in her stomach. For a moment, she stood frozen, paralysed by the weight of her powerlessness. Then, as if drawn by some force beyond her control, she moved. The floorboards creaked under her feet as she reached for the doorknob and pulled it open.

There they were.

The Salem Seven.

They looked almost exactly as she remembered them: cloaked figures draped in flowing black robes, their forms blending seamlessly with the shadows. Each one stood unnaturally still, their presence suffocating the space around them. The fabric of their hoods fell forward, swallowing their faces in darkness, but what little she could see sent chills down her spine. Pale, almost skeletal features peeked out, obscured further by intricate webs of black thread crisscrossing their skin like a cruel tapestry. Their eyes—white, empty, and cold—glowed faintly from within the shadows of their hoods, void of any humanity.

The leader stepped forward, the sound of their robes rustling like dead leaves. Their face, more visible than the others, bore the same unnerving stitching. The threads pulled at their mouth and cheekbones, distorting their features into a permanent, silent scream.

“Agatha Harkness.”

The sound of her real name cut through her like a blade.

“Oh, it’s you,” Agatha sneered, though the fear trembled in her voice. “Didn’t we settle this last time? You lost. I won.”

“Yes,” Vertigo said, voice cold. “But you are powerless now. Helpless. You are nothing.”

Agatha tried to slam the door, but magic—their magic—threw her backward. She crashed to the ground; the wind knocked out of her lungs. Pain flared across her back as she gasped, trying to recover. But when she looked up, the Seven were already inside, towering over her like spectres.

“What… what do you want?” She croaked, desperate to keep her voice from shaking.

“Revenge,” the Seven hissed.

The air crackled with energy. Even without magic, Agatha could feel it radiating off them like heat.

She scrambled backward on the floor, but there was nowhere to run.

The first blow struck her chest, sending her crashing into the wall. Pain bloomed across her ribs, and warmth trickled down her skin. Agatha gasped sharply, her fingers instinctively reaching for the wound. When she pulled her hand back, it came away slick with blood. Her head spun, and for a moment, she thought that was it. That this was how it would end.

But then she felt it. Her.

A sharp, familiar chill flooded the room—so cold it stole the air from her lungs. The Salem Seven hesitated, sensing it too. Then the shadows in the corner of the room shifted.

“Enough.”

The voice rang out, clear as a bell, freezing everyone in place.

From the darkness stepped Rio.

Death incarnate.

She was exactly as Agatha remembered her. The years had not touched her—they couldn’t. Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and her piercing eyes seemed to cut through the room itself. Her beauty was otherworldly, but there was something else now, too. A weight. A sadness.

Agatha’s heart leapt into her throat. For a moment, she forgot the pain. Forgot the Salem Seven entirely.

“Rio,” she whispered.

Rio’s eyes met hers, softening for only a moment before turning icy once more.

“Leave her,” Rio said to the Seven. Her tone was steady, commanding. “She will not die tonight.”

“You dare interfere?” The Seven snarled.

“Yes,” Rio said simply.

Before the Seven could react, Rio raised her hand. The room seemed to darken, the shadows stretching toward her like eager servants. The Seven screamed as Rio unleashed her power, a wave of darkness crashing over them. The force of it—and the substantial loss of blood—knocked Agatha unconscious.

—

When Agatha came to, the house was silent. The air was still heavy with magic, but the Salem Seven were gone. Rio kneeled beside her, worry etched into her pale skin.

"You... you saved me,” Agatha rasped, her voice weak.

Rio’s lips twitched. “You don’t sound grateful.”

Agatha pushed herself up, wincing at the lingering pain in her chest. Her eyes narrowed. “Why?” she hissed. “Why you? Haven’t you taken enough from me already?”

Rio stilled. Her expression darkened. “What are you talking about?”

“Nicholas.”

The word shattered the silence and Rio’s face fell.

“You took our son,” Agatha whispered, her voice cracking. “I wanted more time. But you ripped him away from me, and you expect me to believe you care?”

Rio looked down, guilt flickering across her features. “Agatha, you know I had no choice. Life isn’t mine to control. I loved him, too.”

Agatha laughed bitterly. “Loved him? Loved him? You don’t get to say that!”

Rio’s jaw clenched, and for the first time, she looked small. Human. “I never wanted to take him,” Rio said quietly. “But I had to.”

Agatha turned away, anger and grief burning in her chest. “Get out.”

Rio hesitated. Her lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, she vanished, leaving Agatha alone with her ghosts.

—

The hours after Rio left crawled by in a fog. Agatha slumped into an armchair, her body exhausted from the night’s events. She stared at nothing, fingers trembling as they traced over her locket. The silence was suffocating, and she couldn’t decide whether it was better or worse than Rio’s presence.

Her thoughts spiralled, dragging her back to him. Nicky. His laugh echoed in her mind—soft and warm, the sound of a child who had no idea how cruel the world could be.

And then there was Rio, the woman who had taken him.

“I needed more time,” she whispered bitterly to the empty room.

Grief had a way of rotting everything it touched. It turned memories into blame and love into resentment. Rio had been the reaper who came for her son, and though Agatha had known—truly known—that it wasn’t Rio’s choice, knowing didn’t dull the ache.

A sharp knock at the door broke her reverie.

Her head snapped up, and dread twisted in her gut. For a fleeting moment, she thought the Salem Seven had returned, ready to finish the job. With a groan, she forced herself up from the chair and slinked toward the door.

“Whoever it is, go away,” she growled, not having the energy to pretend to be cheery Agnes.

But the knocking persisted, weaker this time. Almost…desperate.

Against her better judgement, Agatha opened the door. Her breath caught.

Rio was there, swaying on her feet; blood smudged across her temple and soaking through the fabric of her dark clothes. Her pale skin was even paler than usual, and her eyes were dull, as if the fight had drained her. Agatha had never seen her like this.

“Agatha…” Rio whispered, voice ragged. Before Agatha could react, Rio crumpled forward.

“Damn it!” Agatha hissed, catching her just in time. The weight of Rio’s body nearly pulled her down with her, but Agatha gritted her teeth and eased the woman inside, half-carrying, half-dragging her to the couch.

For a moment, Agatha stood over her, chest heaving. Rio’s breathing was shallow, her face a mess of dirt, blood, and sweat. Her hands twitched faintly, and Agatha frowned as she noticed the burns on her palms.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed as she studied Rio more closely, her gaze catching the angry burns on her palms. Her stomach twisted with a sickening realisation.

“You broke the rules,” she muttered, her voice trembling. She swallowed hard, piecing it together. “That’s what this is. You stopped them from killing me and it upset the natural order. You saved me—and now you’re suffering for it.”

Rio stirred faintly, but she didn’t wake. Agatha’s jaw clenched as her mind raced. It wasn’t just the wounds. There was something deeper. Something crueller.

“They made you feel it, didn’t they?” Agatha whispered. “The pain meant for me.”

The words hung heavy in the room. It made sense—Rio couldn’t die, but that didn’t mean the other cosmic forces wouldn’t make her pay. Her injuries were raw; they had made sure she could not heal herself from the injuries. Agatha reached out hesitantly, brushing her fingers against Rio’s burns. For the first time in centuries, Death had been made to suffer like a mortal.

“Just like me,” Agatha muttered bitterly, though the anger in her voice wavered.

“Why did you do it?” Agatha breathed, shaking her head as she crouched down beside the couch. Her fingers hovered over Rio’s wounds instinctively, the muscle memory of magic nearly taking over. But there was nothing. Wanda had stripped her bare, leaving her powerless—just a mortal woman kneeling in front of Death herself.

“Figures,” Agatha muttered bitterly. “You’re supposed to take lives, not nearly lose your own.”

Rio stirred faintly at the sound of her voice, her lashes fluttering, but she didn’t wake.

Agatha sighed and stood up, disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with a bowl of warm water, some towels, and a small first-aid kit she’d barely touched since arriving in Westview. She sat back down on the floor beside the couch and reached out to Rio’s face, dabbing at the blood and grime carefully.

“Lucky for you,” Agatha muttered. “I’ve had a lot of practice playing mortal.”

It felt strange. Intimate, even. Her touch softened despite herself, her thumb brushing Rio’s cheek as she wiped away a smear of dirt. Rio’s face, even marred with exhaustion and injury, was still achingly familiar. Agatha knew it better than her own sometimes—every line, every shadow. She hated that she still remembered.

I needed more time.

The words rang in her head again. Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, her jaw clenching as she dropped the towel into the bowl. She didn’t need this. She didn’t want this.

Yet here Rio was, bleeding on her couch, and Agatha couldn’t bring herself to stop caring.

“Why are you here, Rio?” Agatha whispered to the unconscious woman, her voice barely audible. “What do you want from me now?”

Rio didn’t answer, of course. But as Agatha stared at her bruised face, the anger slowly ebbed, replaced by something softer. Something more dangerous.

“Damn you,” Agatha said, her voice cracking. She picked up the towel again, dabbing at Rio’s wounds with painstaking care. “Damn you for coming back.”

—

The room was dark by the time Rio woke. She let out a sharp inhale as though startled awake and immediately winced. Every muscle in her body protested, and her head throbbed like it had been split in two.

“You’re awake.”

Rio turned her head sharply, flinching as pain shot through her neck. Agatha sat at the end of the couch, perched on the edge like a hawk. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her eyes glared daggers at Rio—but there was something else beneath them, something softer.

“Where…?” Rio’s voice came out raspy and hoarse.

“My house,” Agatha said curtly. “You nearly bled out on my doorstep, if you could even do that, so you’re welcome.”

Rio blinked slowly, confusion clouding her face as she tried to sit up. Agatha reached out instinctively, a hand pressed against her shoulder to stop her.

“Don’t,” Agatha said sharply. “You’re in no shape to be moving.”

Rio paused, surprised by the contact, and for a brief second, their eyes locked. Agatha pulled her hand back quickly, as though burnt.

Rio sank back down, exhaling softly. "You didn’t have to help me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Agatha shot back, standing up abruptly. “Believe me, I thought about leaving you there.”

Rio tilted her head slightly, her lips curling faintly in that ghost of a smile that had haunted Agatha for years. “But you didn’t.”

Agatha froze mid-step, then turned to glare at her. “Don’t look so smug. Agnes O’Connor would never have someone like you at her door; you’d break my cover.”

Rio chuckled softly, though it ended in a grimace of pain. Agatha sighed, rolling her eyes as she paced back toward the couch.

“You’re an idiot,” Agatha muttered, grabbing the first-aid kit and crouching down again. “You knew they’d come for me. Why would you interfere?”

Rio’s expression softened, her gaze drifting away. “Because it’s you.”

Agatha stilled, her hands hovering over Rio’s injuries. She looked up slowly, meeting Rio’s eyes.

“Don’t,” Agatha whispered, her voice shaking. “Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth,” Rio said quietly.

Agatha swallowed hard, forcing her gaze away as she began tending to Rio’s injuries again. The silence between them stretched long, heavy with words left unspoken.

Finally, Rio broke it.

“I never wanted to take him, Agatha,” Rio whispered. “Nicky. I didn’t have a choice.”

Agatha froze, the name hitting her like a punch to the gut. Her hands trembled.

“I know,” she said quietly.

Rio watched her carefully, guilt swimming in her eyes. “I loved him, too.”

Agatha’s shoulders slumped, the weight of it all pressing down on her like a stone.

“I know,” she said again, this time so soft it was almost inaudible.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Agatha finished tending to Rio’s wounds with gentle hands. When she finally looked at Rio again, her expression was unreadable.

“I guess,” Agatha said meakly, taking Rio’s hands in her own, “sometimes boys die.”

Rio’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile. “I gave you as much time as I could.” Rio squeezed Agatha’s hand weakly and gestured to herself. “But interfering disrupts the balance, Agatha. It cannot go unpunished.”

Her voice was soft, but the weight of her words cut through the stillness like a knife. Agatha’s gaze drifted over Rio’s broken body—the bruises, the burns, the blood that refused to stop—understanding just how much Rio had risked to give her time with Nicholas.

Agatha shifted, moving behind Rio carefully and pulling her against her chest. Rio stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but Agatha’s arms were gentle as they wrapped around her. One hand stroked through Rio’s hair, smoothing out the tangles.

“Thank you, my love,” she whispered, the words soft but clear.

Rio let out a breath, her tension easing as her body relaxed into Agatha’s hold. Her eyes fluttered shut, a trace of peace finally crossing her face as exhaustion took her.

Agatha lingered there, her cheek resting against Rio’s hair, her touch steady and warm. For the first time in what felt like forever, the anger began to crack, making room for something else.

She held Death in her arms, watching her sleep as if she belonged there.

And maybe, in some twisted way, she did.

-----

I refuse to be a child of divorce.

maybe tonight is the night I get up to speed with aaa week

-----

[sunflowerhae]

Ch. 32 All Hands on Deck

You sigh as you take a look around your now empty apartment. You always dreamed of having your own place to call home, and this was the first time you ever got close to feeling that. In your adult life, you’ve lived in three apartments; the first one got doxxed and you had to move 2 months in, the second your landlord so kindly kicked you out of, and the third….

You sigh again.

Just as you finally go to turn and walk away from this beautiful apartment you and your cats called home for almost a year, you feel a buzz in your pocket and pull out your phone to see a new message on your screen.

You laughed, put in good mood by your new roommate, Hanni’s, antics. You know she’s joking - her boyfriend apparently being good friends with haechan. The name alone passes through your thoughts and causes your small smile to flicker down. It’s been two weeks now since your last conversation with the boy, when you first met Hanni and saw the apartment you’re now moving into. Two weeks since your fight - if you’d even call it that - over text. You haven’t seen him in the hallway, haven’t talked to him or any of his friends over text, and haven’t heard even a peep from the shared wall you both had. It was almost…eerie. Before, haechan would try everything in his power to get your attention. It makes you realize that if he wanted to fall off the face of the Earth, he could; especially since he so easily fell off the face of your Earth.

You’re stuck in your thoughts when Jaemin pokes his head in your front door, “Y/n, hurry the fuck up! Everyone else is already there and I wanna beat rush hour traffic!” His boisterous tone echoes through the empty space and reverberates into your ears, making you wince. You roll your eyes and choose to ignore his words as you pick up the last box in your entryway. You don’t look back, just close your door and lock it for the last time.

What you do look at, however, is Haechan’s door as you pass. As always, there’s no sound on the other side, just radio silence. You were silently hoping for a repeat of last time; that he would burst through and bump into you, forcing all your stuff on the ground and giving you the chance to lock eyes with him one last time. You can’t deny the anxiety in your heart as you realize you might never see haechan again. It isn’t a normal feeling by any means, and it upsets you. You know, however, that you have to let yourself feel it - feel the guilt at blocking out the boy who liked you simply because he knew who you were. In the two weeks since your..chat..you’ve really reflected on your actions and realized you might have overreacted a bit too much. And even when you wanted to say something, your pride stopped you. Now here you are, turning away from the door of the boy you loved, knowing you missed your chance to get him-

You don’t even get a chance to finish that thought as you realize too late that you missed the first step on the stairs, and are currently on a fast track plummeting down. You know that with the box in your hands blocking your view, and you’re already distracted thoughts stuck on a boy who wanted nothing to do with you, there’s no one else to blame for this mess but yourself. All you could do was close your eyes and hope you didn’t seriously injure yourself, bracing yourself for the impact-

That never came.

You find yourself exhaling in released adrenaline, feeling the warm touch of another person wrapped around your frame. You look down before you look up, seeing the box you were holding thrown down and scattered at the bottom of the stairs, a sorry victim in your clumsiness. Finally you look up at your savior, expecting Jaemin to be shaking his head at you in disappointment as he hypes himself up for “saving” you. However, you notice in that moment that Jaemin is off to the side, wide eyed and frozen - staring at your real savior. And that’s when you register that Haechan was staring down at you, a mix of fear, panic, and something else unknown to you swell in his eyes. You can’t stop the shiver that runs up your spine as you become hyper aware of every touch and look he has on you; that all his attention and thoughts are solely yours. It makes you shake in happiness, in a sick and twisted way. You know that all the animosity is somewhat your fault, but knowing that Haechan is finally paying attention to you - regardless of the circumstances - still warms you inside.

You don’t realize how this might look to anyone on the outside - the both of you, stood in each others arms, not saying a word but staring at each other with your faces close - until Jaemin loudly clears his throat and gapes at the both of you. You immediately push yourself away from the man in front of you, your face getting red in embarrassment. “Uh..thank you, sorry..” you trail off, not able to look him in the eye as you scratch your neck and shift your balance from one leg to another. Haechan seems to be in a similar boat, not able to look you in the eye as he adjusts his backpack on his shoulder.

“Yeah, don’t mention it…” and there’s that silence again. You’re preparing to side step Haechan and say goodbye when he traps you once again in front of him, this time with his words.

“So, you’re really leaving?” The boy in front of you seems to be filled with conflicting emotions; you can see something like disappointment cross his face, with a dash of anger and a pinch of sadness. On better terms, you might laugh at the storm of emotions brewing across Haechan’s face, however those better days aren’t now, so you choose to ignore your observation in favor of answering his question.

“Yep, I think it’s time. I don’t want to stay in one place for too long, and I think it’ll be nice having a roommate for awhile…” You trail off as you watch Haechan nod slowly, listening to you. Finally, after a beat of silence where you can practically see the gears turning in his head, he takes a deep breath in.

“Well, I’ll miss you”

The shock on your face is probably obvious, but at this point you don’t care. You know that haechan still loves you, regardless of if he shows it or not, but him blatantly saying he’ll miss you was the final straw. That can’t have been easy for him, knowing the boy in front of you has pride like nothing you’ve ever seen. It makes you emotional knowing that regardless of the now rocky relationship, he still can be brave enough to say how he feels. You’re envious of that; of the guilt free burden he must be carrying to be able to wear his emotions in his sleeve so easily. You know that if you had even an ounce of his courage in you, this whole “situation” might not have happened. There’s no point in thinking about the what if’s, you suppose, but you still can’t shake the dread of this possibly being the last time you see Lee Haechan, so you don’t hold yourself back from feeling however you want to.

You understand that you’ve been staring at the boy in front of you in shock and silence for a good 30 seconds, when Jaemin shakes you out of your reverie once more - his words, this time, not just directed at you.

“Can the both of you stop staring at each other like you’re having a telepathic conversation and instead just go somewhere and talk normally like..yknow..ADULTS!” Jaemin was clearly over whatever interaction this was, and while you would want nothing more than to just clear away all these issues once and for all, you can’t say if Haechan would also want to; you instead choke out a soft spoken, “no it’s okay” just as you hear the brown haired boy in front of you confidently exclaim, “thanks jaemin that’s a great idea” and you’re so surprised quite frankly that you find yourself doing a double take, staring at haechan with saucers for eyes.

“B-but, I have to move and you obviously have a class or something.” You try and talk your way out of it, suddenly feeling a bit too shy.

“Nope, I don’t. I’m coming back from class actually,” He smirked at you, but if you didn’t know any better you would say there was something else in his eyes, something else that looked like uncertainty, “but if you have to move I’m not gonna stop you.”

Jaemin chimed in with an eye roll, “y/n, it’s not that deep we already moved most your stuff and I can finish taking over these last boxes, just go.”

You suddenly felt very corralled - like a sheep on a farm - to go to this “second location” and talk with haechan. However, to be fair, you know he deserves it. And frankly, so do you. So, with a sigh, you accept defeat and nod your head softly, taking note of the way Haechan perks up at the indication. “Fine, yeah, we can go somewhere and talk.” Jaemin seems satisfied with this, nodding his head curtly before continuing his walk down the stairs, picking up the items you dropped as he goes.

“Perfect! Just come over to the new place afterwards, okay? We’ll all be there…waiting.” He finished with a laugh. You rolled your eyes at him before focusing your attention on Haechan again, who had been looking at you the entire time you watched Jaemin. In the back of your mind, you knew this was a bad idea, a sense of dread washing over you as you locked eyes with the boy you’ve come to miss. You felt as if something was going to happen that either you wouldn’t be able to control or that would break your heart into a million pieces; regardless, it scared you. But you tell keep telling yourself that regardless of what happens, you know that losing Haechan without putting up a fight was going to be the worst outcome, so you push your anxieties aside as you watch Haechan open his mouth to finally ask,

“Shall we go?”

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: hey yall…😬😬😬😬 we’re just gna pretend I wasn’t gone for a month ok??? But listen I had some major developments in my life like for example I got a boyfriend⁉️

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[cunninghamchrissie]

@hellcheeranniversaryweek day four: protective chrissy

“hey!”

a banshee wail reverberated through the hawkins middle school hallway, and forced every jock huddled around an infamous locker to stop what they were doing and follow the sound.

you wouldn’t think someone as tiny as twelve-year-old chrissy cunningham would have that much lung power, but she could put the best metal singer to shame.

you also wouldn’t think a cheerleader rapidly rising through the ranks to one day become prom queen would be running down the hall in defense of a scrawny burnout, but eddie had had the pleasure of getting to know a secret part of chrissy he suspected no one else could see, all thanks to the talent show a couple months before.

she didn’t actually fit in with her usual crowd of boneheaded conformists.

she'd been nervously pacing backstage before her presentation, worried about her mother nitpicking her dance moves, her hair, the size of her put-on smile. eddie, on the other hand, had been chewing his fingernails to the quick hoping to god his old man would show up to see him play in front of people for the first time like he said he would. they'd bonded over their shared anxiety, and chrissy had promised to cheer for him if his dad didn't make it (he didn't. she did.)

“if you don’t leave him alone, i’ll tell your mom what really happened in seven minutes in heaven at jenny’s last week. you know i see her every sunday at service,” chrissy threatened to one of the chumps in tiny shorts. andy something-or-other.

he gaped like a fish for a few seconds before scoffing and leading his pack away from eddie’s locker, leaving him rubbing his sore shoulder and hoping it would at least leave a cool-looking bruise.

“are you okay?”

chrissy’s impossibly blue eyes looked at him so earnestly that eddie felt a lump in his throat.

“thanks to you, yeah. my knight in… pink converse.”

chrissy giggled, scrunching her nose in a way that would sear itself into eddie’s brain for years to come.

he should probably feel embarrassed to be saved from bullying by a girl two grades below him, but the warmth that spread through his chest at her genuine worry made any self-consciousness dissipate.

"i won't let them pick on you again."

they both knew she didn't have that much power, not against an entire basketball team that was the pride of the school and could get away with most anything they did, but eddie appreciated the gesture anyway.

he'd take an aching shoulder for the chance to be under her concerned gaze any day.

[risuola]

VI — YOU HAVE MY HEART // F. READER x TOBIRAMA SENJU

It's so easy to love you and it's even easier to admire how hardworking you are. You trained and became strong, you assisted in creating the ANBU leading the first unit. You were the pride and joy in Tobirama's life, but with all of that came also the fear. The terror of losing you.

contents: not much, it's mostly fluffy. it gets a little steamy towards the end, so reader discretion is advised — 2,5k words

a/n: when I was translating this chapter, I realized that the timeline can be a little blurry, though I tried to make it as clear as possible, but I'll summarize this here quickly: one year has passed since the wedding until the events from chapter V, then one year she was training and working in ANBU and then the mission took another year. so it's three years since they married ❥

POLITICALLY LOVELESS || SERIES MASTERLIST

Sometimes, you felt like you and Tobirama were meant to be. Like this whole arranged, political agreement was planned somewhere by someone who has way more power than you’d think, because even after nearly three years with that man, you still find it difficult to understand how on earth you worked so well when it’s more than clear that you shouldn’t.

There were just too many differences between you and your husband. He’s cold and stoic whilst you are warm and bubbly. Your calmness doesn’t make a fraction of how calm he is, or rather, used to be. You loved to touch him and for his entire life, Senju faltered from physical contact. And yet, all of it changed, when you stepped into his life. A princess from the foreign village, a diamond that was kept in the cage made of gold and luxury, a bird that was yearning for freedom and safety. Tobirama gave you both of these things.

The feelings between you two only solidified after the incident in your homeland. It’s almost two years after the unfortunate chain of events that led the young Senju to leave the negotiations in Konoha to save you from abusive ritual that took place in Yu; a pathetic display of parenting that your father thought was a favor to your husband. After that, and the little time you needed to heal completely with a help of one of the best medics in the leaf village, you had made a decision to go back to training. Ever since you moved, you spent your time learning topography of your new home, befriending people, helping – none of which you put into your own development and it’s only after you were defeated so easily, it got to you that everything that you thought you knew was not even a fraction what you should be able to execute.

That’s why for the months after that, you trained – mostly by yourself, but Tobirama was more than happy to help you anytime he had some spare hours. He found you admirable, the way you wanted to become the best shinobi possible even though there was no need for that. You were excellent even before, the idea of you lacking never crossed his mind and yet you stood up for the challenge and it was in his best interest to help you achieve the goal. You were, after all, his beloved wife, his sunshine, his pride. Quickly, it turned out that on top of all these things, you were quite deadly.

You began taking missions, standing on top of a group consisting of the best ninja from Konoha – ANBU, as Tobirama called it. A set of exceptional individuals, the most skilled ones available. It was a project that Senju wished to finalize, it was meant to provide the village with safety, with the strong asset able to infiltrate, fight and protect and you… You became the leader of it, representing the highest skill of them all and supporting him in establishing the unit.

Tobirama found you incredible, time after time finding himself in awe because of your achievements. There was no such term as impossibility, it seemed, everything he assigned you with, you finished with success, caring about your team well-being and the quality of the process. As much as he felt the endless amount of pride, his heart was also filled with fear. The idea of losing you haunted his dreams anytime you were outside Konoha, dealing with something he himself ordered you. The contradicting feelings weighed heavy on his shoulders – he wished to keep you safe and yet, it was only fair to give you tasks that were relevant to what you were able to do. It would be against his nature to spare you the difficulties, to limit your progress only because of the selfish want of keeping you far from harm. That led him to assigning you with one of the most difficult missions he had to offer.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” he had told you the day before. You remember him joining you in bed late at night and the way he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest was enough of a hint. You knew him well. “I don’t want you to take that mission,” honest as always, and nervous when he spoke quietly. His roughed-up fingertips were circling little ovals against the delicate skin over your spine, his hand buried underneath the shirt that you used to sleep in.

“I know,” you replied, pressing your lips to his bare chest. Oh, how well you knew him. The moment he gave you the details of the job earlier that day in his office, you already knew how hesitant he was and once you read the description, you understood why. “But it’s gonna be fine, I promise.”

“How can you promise me something like that?” He found his way to your chin, lifting your head up just enough to look you in the eyes. “I know you are strong, you are the most skilled ninja I have, don’t think I’m underestimating you, love. But yet, I can’t help but fear, the idea of you not coming back from that job, from something I send you by my own order… it feels unbearable to think.”

Tobirama wasn’t a man that’s easily scared. In your entire time with him, spending so much time as his wife, you saw him worried at most, only few times so it shook you deeply, seeing his sincere eyes glaring at you in nothing but concern. The soft red shade of them looked straight through your soul, you could feel the way his jaw was tensed when you placed your hand on the side of his handsome face.

“I will come back to you, my lord. I know how dangerous the mission is and I would be lying if I told you that I’m not scared of it. But I also know how important it is, how crucial the data I need to gather is to keep Konoha safe and it is my duty to serve the village. It’s my home, I swore to keep it protected.” Your words were honest, Senju knew that. It was difficult, the hidden leaf stood on the verge of war, it was nearly palpable in the air and the information that you were meant to collect had a power to stop it before the blood of innocents was spilled.

The love you developed to Konoha was something Tobirama couldn’t help but admire in you. Despite it being a foreign land to you, you grew to care of it as if you lived here since the beginning. Truth is, you did feel like you were born in it. What hidden leaf gave you was freedom, was love. It showered you in things that before that, you only silently dreamt about, it was a place that you truly began being yourself, hence why you wished to give it back all of yourself.

“I know you’re gonna do your best. It’s just… I wouldn’t mind standing to fight later if you’d say you don’t want to take the job. I wouldn’t mind giving my life in battle if it could save yours.”

“Your life is too precious to be lost, Tobirama,” you leaned into him just slightly, your lips a breath away from his. “You are needed, you are so incredibly fundamental for this village to function properly, you have no idea. Without you, there would be no Konoha, doesn’t matter how great of a hokage your brother is. You are what makes this place a home to so many people, you are the mind and heart of it, so please don’t say such things.”

“It’s you who have my heart. If I have to risk losing it along with you, how could I be one for the village?” Senju exhaled, closing his eyes for a brief moment before closing the distance and pressing his mouth to yours. A kiss of love that’s indescribable, it bore everything that he was too afraid to word out loud. “Just… come back to me.”

“I will always come back to you, my love.”

The reassurance you gave, although carrying uncertainty, you followed with yet another kiss. The intimacy you shared later that night carried an unspoken goodbye, it was intense and oh so full of passion as if it was the last time you were to be so close.

Early in the morning, you were already gone, heading towards the unknown land where you were meant to spend the next weeks, working undercover. In the morning, Tobirama watched you leave, hating himself for letting you go as the sweet taste of the last kiss you shared still lingered over his lips.

* * *

“Later,” Tobirama groaned, responding to the soft sound of knocking against the wooden doors to his office. He was busy, digging through copious amounts of documents and reports, annoyed to the very core of his existence. His mind was already far in the future, balls deep in the upcoming negotiations that were meant to take place in Konoha in just few days. They were important, the safety of the village depended on the results and Tobirama made it very, very clear that unless the matter is absolutely, death-threatening urgent, he’s unavailable to anyone.

But the knob twisted and despite his objections and rough tone the doors opened and he couldn’t help but scoff. His blood was boiling, his brows creasing and even the deep breath he took, trying to calm down his nerves didn’t help at all. The rage inside of him burned with hellfire, it got him out of his chair, smashing his fist on the desk.

“I said fucking late—” he stopped. The sight of you, standing there in the entrance to his office made his voice catch in his throat. Was he even breathing? He felt like the world faded away, time slowed down and the chaos inside his mind calmed in an instant when his eyes met yours. He couldn’t believe, were you really here? In the last report he’s got from you, the one from a month prior, you wrote that at least twelve weeks will be needed to finalize the job and yet here you were, standing just few meters in front of him. After a year.

“I heard you the first time, my lord,” you chuckled softly, watching how his expression changed from rageful annoyance to surprised confusion. It was a display of emotions you were yet to familiarize yourself with, giving Tobirama’s spare range of expressions. “I was told you’re busy and expecting no one to bother you, but I took the freedom to disobey.”

The Senju stood there, flabbergasted for a little longer before his head dropped. A wave of laughter that shook his body made all of his tension go away. You really were there, he could see you, feel your chakra. After long, twelve months of undercover mission he gave you, the one that required you to stay in Iwagakure, gathering intel of governmental nature you finally got back. You had not seen each other during that time and Tobirama had only received few letters from you, all of which being more like short reports about the mission status rather than lover’s notes. But now, you were here, safe, alive.

“You came back,” he said, his voice so much lighter than what he greeted you with. Tobirama took a second to look at his desk, assessing the piles of documents before he pushed everything to the side. Papers flew off and scrolls unraveled on the floor but he couldn't possibly care less about any of those, when you were here, finally after a year of absence, in a flesh and bones. Being so messy was unlikely of him, you had never met someone more organized than Tobirama, but to him, it was more important to now have you on this desk, rather than documents.

“I promised I’ll come back to you, didn’t I?” You smiled, pushing the doors closed behind you and approaching him, placing the box with all of the reports and information regarding your latest work on the floor, before you circled the furniture, meeting him finally.

“You did,” he replied, finding his way to press his lips to yours. His large hands pulled you closer by the back of your neck and you hooked your arms around his shoulders, burying your fingers in the silver strands of his hair, scratching his scalp gently and causing him to purr into the kiss. It tasted sweet, addicting, with the longing being carried through every movement of his lips and tongue. It was heavy with feelings, breathtaking, nearly suffocating with how much it bore, how many unspoken words, how many worries that were now releasing. Tobirama pulled you towards himself, your body now flush to his own as he made you lean against the edge of his desk. It took no time before you were situated on top of it, with his large frame between your legs and his hands wandering all over the lines of your figure.

Tobirama was hungry. He had no idea how much until he saw you, until he tasted you. You taught him how to love, you opened the world of intimacy and touch to him, you showed him the pleasure of marriage and once you took all of it away, he was lost. The need to have you close was unfulfilled for such a long time where he couldn’t even see you, it left him with the burn of craving inside his chest. He was incomplete without you, unable to focus as much as he would usually do, his mind was wandering to the places where your image was stored.

“I missed you so much, my love,” you whimpered, feeling his lips smearing the wet traces of kisses along your neck and down your throat. At that moment, he was not caring about the marks he was leaving, he wanted to make you his own again. Nothing else mattered, only you, the taste of your mouth, the sweet scent of your skin. He would love to be more romantic, to welcome you with something more appropriate – a nice dinner, some pretty flowers, but being romantic was never his strong suit and frankly, things like bouquets and food were last on his mind, when he had you near his body.

“Love,” he groaned against your pulse, his hands making contact with the bare skin on your sides where he pushed the fabric of your black blouse up. He missed you so damn much. His body longed for your touch, for your skin flush to his, for everything that came with you.

“I thought you were busy, my dearest,” you teased, your voice soft and playful as you run your hand down his stomach. It was risky to do so in his office but he did nothing to prevent you from reaching his manhood and as you did, you stroked him gently through the fabric of his pants. A breath hitched in his chest, your touch burned him with lust, he felt like a fire was consuming him just because you put your touch over him.

“I am,” he muttered, sucking a spot onto your neck, reminding your body to whom it belongs to and you gasped softly at the feeling of his lips against your delicate skin. “God, I’m so damn busy.”

taglist: @garouaddict @bluebreadenthusiast @nelivv @drthymby @humongousdreamlandbear @darlingxoxo15 @gaozorous-rex-blog

[whereserpentswalk]

There was a king, somewhere out in space, who wished to build a grand machine. The machine would be a great work of art and science, the size of an entire planet, with the works of countless species collective knowledge contributing to it.

First he started conscripting scholars and creatives of all fields from across his kingdom to create the machine. The best and brightest would work only for him, and only for his machine. And the scholars and creatives who were good enough for the machine had to choose to either flee the kingdom, or to risk their death. Even great minds from other nations would be hired on for the greatest riches. All because the king wanted his great work of art and science, greater then any other, to make his kingdom the greatest in the known universe.

The kingdom lost power for this. Recourses going to the machine drained the economy, and ambastors would have to sacrifice more practical concerns to secure funds and materials for the machine, the great machine. Nobody wanted to say the king was mad. Even if the king was evil, he had to at least be doing this for a good reason. So the machine became a national pride, something that would make the kingdom something truly amazing once it was finished. Even those who hated the king thought that the machine was some evil plan. Nobody is supposed to just do that because they want to, nobody builds a machine just to build a machine.

And the machine kept being built. And thousands and species from thousands of planets were excited for it to be built. A few hated the king from outside the kingdom, and thought it was a plan to enrich the kingdom. A few hated the king from inside the kingdom, and thought it was a plan to make the kingdom poor. It was rare to hear that the king was a fool, for if he was wicked then the kingdom needed a new king, if he was a fool then the world might be better off without kings. But as time passed, and it became clear the machine would take years, mabye decades, to build, and not just months, attention from outside the kingdom dried up.

But still the kingdom built the machine. For the plan was from the king, there must be a purpose to it. And when the king died, his heirs carried on the project of the machine, his sons, and his nephews, and his grandsons, and his grandnephews, all worked to assure the machine was built. And it was seen as the highest honer to be made to work on it, the goal of any young mind within the kingdom, the only path any scholar or creative was meant to strive for. And those great minds who didn't want to work on the machine, got out of the kingdom as soon as possible, moved away before they could be made to work on someone else's project.

And the fate of those who worked on the machine was a tragic one. Great artists and sculptors wasted their entire careers working on minor details of the machine that nobody would ever see, instead of making their own works. Great scientists and engineers spent their lives making sure the machine could be built instead of discovering and building new things. Writers wasted their careers writing the cryptic manuals and the even more cryptic writing on the walls, when they could have written the works they always wanted to. Doctors who could have saved lives, instead worked to make sure the workers could survive the machine. And millions upon millions of workers, who could have lived, died within the machine's depths.

There isn't an exciting ending of this story. Society started caring less and less about the machine. The kingdom broke up and none of its heirs wanted to continue the project. And the machine lies unfinished in the depths of space, all having done nothing for anyone, benefiting neither oppressed nor oppressor. And history books don't talk about an age when the machine was being built, they talk about an age when the kingdom had few great works of culture or scientific discoveries, and the machine was simply cited as a reason many historians agree upon.

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

The space between

Chapter two: “Kook Life”

ALL RIGHTS TO NETFLIX AND OUTERBANKS

Warnings!: Mentions of violence and fighting! Water boarding and gun violence in this chapter! Please read at your own caution!

I’m thinking of making a taglist! Please comment if you’d like to be on it!

Wattpad:yourgentlegirlfriend

The hurricane hit hard. Nothing that Eves family had ever experienced before, a storm they would not have been able to weather if it wasn’t for Ward Cameron.

Eve felt guilty, a weird feeling constantly stirring in her stomach about the man. Mainly because her father always was willing to talk about work, his work is his pride, his joy, he always is talking about something he’s working on. But since they moved here, he’s been silent, constantly out and around town. Its odd considering he doesn’t even make time for his family anymore.

When the hurricane hit though he was forced to, the front door creaked open, echoing through the whole house.

Eve stood up, fanning herself as she hurried out her bedroom door to see her dad put down a bag of groceries, her hands shoved in her pockets as she walked to the counter and pulled herself up onto it.

“So… How long did they say the power was going to be cut?”

Carlos sighed, shoving all the bread and canned foods into the cabinet- not a good sign.

“They said they have no clue. I went to look at the price of a generator, wondering if I could pull out a loan for one but they are over twenty thousand dollars.”

One thing Eve hated was seeing her dad stressed, she frowned, her legs swinging slightly as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“Why don’t you ask Ward?”

Just as she thought, her dad shot her a dirty look, shaking his head.

“We don’t do handouts in this family, Evelyn and you know that.”

Eve looked down at her legs, putting her hands up in defense at the sound of her full name.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry.”

Carlos walked away down the hall, Eve flinching as the garage door slammed. She hated that she couldn’t help, getting a job in the area was almost impossible. Thankfully they’d been here a month now so it wasn’t as horrible as the first week.

Sarah had invited her over to her house, telling her she could shower and stay at hers till some party at the beach. She claimed it was a tradition.

Finally understanding what Kooks and Pogues meant, she hated it. She knew that economical standpoints were definitely noticeable but to separate them completely? Sarah didn’t agree either thankfully or she wouldn’t even associate with her.

The only reason she hangs around Topper and all of them was for Sarah. Sarah was truthfully the first real friend she’s ever had, she understood her in a way nobody ever has.

Having a dad who is so business oriented and two siblings, absent mother type of thing, Sarah was always her shoulder to cry on. Even though it had only been a month the two were super close.

Eve dug through her drawers, holding her bag in one hand as she shoved some shorts and a bathing suit top, into it followed by a pair of pajama pants and a random shirt.

“Where are you going?”

Eves mom, Jessica asked. Holding a basket of clean water she had saved before the hurricane.

“Dad already said I can go. I’m going to hang out with Sarah.”

Jessica wanted to snap back but knew if Carlos heard she would’ve gotten an ear full. Eve zipped up her backpack as she watched her mom walk away, a sigh of relief leaving her as she slipped the backpack on and hurried out the front door.

Carlos said no using the truck so they could save gas till everything was normal again, so the walk to Sarah’s was pretty far. Her hands gripped at the straps of her backpack as she walked up the dirt road, humming a soft tune.

The walk took her much longer than it should’ve, finally making it to the Cameron’s house, Eve scratched her head as she pushed open the front door. Their lights were on, what, they had a generator?

For once she used the term Kooks in her head. She jogged up the steps and down the long winding hallway and to Sarah’s room, seeing the note on her bed that said she went out for errands and that the phone didn’t work so she couldn’t call to tell her, but to go sit on the boat till she gets back.

Eve sighed and looked out Sarah’s window to see the long dock to the boat. She tugged her shirt off and put her bathing suit top on before she walked back down the steps, almost falling as Rafe met halfway at the staircase.

“Woah slow your roll, going down way too fast.”

Rafe. Great. The last the two had spoken was at the party the night of the dinner, and it ended in her arguing with him on the porch, and thankfully Topper and Sarah stepped in to stop it or she was confident she would’ve beat his ass.

“Nice to see you Rafe.”

“You mooching off us? Because Sarah’s not home..”

Eve rolled her eyes and went to push past him, Rafe stepped sideways, his arm brushing against the railing of the stairs as he blocked her path.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Or are you too busy pretending you don’t hate it here?”

Eve froze, feeling her patience wearing thin. She took a step back, crossing her arms.

“I’m not pretending anything. And if I wanted to mooch, I’d ask Ward for a generator like the rest of this town probably does.”

The smirk faded from Rafe’s face, replaced by something colder and sharper. “Careful, California. You’re out of your element.”

Eve tilted her head, the mocking nickname grating on her nerves. “You think I care? Sarah invited me. So, if you’ve got a problem, take it up with her.”

Rafe chuckled, low and humorless, leaning in slightly as he spoke. “You know, it’s cute how you think Sarah’s on your side. You’re just a fun little project for her. She’ll get bored eventually.”

That struck a nerve. Eve’s fists clenched at her sides, but instead of giving him the reaction he wanted, she forced herself to laugh, her hand tapping at his shoulder as she nodded her head.

“Thanks for your insight Rafe.”

Eve smiled at him, her nose scrunching slightly as she hurried down the steps, walking out the back door, she hadn’t been on a boat for years

Stepping into the boat, Eve let out an audible sigh of relief as the cool air conditioning hit her heated skin. The sensation didn’t last long though, her eyes landed on someone standing in the middle of the cabin, a boy? or maybe a man? Frozen mid-action with scuba gear in his hands.

They locked eyes, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Uh, hey”

He spoke, finally breaking the silence.

“Hi?”

Eve replied her confusion was obvious as her gaze flicked from his face to the scuba gear he clutched awkwardly.

He hesitated before quickly setting the gear down and extending a hand.

“I’m John B. I work for Ward. I, uh, clean the boat.”

The silence that followed was more than uncomfortable, and Eve shifted on her feet before he thankfully spoke again.

“You new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes.”

The girl said with a small shrug as she sank down into the couch, letting the cool air hit her overly flushed skin.

“Guess I don’t exactly blend in.”

John B chuckled, a genuine, easy laugh that made her crack a small smile. He pulled the scuba tanks over his shoulder, nodding toward her.

“I’ve gotta fill these up for Ward, but it was nice meeting you, Eve.”

“You too,”

She replied, trying not to sound like she was extremely suspicious watching him as he headed out the door.

The longer she sat in the AC, the more she felt herself drifting into sleep, her legs draping over the couch arm as her eyes fluttered closed.

“Sorry, God downtown is packed.”

Sarah’s voice made Eve shoot back up, rubbing her eyes as she looked over to see Sarah slipping her sandals off and walking into the cabin of the boat.

The silence lingered as she thought about her altercation with Rafe, her encounter with John B. Her tongue poked at her cheek as she stared out the window as the boat moved with the very soft waves.

“Does he ever let up?”

Eve asked, breaking the longing silence.

“Who? Rafe?”

Sarah asked as she looked out one of the small windows of the boat, seeing Rafe on the porch.

“No. It’s his full time job to be a pain in the ass to every single person in his life.”

Sarah said laughing as she sat down next to Eve, her legs crossing over hers as she looked over at her.

“But I’m sure you’ve noticed that already?”

“Noticed is the light way to put it, more like I’ve endured it already.”

The two laughed for a bit, but suddenly Sarah stared off into the distance and frowned a bit, her head slumping down into her shoulder.

“He wasn’t always a dick. He’s just always angry at everyone, probably mainly at himself.”

Sarah sighed as she looked over at Eve again.

“I get it. My older brother is the same way. It.. lays in the parents- I'm not saying Ward is a bad dad but.. when these things aren’t talked about, it builds up..”

Sarah just nodded, listening to the water splash against the sides of the boat.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong here?”

Eve asked, staring up at the ceiling of the cabin, her hands folded on her chest.

“All the time. That’s why I hang out with you, it’s less complicated.”

——————————————————————

The night fell quickly, Eve and Sarah laughing loudly, echoing through the house as Sarah smudged lipgloss on the girl. Eve had somehow been convinced by Sarah to get her makeup done, she did love makeup but it’s expensive to keep up with.

Sarah turned her around in the chair. Eve blinked at herself in the mirror, smiling. It wasn’t a huge noticeable change.

“It’s just some mascara, lipgloss and blush, bringing out your natural beauty of course.”

Eve nodded as Sarah styled her hair for her. Watching as she grabbed her bag ready to leave, She peaked out the window at the sound of a horn, secretly rolling her eyes as she saw Topper showed up to pick the two up.

She would lie to say she was not excited though, she hadn’t built the courage to go down to the beach alone. So she was thankful Sarah was going to be there.

When they arrived, the glow of a bonfire flickered against the sky, laughter and the hum of conversation filling the air. Socializing wasn’t exactly her strong suit, so Eve sat back, finding an empty log near the edge of the group. From her spot, she watched Sarah and Topper mess around, their relationship being a small comfort from the large group of people in front of her.

As her gaze finally left the two, it landed on a group not too far from her. And of course, there was a familiar face—the boy from the boat. John B?

Eve frowned as she watched the night unfold. Sarah and Topper made their way over to the group, and a blonde boy said something that she couldn’t quite hear. The tension was immediate, the lighthearted mood shifting in an instant.

Eve stood, crossing her arms as she slowly moved closer, trying to make any sense of the situation. Her breath caught when she saw Topper shove John B, the confrontation escalating before anyone could stop it.

“Dirty Pogues!”

Topper yelled, his voice dripping with venom.

Eve’s eyes darted between them, her stomach dropping as John B fought back, shoving Topper back. Within seconds, fists were flying, the fight spiraling out of control as Sarah screamed for them to stop.

Her heart raced as she stood still unable to move, her hands gripping her hair in frustration? Fear?. Topper tackled John B, slamming him into the shallow water with a force that made Eve flinch as she watched. Before she could process what was happening, Topper had John B pinned, his hands shoving his head under the water repeatedly

“Sarah! Get your fucking boyfriend!”

Eve shouted, her voice cracking as panic clawed at her chest, tears springing quickly to her eyes.

She bolted forward, desperate to stop Topper from making it even worse, but strong hands grabbed her upper arms, yanking her back just as quickly as she ran forward. She twisted against the grip, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her.

“He’s drowning him!”

She screamed, her voice drowned out by the chaos, watching John B’s friends panic and Sarah crying.

Everyone gasped and fell silent as the Blonde one ran up to the two, holding a gun to Toppers head. She turned her head to see it was Rafe holding her back, her hands flying to her ears as bullets were fired into the air, as the group argued Rafe dragged her from the beach.

As Rafe pulled Eve away from the chaos, she twisted in his grip, panic flashing across her face.

"Let me go!" she yelled, trying to break free, but his hold was firm.

"Stop squirming," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp but not yelling. "You're not getting involved in pogue mess, trust me Im doing you a favor.”

She stumbled slightly as he tugged her farther from the fire and the sound of raised voices. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she barely felt the crunch of sand beneath her feet as Rafe basically dragged her up a small path leading away from the beach.

Eve wrenched her arm free the moment his grip loosened. "What the hell is wrong with you? He was drowning him, Rafe! You’re just gonna let that happen? That’s YOUR friend!”

"Don’t act like you understand how things work here," Rafe shot back, his voice loud, bouncing off the trees surrounding them. "You don’t get it, Eve. You’re not from here. You don’t know what you just walked into."

"Then tell me, Rafe!" she snapped, frustration spilling over. "Explain it to me, because all I see is a bunch of idiots acting like some stupid town rivalry is more important than their lives!”

He let out a sharp breath, running a hand over his face as if trying to keep himself in check. "Look, I didn’t want you caught up in this. That’s why I pulled you out, okay? You should be thanking me like I said."

"Thanking you?" she echoed in disbelief, shaking her head. "You and your friends are fucking insane.”

Rafe stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

"And you’re way in over your head if you think you can just stand there and play referee. Stick to Sarah, Eve. Stay out of this."

She stared up at him, her defiance faltering for a moment under the weight of his gaze. There was something in his tone an unspoken warning, maybe even concern? That made her hesitate.

“Maybe you should get your priorities straight and check on your sister.”

Eve spat as she roughly nudged past him, her heart pounding out of her chest as she walked up the trail and onto the main road. She didn’t care if she didn’t have a ride home, her eyes fixated on the red and blue lights flashing from the opposite direction. This wasn’t her situation, this wasn’t her life, or her stupid rivalry. All she wanted was to be away from the Cameron’s.

[theink-stainedfolk]

The General's Bride

Chapter 1

Continuation

impending royal wedding, a union of the empire's most renowned general and its hidden jewel. Luo Xingchen rose from his knees, his expression unreadable as he turned to his men.

His steps were measured and confident as he left the palace, the words of the emperor still echoing in his mind. Two months. The countdown has begun.

The emperor sat alone in the vast hall, the weight of the court's proceedings still lingering in the air. His fingers traced the cold surface of his ornate throne as he stared into the distance, lost in thought. The room was silent now, save for the faint rustling of the silk curtains as the wind whispered through the palace windows. For a moment, the world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the emperor in his quiet contemplation.

His peace was broken by the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind. The minister-Xu Qiang, a man as sharp and calculated as he was enigmatic-appeared at the threshold. He had served the emperor for years, often from the shadows.

He moved with the grace of a shadow, silent and unseen until he was standing beside the emperor. Leaning in just enough for his voice to be heard, Xu Qiang whispered, "You fear him. Luo Xingchen, you fear him, don't you?"

The emperor's gaze flickered to the side, his expression unreadable, before he sighed deeply. It was a quiet, resigned sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of war and political maneuvering. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low. "It is a pity that he returned alive."

Xu Qiang's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. He had seen it-the emperor's hesitation, the tension that lingered whenever Luo Xingchen's name was mentioned. The general, so resolute, so powerful, was a threat unlike any the emperor had faced. Luo Xingchen was a man who had fought in countless battles, a warrior who commanded the respect of his men, and a man whose loyalty was beyond question. Yet, that very loyalty, that power, was now the emperor's greatest fear.

Xu Qiang's eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he pressed, his voice barely more than a breath, "Does his power scare you, Your Majesty?"

The emperor did not answer immediately, his silence hanging heavy in the air. He could feel the weight of Xu Qiang's gaze, but he refused to look up. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around the armrests of his throne, his knuckles pale. Xu Qiang was right-Luo Xingchen's return had disrupted something deep within the emperor. He had always prided himself on his control, on his power, but now, the general's presence loomed large over the empire.

Xu Qiang took a small step forward, leaning just a bit closer. The emperor's silence was all the answer he needed. His eyes gleamed with a quiet satisfaction, his voice barely audible as he spoke again. "You fear that his power might exceed your own."

The emperor's expression darkened, but he did not deny it. The truth was there, plain for both of them to see. Luo Xingchen had brought back the empire's victory, yes, but with that victory came the man's growing influence-his loyalty and strength now carried weight far beyond the emperor's own grasp.

There was a moment of stillness between them, the air thick with unspoken truths. Xu Qiang's sharp eyes never left the emperor's face, but there was a flicker of something darker in his gaze. His connection to the emperor was a bond forged in more than just duty-it was one of shared secrets, whispered promises, and unacknowledged desires.

And yet, despite all the emperor's power, despite his throne and his command over the empire, it was clear that there was something-someone-that terrified him. Luo Xingchen. And Xu Qiang wondered, with a slight smile of his own, how long the emperor could continue pretending that the general's shadow did not hang over them all.

"Your Majesty," Xu Qiang said, his voice smooth and respectful, "perhaps it is time we... addressed this matter. Before it grows beyond your control." He gave the emperor a sideways glance, his meaning clear.

The emperor's gaze flickered to him, and for a brief moment, there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. Then he let out a breath, his posture sagging slightly. "Yes, it may be time."

The court was no longer the only battleground in the empire. Luo Xingchen was only the beginning.

---

Tagging @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @vesanal @frostedlemonwriter

[imaginedanvrs]

my demon gave me everything

part 7 l masterlist

summary: dark!natasha romanoff x reader. Natasha Romanoff saves the world. Morals, lifestyle and past aside, the fact is that she puts her life on the line for everyone else. And for this, she believes she’s owed something. She saves billions of lives on the regular, so why not take the occasional one for herself?

word count: 3k

warnings: esablished kidnapping, physical and psychological abuse, power dynamics, manipulation, developing stockholm syndrone, whole load of emotional whiplash

Unfortunately, Natasha was unable to enquire further into the conversation that had kept her up hours after you had fallen asleep, as the next morning you had a fever of almost 39 degrees celsius. The redhead had awoken to find you shivering violently while dripping with sweat, it was a fever unlike any you had had before even as someone who was prone to getting sick. You couldn’t stay still but didn’t have the energy to toss and turn, instead laying in constant discomfort that stemmed from your ankle that was feeling worse. 

  Natasha watched you for a few hours as your symptoms rapidly progressed. At first she had assumed it was some kind of reaction to the drugs she had given you the day before but soon realised the cause came from your foot once she spotted the traces of blood on the duvet. She pulled the fabric back to reveal your swollen ankle smeared with blood. When did you break skin? That had never been Natasha’s aim, that wasn’t how it was meant to go. 

   On closer inspection the spy knew the area was infected due to the extreme discolouration of the skin and what oozed out. That had never happened before. The break was always clean and precise and Natasha never broke the skin to ensure that very thing never happened. The breaks always healed within a month, if they stayed that much longer, and it was impossible to tell it had happened. That was Natasha’s style. It was precise. But judging by the state of your foot, it hadn’t happened like that for you and somehow Natasha had missed it. She never missed anything, but you had managed to shock her once more. 

  The Avenger left you to pace around her apartment and considered her next move. Really, she should’ve killed you. You weren't worth the extra effort required to deal with a medical situation like that, nor would you be fun to toy with the more unresponsive you got. The easiest course of action for the Russian would be to walk back into that bedroom and snap your neck - You weren't even really worth a bullet. However something about the concept didn’t sit right with the redhead. Perhaps it was just that she didn’t want to throw out an uncompleted project. She had yet to be able to figure you out entirely and if she killed you she would never know. Or perhaps part of her wondered ‘what if?’ What if you were able to stick around for an extra few months if she just dealt with this infection. It would save her the hassle of acquiring another woman after you. 

  Besides, if Natasha did kill you, she would always have to know that it was because of a mistake she made. Her pride wouldn’t take that too well. So Natasha begrudgingly took out her phone and sent a swift text to one of the only people she would let step foot inside her apartment. He soon replied, letting the redhead know he would be there shortly so the Russian went back to the bedroom where you lay whimpering in agony. 

  Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed next to you and watched with interest as you writhed around, seemingly without realising the redhead was there. Natasha brushed the hair away from your face and your eyes shot open to meet hers, though they didn’t quite seem to register the redhead. She frowned as you turned away and began shivering uncontrollably again. Natasha pulled the discarded sheets back over your body and got a washcloth and bowl of water from the bathroom to set about cleaning your ankle as much as she could. She needed it to look as presentable as possible so that she didn’t seem like a complete idiot to the other Avenger. 

  Just as she set the bowl aside, Natasha heard wisps of sparks forming just outside the bedroom and turned her head in time to see Strange appear in one of his portals and step foot inside the apartment. He wasn’t in his usual cloak, instead wearing his plain shirt, trousers and jacket combo though his ring remained stubbornly on his finger.

  Natasha nodded to him and he did the same back without a word needing to be exchanged. The pair weren’t close and they both knew why Stephen was there so there was no need for pleasantries. He strolled into the bedroom with his usual air of arrogance that had always led the redhead to know they had a mutual understanding in their morals and that they were on the same wavelength. Strange was no angel either. 

  “So this is the latest,” he commented as he watched you claw at the sheets as though searching to find some kind of relief. Natasha didn’t answer and instead pulled back the covers to reveal your broken ankle that had grown more angry looking in the past hour. The movement pulled you from your restless sleep and you gazed down the bed at the pair through hooded eyes. You weren't sure that Strange was even real at first, never having expected to see someone else in the apartment but you had just enough sense to understand they were both looking at your ankle. Natasha had brought a doctor to see you. 

  “I know it’s infected but I need you to tell me if antibiotics are going to be enough,” the redhead said loud enough for you to hear. Infected?

  Strange knelt down in front of the bed and placed his rough hands on your ankle, feeling for where the bone had snapped. You whined and tried to crawl away from his uncomfortable grip but he only held you tighter and ignored your protests. Natasha clenched her jaw at the sound, not liking that someone other than her was hurting you. “I didn’t ask you here to fuck it up more,” she quipped. Strange stopped and shot Natasha the same irritated look he used to when other surgeons disagreed with him. 

  The sorcerer stood up and began to swipe his hands through the air several times, creating another circle of sparks though this time it looked in on the bones in your foot, almost like an x-ray. He hovered over you long enough for Natasha to pry and see a small, barely identifiable mass forming around the detached bone. Just as Strange was looking for. 

  “She has Osteomyelitis,” he concluded and began to venture out of the room, apparently done assessing you. You watched him go with a frown. 

  “That’s never happened before,” Natasha called back as she followed him out. Your frown deepened as you registered the words. Before? 

  “Well that cut is infected and now it’s attacking the bone,” Strange explained. “Antibiotics might be enough but you should take her to a hospital or at least Tony’s lab to be sure. If the drugs aren’t enough she’ll lose her leg if she’s lucky. If not, she’ll die.” 

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Natasha said firmly. That was a non negotiable. Strange turned to the redhead and hummed. 

  “So you don’t care that she could die?” Strange enquired curiously.

  “What makes you think I would?” Natasha spat back. 

  “The fact that you called me here for one thing. You never did that for the others,” he pointed out.

  “The others never got sick. She’s convenient, I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t be wasting my time getting antibiotics if it wouldn’t be enough. But I’m also sure as hell not taking her outside this apartment.” Natasha explained defensively but Strange didn’t buy it.

  “So now you know, the antibiotics might not be enough, are you still going to get them?” The Russian tightened her jaw, wanting the American out. 

  “Considering that will be less of an inconvenience than having to get another one, yes.” Strange hummed and took another glance towards the bedroom before creating another portal in the middle of the room.

  “They’ll be with you within the hour then,” he said, strolling back through the portal to leave Natasha with what he had said.

  Arrogant ass doesn’t know shit about me. Natasha thought in distaste as she came back to you, though once she got another look she reconsidered her disregard for Strange’s point. She didn’t want you to die, she knew that, the question was merely why. 

  Was it purely down to convenience like she played upon so heavily? Perhaps it was more because Natasha had yet to fully understand you yet and didn’t want to leave the mystery unsolved. Or maybe there was something more that she wasn't allowing herself to explore. The redhead crept around the bed and laid down with her back against the wall, pulling your head into her lap. You were getting weaker. 

  Natasha was fond of you, she decided. That was the adjective she was just about comfortable enough to admit to herself. She was fond that you were something unfamiliar, the type of challenge she hadn’t found herself facing in several years when she was first bringing home women and figuring them out. They became so predictable after a while and Natasha had been able to break them so effortlessly that sometimes there was little fun in it. But you had responded to very little things the way she had anticipated. Using the knife, the plate, craving her touch without giving in entirely, not leaving. They were all unexpected and Natasha wasn’t willing to let go of something that could provide her with more entertainment. 

  She wasn’t going to take you out of the apartment, but Natasha would do what she could for you within those four walls.

*

  You  basked in the feeling of Natasha swiping the shower sponge across your body in a steady, relaxing rhythm that almost lulled you to sleep in the tub. You kept your eyes shut and the faint smile across your lips hadn’t faltered since Natasha had placed you in the pleasantly hot water. She never joined you in the tub as you often wished she did to sit herself behind you to drape her arms around your front as she washed you. Instead, she crouched on the bath mat beside you to wash you. 

  “All done, malysh,” the redhead spoke gently so as not to startle you while she finished rinsing your body. Draping a towel around your shoulders, Natasha helped you stand up and sit on the edge of the bathtub while she finished drying you off dutifully. Her towels were always so soft and unscented that you wondered what kind of miracle conditioner she used on them. You had asked her once but she had chuckled and told you that you didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing. She was right. 

  Applying a couple of lotions and rebandaging your foot, the Russian led you out of the bathroom with a firm hand on your waist and a watchful eye on your foot to examine how well it supported your weight. Not great, but improving. A couple days prior you hadn’t been able to walk at all. The antibiotics, medications and treatments she had been giving you were quick working, having been given soon enough that Natasha narrowly avoided the necessity of bringing you to a hospital. She knew she could handle you fine on her own. 

  After helping you get dressed, the redhead set up a new disk on the record player she had recently brought into the bedroom. The records ranged from American artists from the 80s and 90s to classical and even some Russian songs from an era you were unfamiliar with. You enjoyed listening to them and discovering a part of Natasha you hadn’t expected to learn. It felt as though she was letting you in while also providing some entertainment for you during your healing process. You were oblivious to the fact the redhead only brought it in because she always listened to the records as she worked and it was purely for her own benefit. She knew you didn’t see it that way and didn’t correct your thinking. 

  Once you were settled in bed, Natasha brought over a container with a few pills in and a glass of apple juice. It was your favourite but it was also recommended by Strange. You winced at the pills but the redhead gave you a warning look so you begrudgingly put them all in your mouth as quickly as possible and chugged them down with the whole glass of apple juice. You could feel the bile rising in your throat immediately after but a swift slap to your cheek made the feeling evaporate. It was the only way you could take pills you had both found after little trial and error. The only way you didn’t throw up was if Natasha gave you a shock. It was necessary, you told yourself. It was a bonus, Natasha beamed. 

  The redhead sat down against the headboard next to you and set about working on her laptop as you lay under the covers next to her and listened intently to the music. That was how it had been since Strange came to see you and how it would continue for a short while longer. The redhead helped you with everything you needed and ensured you were as comfortable as possible to help aid your healing.

  Slowly but surely, you got better. Over the course of a week or so, the antibiotics kicked in swiftly and helped you regain some of your strength, though you still contained yourself to the bedroom and bathroom. The pain in your foot, while still present, was reduced significantly so that you could wander to the bathroom on your own as much as needed and Natasha was always right by your side to help. In fact, she rarely left you at all. The spy never left the apartment in the time you were getting better. She ordered groceries and medicines to the door that she was insistent on helping you take for the first few days so that you didn’t spill anything on her sheets. Whatever the reason, you loved it. 

  Though Natasha went through the motions with a sense of duty rather than care, you were none the wiser and only saw everything the redhead was doing as kindness and perhaps reconciliation. She tended to your wound periodically and ensured you were always laying in the most comfortable position. You felt cared for in a way you never had before, from anyone. It was electrifying. 

  Though she would never admit it, Natasha was relieved when she recognised the signs of your infection clearing and health improving. She was ready for you to return back to normal so that she could resume where she left off, except she hadn’t realised how much her dutiful care had shifted things in your mind and, unbeknown to her, the redhead’s. 

  “What did you mean when you said to Strange that this had never happened before?” You asked one night when you were lying peacefully listening to the tunes on the record player. 

  “It doesn’t matter,” Natasha was quick to answer, not feeling like telling you about the others. You hummed, not wanting to push the good mood the redhead was in. You liked her like that, the last thing you wanted was to ruin it. 

  Several minutes passed before you spoke again. “Thank you for looking after me,” you said gratefully, tracing a small circle on the Russian’s exposed collarbone. 

  “I’m the reason you needed looking after,” Natasha pointed out plainly. 

  “I know but…I don’t much care,” you shrugged simply, not knowing how else to phrase something that was entirely the truth. You looked up at the redhead with a smile, admiring the way her loose hair fell around her face. She had it down that day and combining it with her black hoodie gave her a comforting soft feel. 

  Natasha examined the way you were gazing at her and felt an unfamiliar lump in her throat form. No one had ever looked at her like that before, not with that much…adoration and gratitude. It was unfamiliar and Natasha’s first response to something unfamiliar was to run and examine before engaging. Unfortunately, that didn’t work well in such a situation. 

  “There were others before you,” she started, insistent on driving a wedge between you. You listened intently and it only made her angry. “Other women. There has been for years. I take women who are nothing, who have nothing, no one, and I bring them back here to lay in this bed with me so that I can break them just like I’m owed.” Natasha’s eyes darkened and your chest tightened. 

  “The thing that never happened before? Well I’ve broken a lot of ankles doing that test but none of them made such a pathetic fuss about it. You got sick because you’re the weakest I’ve ever had and I should have never wasted my time with you,” Natasha spat, getting up from the bed but keeping her eyes on you so you could see the hatred within them. Poison dripped from every word and you felt it work its way into your system with no delay.

  “Strange told me to take you to the hospital but I would have much rather snapped your neck than waste that kind of energy on you. You’re just a toy to fill my time with,” she finished with one final glare. She turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her. 

  You stared at the closed door for a while, not believing what you had just heard and willing yourself to wake up from a bad dream, a nightmare. But instead, you were forced to lay there and listen to everything be repeated in your mind. You thought she genuinely cared about you. You knew it was wrong to expect that of someone who literally kidnapped you but you wanted it to be true so badly, you wanted the connection you thought you were laying down the foundations to build. 

  You were wrong. You were naive. You were just like the others.

[risingscorchingsuns]

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Beautiful Lies, Forbidden Truths

A Hashira’s work is never done. Though lately, it’s all been piling up… and Flame Hashira Kyojuro Rengoku has more on his mind than he’s used to.

Content warnings: breakdown, anxiety, burnout, mentions of death. SFW.

Unfinished fic but im pretty proud of what I have so far lmao 😭 if it does well enough I might finish it someday!!

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It’s been a long week.

A long month, actually.

Honestly, for Kyojuro Rengoku, everything has just felt endless and ragged lately. Weeks, months, years. It all feels so… tiring. Normally, Kyojuro doesn’t let the war get to him too much. He’d been born into it, practically raised with a sword in his hands. It was all he knew. It was all he’d ever known.

Kyojuro has always been proud to call himself a Rengoku. Centuries of powerful, passionate men with flame-colored hair, trained to use the ancient art of Flame Breathing to protect the innocent, to shepherd those weaker than them. Generations of Rengokus, all cumulated into Kyojuro. He couldn’t be more proud to carry his family’s legacy onwards, and to continue to serve under the title of Flame Hashira. He was proud of his strength, proud of his legacy, proud of his traditions.

But… despite his pride for his heritage, Kyojuro couldn’t quite be proud of himself. He couldn’t quite allow it, not yet. He has little flickers sometimes, when a family thanks him for saving them, or when he sees a mission fulfilled. Little sparks of pride, glimmering like candles in his chest. But they never last long- that’s one flame Kyojuro can’t bring himself to nurture. He can’t be proud of himself until he’d achieved more, until he’d made his father proud. Until he’d proven that he’s worthwhile, that he’s lived up to the immense name that he carries.

Lately, it’s been wearing on him. A few weeks ago, the Corps had suffered a major casualty. Three Tsuchinoe, killed by a demon that had appeared out of nowhere. Kyojuro arrived too late. He was too far, and even though he ran as fast as he could, he arrived too late. They were already dead, the demon had already slaughtered them. Kyojuro had managed to dispatch it, but the damage was done. The lives were lost forever, and it was a heavy blow to both the ranks and the morale of the Corps.

It wasn’t his fault. Logically, Kyojuro knew that. He couldn’t have possibly done anything better- he left as soon as his Kasugai Crow had given him the intel, and he moved as fast as he possibly could. He had done everything right, and he was still too late.

It’s happened before- to him, his fellow Hashira, everyone. Anyone in the Corps who lived long enough to make allies knew they had to be prepared to lose them. It was just the way war works. There was nothing they could do.

Well, nothing most Slayers could do. The rational part of Kyojuro’s brain knew that, but the smaller, quieter part had been getting louder lately. Telling him that he’s the Flame Hashira. He’s not like most Slayers. The blood of those Tsuchinoe was on his hands- and he didn’t save them. He didn’t do enough. He should have run faster, pushed farther, been just a little bit better-

A twig snaps, jerking Kyojuro out of his thoughts and back down to earth. That’s right- he’d been on patrol. He sighs. He’s been so lost in thought lately. Everything feels like just too much, and he was struggling to handle it on his own. He would just never be enough.

But Kyojuro knew he had to. It was his duty- as a Slayer, as a Hashira, as a brother, as a friend. He had to be the strong one. He had to be the one to hold it all together. He had people relying on him, and he refuses to let them down.

But gods above, if he wasn’t tired. Tired of always moving, tired of always smiling. Tired of all this fighting, tired of all the endless death and misery, tired of the demons.

Tired of never being enough, no matter how hard he worked.

Kyojuro takes a deep breath. He's on patrol; he has a job to do. He has to patrol his territory, dispose of any demons, and secure the safety of Japan. Then he had to go back to HQ, complete his afternoon workout, write out his patrol report, and give Shinobu Kocho’s student, Hikaru Eritora, his extra fighting lessons. No big deal. Average Tuesday, at least for Kyojuro.

Hikaru. A bright young lad, around Kyojuro’s age, with deep indigo hair and a fierce determination that Kyojuro rather admired. Shinobu had asked him to help train Hikaru as he developed his own Breathing Technique, as his fighting style was more similar to Kyojuro’s. Kyojuro had readily agreed, always happy to help out a fellow Hashira, as well as an upstart Demon Slayer.

What Kyojuro hadn’t expected was for Hikaru to be so… fascinating. The violet-eyed Slayer was fierce, passionate, and… a little bit odd, if Kyojuro was being honest. Not that he minded… quite the opposite, in fact. The Flame Pillar thought the young man’s bluntness and curiosity was pleasantly refreshing, if anything. Hikaru was often distracted, missing Kyojuro’s words because he’d been lost in observing his environment. He had a fascination with insects, particularly beetles, which Kyojuro thought was interesting. Everything about Hikaru was fascinating to Kyojuro, and the more he trained him, the more he realized that he wanted to know him. Hikaru intrigued Kyojuro- he was curious about the new Slayer, and wanted to know him as more than just a student. In the months they’d been training together, Kyojuro had to admit he’d grown rather attached to the other swordsman. He wanted to know him so much more. Know him as… a friend. A friend, or… maybe…?

Kyojuro blinks back into reality, shaking himself as if to clear cobwebs from his distracted mind. No, he didn’t have time for those kinds of thoughts. Kyojuro was a Hashira, a Rengoku, a warrior. He simply didn’t have the luxury of those kinds of emotions. They were unproductive, a waste of his strength. Kyojuro simply didn’t have time for anything that didn’t help the war effort.

…And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from blushing, the subtlest shade of pink coloring the tips of his ears as he thought about Hikaru’s brilliant gemstone eyes. Kyojuro sighs. He had a lot to think about. But for now, he pushes it aside- his patrol was finally over, and Kyojuro had more responsibilities ahead of him. His shoes crunch on gravel as he steps back into the Demon Slayer HQ, and he takes a deep breath.

Focus, Kyojuro, he thinks to himself. Just keep your heart burning. Kyojuro closes his eyes, taking long, deep breaths. Suddenly, they snap open, a bold grin spreading across the Flame Hashira’s lips.

“Ha!” he exclaims aloud, to nobody in particular. “I am the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku! There’s no such thing as too much!” Kyojuro grins to himself, folding his arms across his chest as he strides back into the heart of HQ, trying to make his insides match his ever-blazing exterior. There was no such thing as too much. Not for the Hashira, not for Kyojuro. He just had to keep fighting. Keep the flames lit, and nobody would ever see what they were burning. He just had to keep moving.

No matter how heavy he felt. No matter how lonely it gets.

The rest of the day was rather unremarkable, if Kyojuro was being honest. It was business as usual, nothing out of the ordinary. Busy. Kyojuro runs through his personal drills, tends to his various Hashira duties, and heads to the canteen to grab some kind of sustenance before filing his reports. He’s tired, more so than usual. His aching limbs feel heavy, and he’s got the beginnings of a nasty headache. He’s just reaching the door when he’s stopped by a voice behind him.

“Flame Hashira Rengoku!”

Kyojuro turns, meeting the eyes of a young subordinate Slayer. The boy is standing at attention, a nervousness in his eyes.

“Yes! How can I help you?” Kyojuro responds, keeping his tone loud and enthusiastic as always. He refused to show the tiredness, especially not in front of a subordinate. Whatever this young lad needed, Kyojuro was sure he could handle it. Just another task on his seemingly endless pile.

The boy fidgets anxiously, an awkward look in his eyes. “Ah- I’ve been sent on behalf of the Sound Hashira,” he reports. “He’s been urgently deployed just outside Ueno- he’s requested that you take on his patrol territory for the next three days.”

Ah. Kyojuro winces internally, though he manages to keep his external expression intact. He was decently close with the Sound Hashira, Tengen Uzui, and they would cover each other’s patrols from time to time. It normally wasn’t a problem- he usually had more warning. But an urgent deployment wasn’t Tengen’s fault- after all, a Hashira’s work was never done, and Kyojuro didn’t want his friend to worry. He could handle this, too. He’d find a way… he always did.

“Of course!” Kyojuro exclaims brightly, eyes flashing. “Uzui has nothing to worry about. I’ll keep his territory perfectly safe! I wish him luck on his mission!” He flashes the subordinate a brilliant grin, who in turn visibly relaxes. He nods, thanks Kyojuro, and scurries off. Kyojuro watches him go, trying to ignore the tightening feeling in his chest from the weight of the added responsibilities.

It’s fine, he thinks to himself. I’m a Hashira. The Flame Hashira. I can handle some extra work… it’s for the safety of Japan. People are relying on me.

I can’t let them down. I can’t let anyone down. I can handle it! I can handle this.

Hours pass. Kyojuro is hungry… he’d neglected his lunch break in favor of getting some extra work done. A rarity for him- after all, meals were too important for Kyojuro to miss! But today was an exception… much as it pained him, Kyojuro simply didn’t have the time for a lunch break. So despite his protesting stomach and rapidly-waning energy, he presses on.

It’s fine. He can handle it. He’s used to this!

It’s not too much if he never stops to think about it.

Kyojuro sets down his pen with a soft sigh. He’s finished his reports for his own patrol… it had taken longer than he would have liked, and now he barely had any time before Uzui’s patrol he had taken on. He’d have to do it quickly, so he’d still have time for Hikaru. His stomach protests loudly, and Kyojuro swallows back a wave of anxiety. He rubs his temples, his headache returning with a vengeance.

But again, he stands up. Pushes his own needs down, stores them away for when they were more convenient. It’s what he’d always done- in a way, it was all he knew how to do. So, he simply kept doing it. Nobody had seen through his facade yet… nobody had figured out how much of a mess he really was. And Kyojuro wasn’t about to change that. He ties his report to Kaname, and sends the crow off. Nowhere to go but forward.

Luckily for Kyojuro, Uzui’s patrol was blissfully uneventful. It might have even been relaxing if Kyojuro wasn’t so stressed, but his overworked, overtired, overpopulated brain simply refused to hush up long enough for the Flame Hashira to enjoy the peaceful autumn afternoon. His long strides are more akin to pacing than patrolling, and Kyojuro almost wishes he would encounter a demon, just so he’d have something else to focus on.

But alas, no such luck. Half an hour later, Kyojuro found himself on the outskirts of a village, finishing up his surveillance before heading back for Hikaru’s lesson. Despite the day he’s had, Kyojuro realized he was still rather looking forward to it. He’s just barely turned to leave, when he hears a voice behind him.

“Excuse me… are you a Demon Slayer?”

Kyojuro freezes, and it takes him a split second longer than he honestly would have liked to pull together his talking-to-civilians mask that he always wore. Some days it was more honest than others… today was not one of those days. Kyojuro was tired. His capacity for people, especially new people, was exhausted. Honestly, the only person he could probably stand to be around right now was Hikaru…

Don’t think about that. Don’t think about him. Not like that. That’s not productive, Kyojuro reminds himself viciously. He turns to face the voice, and finds himself staring at a young woman. She’s around his age, with sleek black hair tied back in a ribbon. Her eyes are sunken- she looks tired. Kyojuro recognizes her look instantly- it’s one of grief.

“Yes, I’m a Demon Slayer. I am the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku,” he replies, keeping his voice low and comforting as he snaps back to reality. “How may I help you, ma’am?”

To Kyojuro’s surprise, the woman’s eyes fill with tears, and his own widen with alarm as she sinks to her knees with a soft sob. He’s already moving to crouch beside her when she speaks.

“My fiancé- he- he was killed by demons,” she sniffles, scrubbing her eyes with her palm. “A crow gave me a letter, and I... he’s just… gone.”

Kyojuro’s heart drops into his stomach. Oh no… it couldn’t be one of the Tsuchinoe, right? Surely he wasn’t…

“How long ago was this?” he asks gently, placing a calloused hand on the trembling woman’s shoulders.

“Three… three weeks,” she replies tearfully, her voice wavering. “I’ve been looking for a Slayer ever since… I… I couldn’t reach anyone, couldn’t find a way to get answers.”

Kyojuro’s heart clenches with guilt from its place in the pit of his stomach. So he was one of the three. One of the warriors Kyojuro had failed to save. And now here in front of him was a loved one they had left behind, and Kyojuro had to tell her he was too late. That he didn’t save him. He couldn’t even begin the imagine her pain… losing a loved one, a partner… Kyojuro couldn’t fathom what he’d do if he lost Hikaru to a demon.

Not that Hikaru was his partner. Ghhh. He needs to stop thinking like that. He swallows the lump in his throat, and regretfully opens his mouth.

“…I was one of the first swordsmen on the scene, after it happened,” Kyojuro begins gently. His eyes pained and welling with guilt, he bows his head. “I was too late to save him. I’m… I’m so sorry.” He closes his eyes. “I didn’t know your fiancé personally, but I’m sure he fought bravely.”

A moment of silence. And then, a soft, timid question from the woman.

“Did you kill it?”

Kyojuro raises his head in surprise, blinking at the woman. She’s staring at him with a saddened, steely look in her eyes. Her question is bold, but it’s laced with fear.

“I’m- I’m sorry?” Kyojuro says, unsure if he heard her right.

“The demon that killed him. Is it gone?”

Kyojuro blinks again, caught off guard by her sudden ferocity.

[fxdltc88]

Happy Anniversary Little Caesars!

Little Caesars was established at 32594 Cherry Hill Rd.

May 8th 1959, in Garden City, Mi.

Mike Ilitch played second base for the Tigers and a couple of other teams beginning in 1952.....thanks to a knee injury, he had to retire in 1955.

Little Caesars' history says it all began as a love story in 1954, when Ilitch and Marian Bayoff were thrown together on a blind date by Mike's dad. Fortunately, they hit it off, and it was just a few months later when they married. The two of them pooled their life savings in order to open their own business: a pizza restaurant.

1962 Little Caesars first franchise opened in Warren, called “Little Caesars Pizza Treat”. This featured the “Little Caesar guy eating a slice of pizza” logo. From there, Little Caesars really began to branch out and became the fastest-growing pizza chain in America.

That single mom-and-pop pizza shop grew into the third largest pizza chain in the world with stores in more than 27 countries and territories worldwide, including in each of the 50 U.S. states.

The growth of Little Caesars helped Mike and Marian create other leading brands in the food, sports and entertainment industries.

The couple purchased the Detroit Red Wings in 1982. While the team was known as the Dead Wings at the time, Mike and Marian believed they were a sleeping giant and immediately took charge to turn the team around. By 1997, the Red Wings won their first Stanley Cup in 42 years, and they went on to win three more.

Mike encouraged the Ford family to bring the Detroit Lions back to Detroit from the suburbs and build a new stadium right next door to the ballpark by relinquishing a portion of land to make way for the new stadium. The new football venue allowed Detroit to host the Super Bowl in 2006.

Today - true to Mike and Marian's vision for a bustling downtown area - the Ilitch organization is developing The District Detroit, a dynamic urban destination that provides a dense neighborhood experience featuring a variety of developments alongside Detroit's premier sports and entertainment venues. This includes the new highly innovative and state-of-the-art Little Caesars Arena, home of the Detroit Red Wings and Detroit Pistons, and the recipient of the 2018 Sports Facility of the Year award, presented by Sports Business Journal.

Throughout Mike’s life, he remained true to his hometown and was a zealous supporter of Detroit, working tirelessly to help it prosper and to bring pride to the city. In 1988, Mike and Marian purchased the neglected Fox Theatre and carefully restored it to its original 1928 splendor.

One year later, they moved the Little Caesars world headquarters from the suburbs into the newly renovated Fox Office Center adjacent to the restored theatre. This was during a time when many businesses were fleeing the city.

Mike displayed further commitment to the city he loved when he purchased the Detroit Tigers in 1992 and built a new state-of-the-art ballpark for the team. Remembering his early years as a minor league baseball player with the Tigers, he did everything in his power to make the fan experience at Comerica Park a memorable one.

Mike and Marian believed passionately in giving back to the community. As the parents of children who played hockey, the couple wanted to provide other children the opportunity to play the sport as well. So, they established the Little Caesars Amateur Hockey Program in 1968, and it has provided opportunities for tens of thousands of youngsters to play the great game of hockey over the years. Hundreds have gone on to play at colleges, universities and in the National Hockey League.

Inspired by the story of a veteran returning to civilian life, Mike founded the Little Caesars Veterans Program in 2006. The program provides honorably discharged veterans with financial incentives and other support to help them open a Little Caesars franchise.

Since 2000, grants and giving from Marian and Mike, the Ilitch companies and its charitable affiliates have totaled $220 million. This includes Marian and Mike's personal gifts of nearly $50 million to Detroit's Wayne State University - $8 million to the Department of Surgery and $40 million to build a new home for the Mike Ilitch School of Business, prominently located on Woodward Avenue.