#agapovheir

[wtchblde--archive]

@agapovheir said: "how long have you been standing there?"

"i'm actually sitting." eve says, crossing her legs and leaning back on the bar. eve spotting nikolai about twenty minutes ago and has been here for about fifteen minutes. the look on his face was pretty funny when he turned around.

eve just smiles, propping her head up with her hand. "you're a hard man to track down."

[multimusemonster]

@agapovheir a starter ! :>

In the past….

Davie wandered into the great house, the sounds of death and screaming had quietened down here. A path of blood and gunpowder trailed through the house, footprints showing someone was dragging a leg. He gathered his courage and followed the trail.

It was dark outside, and not even the neighbors peeked out their windows as gunshots and screaming echoed through the air. Minor tussels occurred a bit down the street as fighting still raged in his territory. 

The house reeked with the smell of recent death, as bodies dropped during the shootout. Not to mention the morbid trophies. 

Curled into a corner of the house, Casper D. Jackson clutched his gun. His grip grew weaker by the second, he struggled to keep moving. He had to stay awake. 

Wet squeaks came from his shoes as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Silently he cursed them. Great taste, poor traction. 

He hadn't planned on getting dirty today. His clothing was soaked with rain and his own blood. He was determined not to let out when he died. Cas couldn't stand the thought of being buried while covered in shit.

He spit blood and giggled softly as his lungs wheezed in attempts to keep oxygen flowing through his flooded lungs. What a funny thing to worry about when you're dying.

Loud, steady thudding could be heard as Cas' vision faded in and out. He began to laugh, fear no longer prominent as his body began to die. The euphoria of blood loss came with a heavy price. He was next to delusional as his adversary came around the corner. Their gun hit the floor as their arm bled, a beautiful red.

"You sick bastard… sick fucking bastard."

Cas laughed as the man spoke, gurgling building in the back of his throat. His own gun clattered onto the floor as his hand shook too much to hold it. He huffed as his head drooped ever so slightly.

"No, I'm quite fine. Really."

 A blood drenched toothy grin met the man standing infront of him.

" 'ow's the wife n' kids, Davey?"

Davey snarled and grabbed Cas by the hair, pulling him off the floor. His eyes searched Casper's for remorse or fear, and he grimaced when he could find none. Davey should have known better. Cas chuckled again.

"I thought it was funny."

Davey dug his fingers into the dying man's wounds, letting his anger fuel his words. The sharp inhale and whimpering did not soothe his soul. Cas was still playing a game. His disregard for human life had once attracted Davey, but no more.

"Ya know what, Casper? I'm gonna make you regret this."

Cas patted Davey's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes stared deep into his former muse's. Davey was red with rage, and quickly mellowing out to anguish. His were expressive and could be read like a book; Davey could hide nothing.

 Cas on the other hand… Not even the pain from his wounds being gouged registered in Cas' eyes. They were glossy, unfocused, but still sharper than a knife.

"Really? I'm dying, babe. This is the end, nothing left to regret. You on the other hand? You're gonna eat those words."

Davey threw Cas to the ground. His eye caught a glint to the right… The staircase.

"Ya know what, Cas? It is funny."

That was new… Cas wasn't expecting such a cold response. The euphoria he had felt was wavering due to the interaction. His focus had been pulled away. A tingle of something crawled up his spine.

Cas frowned as he was dragged towards the staircase. He fought as much as he could, but bloodloss had weakened him. Fear bled deep into his bones as his mouth was stretched over a step. 

"Eat this you fucking freak."

Years later…

Quaint, quiet, and usually unpatrolled by local police. Here in one of the few forested areas left in the city sat a slightly rundown house. The blue paint had greatly faded and peeling revealed a sturdy wood. Parts of the porch had been replaced, and the stairs had concrete poured along their posts. Heavy, unkempt hedges and various flower bushes dotted the front yard along with a few abandoned bikes. 

The front door was old, and clearly original. An inappropriate knocker rests against the center of the door. A doorbell had been installed, or at least an attempt was made. Exposed wires and scattered screws made a mess of the accenting table. It sat, stained with weather, beside an old wooden porch swing.

Entering the house would be a strange shift. It was clearly owned by someone who was wealthy at one time. Old money sat in the history of this place.

Understandably, the house had some partial renovation in attempts to change the strange layout of the original floorplan. 

The front door opened into a small half hallway that immediately led into a kitchen attached to a bathroom. That was to the immediate right. The left side of the house had been blocked off until someone tore down some of the hallway and made a door. That door led into another kitchen looking room, but it had lots of shelves and was marked as an office. It was a bit large to be just an office, though. 

The original floorplan had people enter the kitchen, walk past the bathroom, go into what was considered the living room, and then into the office. The office connected to a small hallway that led to another room that had a small linen closet, a strange dipped corner, and the staircase.

Up the stairs there were four rooms. A bathroom, a bedroom, a small office style room full of shelves, and another room that had strange surfaces built in. An example would be the windowsill being some kind of s-shaped seat.

Even the flooring itself had a strange color to it, and it seemed someone tried replacing it or covering it with rugs from the linen closets. It was a hardy wood, and had been taken care of.

The darkest wood in the house was the staircase and its final landing. The color was a deep cherry, and it had a strange path through the foyer and hall. It must've been that mahogany or cherry wood. It was kinda cute the way it led a path from the front door, the kitchen,  living room, and finally staircase room. The color getting stronger the closer you came to the stairs.

Honestly,  besides the house groaning and the unwelcoming neighborhood, there wouldn't be much to see wrong with the house. The man who sold the territory was a retiring mobster. He said he no longer needed the space, and had picked the family from a historical debt or something along those lines. Either way, it was waiting to be explored.

[wtchblde--archive]

5

romance & relationship headcanons! // @agapovheir

5. what is your muse's ideal first date?

anything that deals with food LMAO. my girl loves to eat. she would also like a fun activity, like mini golf or an arcade or smth!

[nogoodwitches]

👍 Does my muse prefer to be asked on a date, or would they rather do the asking?

💑 What are my muse’s requirements for a potential partner?

💝 Does my muse like Valentine’s Day?

💘 What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

sex & romance headcanons ! // @agapovheir

👍 Does my muse prefer to be asked on a date, or would they rather do the asking?

cathryn: she doesn't necessarily have a preference, but she also doesnt REALLY ask people on dates. it's just a thing that sort of happens and sometimes she doesn't even realize she's on a date. cason: he can ask or be asked tbh, no preference.

💑 What are my muse’s requirements for a potential partner?

cathryn: someone she can tolerate lmao. someone who doesn't try and change her or "fix" her. someone that can accept that she is who she is. someone who can make her laugh. cason: they have to be alive ( im mostly joking ), a good person with morals. he doesn't like any toxicity or anything like that. cason's a simple person who just wants someone to hike with and find mushrooms. they have to like snakes.

💝 Does my muse like Valentine’s Day?

they neither like or dislike it. it's a day for them.

💘 What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

cathryn: she does stuff for her person. buys them food, makes them charms and other magic things. she'll make charms to improve their lives and that kind of stuff.

cason: he'll send like, pictures of stuff or just things that remind him of them. cook for them, pack them lunches if they need it. give them flowers.

[foppishmuses]

“Get out of my way before I move you myself.” (Leonnn)

"Excuse me?"

Leon turned to face the offender with an incredulous smile on his face. He must not have realized who Leon was. Which was ridiculous. This party was full of the biggest movers and shakers in Avalon City. The Children Electric only came to the most prestigious events. That meant whoever this was was important enough to know better.

After a moment of blank confusion, Leon recognized the face from the tabloids. It was Nikolai Agapov, the heir to a major mob family. He was in and out of the tabloids constantly, which Leon knew because he obsessively checked them for commentary on himself. Leon looked down his nose at him and scoffed. The criminal element. He was amazed a lowlife like an Agapov would show his face at such an upscale party.

"You think you're cute, don't you? You want to try that again?"

[foppishmuses]

“So nice to finally put a face to someone I’ve heard so much about.” (for our lovely CEO)

Violetta knew she was supposed to have a meeting with the Agapov family representative today. She didn't know she would have to deal with their dipshit son and his reputation for being a womanizer. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and gestured at the chair in front of her desk.

Her office was huge, surrounded by windows looking over her empire. Violetta was, herself, younger than most CEOs, thanks to the fast track her murdered husband had given her to the top--but this kid was young. He looked barely past college frat age.

"Mr. Agapov. I was expecting your father."