#Agnes the loud neighbor

[wherewisteriaends]

When Rio and Agatha interacts for the first time in the first episode, Rio chuckles when Agatha says "eat my ass, chief". I believe that's because she is relieved there is stil some of Agatha in Agnes.

And please can we just talk about how absurd this first dialogue is ? It's because it's so absurd you can realize this show's dialogue were really well written. I mean I could analyse each sentence of it. (I might if nobody stops me)

[lillmirey]

Bewitched and Bound

summary: waking up in Westview with your ex(?) Lover.

pairing: Agatha Harknessx fem!witch!reader

conten warnings: Manipulation, Violence, Angst, Jealousy

Readers sensitive to these topics should proceed with caution or avoid the story entirely.

Word Count: 959

I. Waking Up

It starts like a whisper. A thread of something wrong, pulling at the edges of your mind.

You are standing in the kitchen, apron tied neatly at your waist, hands dusted with flour as you knead dough for tonight’s dinner. The smell of sugar and cinnamon fills the air. Outside, the sun is bright, the sky endless blue.

It is a perfect day.

And yet—

Something tugs at you, sharp and insistent.

A shiver runs down your spine.

“Come on, darling,” a voice purrs behind you.

Warm hands slide over your shoulders, slow and deliberate.

“Wake up.”

The world tilts. The colors are too bright. The air too still. A memory—no, a thousand memories—flood your mind all at once.

Salem.

The coven’s screams. The rush of magic crackling through the air. Agatha standing before you, eyes dark, smiling as power devoured your sisters whole.

Agatha.

Your chest tightens. Your body remembers before your mind fully catches up—her hands, her lips, the way she whispered your name in the dark. The way she left you behind.

You whirl around, heart pounding.

And there she is.

Smirking. As if centuries haven’t passed. As if she didn’t tear your world apart.

“You,” you breathe.

Agatha tilts her head. “Me,” she echoes, amused.

Your pulse thrums against your ribs. The walls of the kitchen seem wrong now—fabricated. The air hums with something unnatural.

“What did you do?” you whisper.

Her smirk widens. “Not me, love. Her.”

And just like that, the illusion shatters.

II. The Game Begins

Westview is a lie.

A carefully spun fantasy, stitched together with Wanda Maximoff’s grief.

And you? You are nothing more than a character in its script.

Your name is stitched into neighborhood potlucks, afternoon tea, warm smiles exchanged across white picket fences. Your life is one of routine—morning coffee, evening cocktails, gentle laughter over dinner with your loving wife.

Agatha—no, Agnes—fits into the role effortlessly. She laughs too loud at the neighbors’ jokes, offers winking gossip over fresh-baked muffins, presses kisses to your cheek like she was made for this world.

You hate how easily she plays the part.

And worse—you hate how easily you do too.

But you remember.

And so does she.

Nights are spent in hushed whispers, stolen moments behind locked doors, planning, plotting. If Wanda created this world, then she could undo it. The only question was—how?

“You and I, sweetheart,” Agatha murmurs one night, her breath warm against your neck, “we’re different. Real. And I’m so close to figuring her out.”

Her fingers graze yours, slow and deliberate.

“Just need a little more time.”

Time.

The one thing you don’t have.

III . Old Habits

It starts as a game.

You slip into your scripted role, the perfect neighbor, the doting wife. You smile when you’re meant to, laugh at the right moments, brush a hand over Agatha’s when no one is looking.

But Agatha—Agatha watches you.

She watches when you flirt too easily, when you smile too sweetly at the other neighbors.

When you pretend like none of this matters.

“Careful, darling,” she purrs one night, her fingers gripping your wrist just a little too tightly. “Wouldn’t want to make me jealous.”

You arch a brow. “Jealous?”

Agatha leans in, close enough that her breath fans across your lips. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

But her eyes say something else.

And when she kisses you later that night, it’s all teeth and fire.

IV. The Fight

Wanda finds you first.

She knows, now, that you and Agatha aren’t just ordinary puppets in her world. She knows you are witches. Threats.

So she comes for you.

Scarlet magic surges through the walls, cracking the illusion of Westview around you. Agatha moves first, launching herself between you and Wanda, violet power crackling at her fingertips.

“Darling, get behind me,” Agatha orders.

But you don’t listen.

You throw your own magic forward, twin streams of violet and blue clashing against Wanda’s red. The ground shakes. The sky splits.

“You don’t belong here,” Wanda snarls.

You laugh bitterly. “Neither do you.”

Agatha’s magic surges, wrapping around Wanda like a serpent, tightening—suffocating.

For a second, you think you’ve won.

But then—

Red explodes, tendrils wrapping around both you and Agatha. The pain is sharp, searing, pulling—rewriting.

Agatha reaches for you, her fingers brushing yours as the world tilts.

Then—

Darkness.

V. A Perfect Life

The morning sunlight spills through the lace curtains, casting soft golden patterns across the bedroom walls. The air is warm, carrying the scent of lavender and fresh coffee. A familiar weight rests beside you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare shoulder.

“Morning, darling,” comes a sleepy murmur.

You sigh, shifting closer into her warmth. “Morning, Agnes.”

She hums in response, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It’s the same as every morning. Waking up wrapped in soft sheets, her scent lingering in the air. The quiet hum of the house waking with you.

Everything is perfect.

Because this is your life.

It has always been your life.

Lazy mornings in bed. Afternoons spent tending to the garden, humming along to an old record on the radio. Evenings curled up on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand, her fingers laced with yours.

There is no before.

There is no after.

Only this.

Only her.

She sighs, stretching beside you, a lazy smile curving at her lips. “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice warm and familiar, “let’s start the day.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before slipping out of bed.

And just like that, another perfect day begins.

Because it has always been this way.

And it always will be.

Forever.

[aaplecore]

The Babysitter

(Agatha Harkness x fem!reader)

Summary: Agatha—your long time neighbor and crush—agreed to take on the tiring job of watching Wanda’s twins for the weekend. Of course she needs some way to de-stress.

Warnings/tags: no smut, just a couple of minor nsfw moments

Notes: Hiii !! This is my first ever post so I have almost no idea how this works or if this is any good… but wtv :)

If you have any tips or suggestions pls share them but also if you have any reqs or ideas (aus, plots, characters, etc) PLEASE tell me !!

Anyway, I hope you like this short, silly little thing <33

It was eight thirty at night. On a Friday. And, for some reason, Agatha Harkness was incessantly dialing you.

For a few years now, you and Agatha had been nextdoor neighbors—to her left—in Westview. It was the perfect town. Almost like living in a sitcom. But, the best part about it was her. You were always over at her house or inviting her over for a glass of wine, talking for hours about anything and everything. She was witty, sarcastic and quite confident—although it definitely worked for her. Each time you two hung out, you felt a familiar flutter in your chest and when she smiled that damn smile a heat between your legs. Plus, you could’ve sworn she was flirting with you. Each time you were together, you’d hear some variation of:

“What a pretty little thing you are… how has someone not scooped you up yet?”

“Well, don’t you look beautiful today? Is this all for me, love?”

“I swear, no one in this neighborhood has any sense of style other than the two of us, doll.”

In that same low, almost gravely, beautiful voice. You figured that was just how she acted around everyone. You just… weren’t quite used to it.

Anyway, you weren’t entirely sure why your neighbor would need your help… especially this late at night. Due to your little crush—and god, that felt so high-school to say, but there really was no better explanation—that you’d been harboring for some time now, your mind was wandering to non-safe-for-work places. But of course it wasn’t that. At least you figured it couldn’t be that.

…And of course it wasn’t (to your dismay). Agatha sounded either like she was about to crush something or start screaming when you finally picked up after the third ring.

“Hi, hon, I need you to come over to Wanda’s house. To the right of mine. I’m… well, i’m having some trouble with the twins. If I don’t have another sane adult to talk to, I will lose my shit. Don’t ask, okay?”

She said quickly, leaving no room for you to argue (not that you would have anyway). Your only question was: why Wanda’s house? And what was Agatha doing with the twins?

Even despite the questions swirling in your mind, you packed up your purse and headed over to Wanda’s house, only a few doors down from yours. As per usual, the lawn was perfectly manicured, nicely trimmed shrubs leading up the pathway to the entrance. You always wondered how she managed to keep it so perfect.

Anyway, after ogling at her house, you knocked on the door and patiently waited for it to open. The only cue that someone was coming was the quick, loud footsteps racing to the door… faster than anyone’s normally should be. Before you could even begin to question what that was about, the door swung open and you saw Tommy standing there, looking up at you. He just… stood and blinked for a second.

“Aunt Agnes! There’s a girl here, what do I do?”

He called out, turning back to look at Agatha… who was walking down the stairs, her normally perfectly kept—and absolutely stunning—dark brown hair was tied up into a messy bun. She was wearing black jeans and a purple sweater over a purple button up with her classic locket pin. And god damn, it shouldn’t be legal for anyone to look this good in that outfit.

She rushed up to the door when she saw you, finally taking a deep breath. Before you could open your mouth to say anything, she is whisking you inside, her arm around your shoulder and the other rubbing your arm. Her hands were warm, and her grip on you was firm. The feeling of her gangly caressing your arm made the butterflies in your stomach flutter for just a second.

“Thank gods you’re here. These kids are going to be the death of me.”

She hissed at you, guiding you into the kitchen so she could at least hide behind a wall and make sure the twins couldn’t hear her—and, really, even disheveled she still looked hot. Distractingly so.

“Wanda and Vision are away for the weekend. They asked me to babysit—god knows why—and did not tell me how goddamn energetic their kids are. I swear to god they’re running on endless batteries.”

She huffs, leaning against the counter opposite to where you’re standing. For a second, you look down to the way her arms look with the sleeves of her purple sweater pulled up. But you quickly pull your eyes back to hers. You’re here to help, not to ogle.

“And… you called me why, exactly?”

You ask, crossing your arms like hers, mirroring the position on the opposite counter.

Agatha just smiles back at you, the grin on her face nothing short of devilish.

“Well, doll, you must know I think you’re quite a… beautiful girl, right?”

She asks, standing off of the counter, looking down at you just a little due to the height difference. You only nod in response.

“Right, so… I figured you could help me… de-stress. I’ve got the boys playing hide and seek and their bedtime is at 9. It’s…”

She glances down at her watch.

“It’s 8:45. Fifteen more minutes, then they’ll be fast asleep… and we have the house to ourselves. It’s high-time we got a little girls time.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at you in a way that tells you she isn’t just asking you to play truth or dare and try an ouija board. For a second, you look as confused as Tommy had when he first opened the door, just blinking at her, your face already hot thinking about what that could possibly mean. What you want it to mean.

“What?”

You ask simply, shaking your head in disbelief. She takes a step closer.

“Listen, hon, do you think i’ve missed the way you stare at me whenever I come over for a glass of wine? I’m not an idiot, darling.”

She laughs, still smirking at you.

“And we both know you understand what i’m asking.”

She is… blunt. That’s for sure. You never expected a call for babysitting help would result in… this. You never even thought this was a possibility. You open your mouth to say something but, before you can, she cuts you off again, coming closer and snaking her hand around your waist, causing a shiver down your spine and a flush to your cheeks.

“By all means, tell me to stop. We can forget about all of this if you want to. I just get the sense that you don’t want to, hm?”

She gingerly tilts your chin up slightly, and by the way she looks at you, you’d guess she’s examining each and every detail of your face. Like she’s trying to memorize the view.

“Right.”

You quickly nod. Agatha smile turns wider, and she grips your waist slightly tighter, pulling you in closer to her while simultaneously holding you against the counter. Her other hand moves from your chin to your neck, and she begins gently running her hand through the hair there, smiling as she does. For a moment, you just stand there like that, her body pressed against yours, tracing light patterns onto your waist, looking down at you like… well, like prey.

“I- I just didn’t think… you would ever think of me that way.”

You stutter, shaking your head as you look at her. She cocks her head to the side as if you’d just asked her for the answer to an obvious question.

“Oh, love, i’ve been flirting with you for months now… was I not obvious enough?”

She asks, laughing quietly, leaning down to speak closer to your ear.

“Anyway, that’s exactly what I was hopping to hear, darling… Although i’m hoping to hear a lot more coming from you later tonight.”

She mutters, leaning in closer to you with a smirk, so that your lips are almost touching. You can feel her breath against your face, smell her perfume—something floral, but woody—and feel the ghost of her lips against yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest and all you want is for her to pull you in just a little more… but she doesn’t. Instead, she drops her hand down to your hip and whispers in your ear again,

“Ten more minutes until the boys bedtime. Then i’ll have my way with you, hon.”

She practically purrs, gripping your hip just a bit tighter, running her lips from your ear down your neck, brushing over your pulse point just enough to make you shiver…before suddenly letting go and walking away as if nothing had happened, a smug smile on her face.

“Meet me in the guest room in ten, doll.”

Still, your heart was beating, your face surely flushed scarlet red by now. You missed her touch. The way she gipped your hip had you clenching around nothing already… and this time none of it was fantasy.

By the time you’d finally got a grip on the situation, you were already walking around to find the guest room. Just to help Agatha de-stress, of course.

[jensky2000]

In case you haven't heard, I started a new fanfic on AO3. It's a WIP. The first 5 chapters are posted. More to come in two weeks. (or less.) A wee peek below ⬇️ (Readers can attest. Nothing is what it seems in this story.)

"I Love Her First"

In a small three block radius in Glasgow, Scotland, Claire owns a flower shop and Jamie is a firefighter. Claire and Jamie are best friends and roommates. Claire is in a relationship with Frank. Jamie is happily single. Claire and Jamie's friendship is different than most, but it works for them. When things progress with her and Frank, Jamie has to admit to his real feelings before it's too late.

Chapter 1 "The Firefighter"

I set both slow cookers to low. It will be ready before dinner break with plenty of time to spare. I can see everything from the top floor of the firehouse. The sun is well over the horizon. The shops are open, and a few people meander along the street. Howie, Mr. Johnson’s son, parks in the fire lane in front of his father’s shop. He has been warned a dozen times for that. Agnes across the street waters her flower boxes. She lets them overflow while she waits to catch a glimpse of Mr. Johnson. Her neighbor will complain about the puddles on the sidewalk. It’s a very quiet and predictable neighborhood. Quiet is good and it has been all night. The rest of my crew are sleeping. I have an hour before dayshift shows up. I make myself comfortable on the couch and flip through the channels. My phone buzzes next to me. I tap on the screen. My roommate.

Claire: Sorry I used the last of the milk for my coffee. Could you maybe pick some up on your way home. Please. You know I hate shopping for food. Also Frank is picking me up at the shop for an early dinner before he leaves.

Jamie: I will pick up milk and anything else we need. Send me a list. Have fun with Frank.

Have fun with Frank. Frank and fun do not belong in the same sentence. She loves him. And she’s my best friend and roommate so of course I need to be supportive. Frank and Claire have been together since our final year at Uni. Frank is older. She met him at a party. Ironically the one party Claire went without me. I was on a date. If I was there, things would have played out differently. I would have steered Claire away from Frank. It’s not that I don’t like him. Not at all. He’s fine. He’s just Frank. She can do much better.

Claire: You’re the best. See you later.

Hm. I drop the phone next to me and find a mindless show to pass the time.

I must have dozed off because before I know it I hear the banging of the lockers downstairs. “Jamie, my boy. You’ve done it again. Smells incredible. What is it?” Dougal, the fire chief, deep voice echoes in the quiet lounge.

“My Ma’s beef stew. I may have tweaked the recipe. Threw in some extra spices.” I stretch and look at my watch. “In 7 hours turn the knob to ‘keep warm’. You’ll be all set to eat.”

He searches the counter. “Did you make the biscuits too?”

“Aye. They’re in the fridge with instructions.”

“Ah you’ve done good, kid. Now get out of here.” He pats me on the back. I take one step towards the door and the alarm blasts. Dougal rushes to his office. I follow him and lean against the door frame.

He looks up from the screen. “Fire at Sullivans Bakery. We got this. Go.”

“You sure?”

“Go. You need your sleep.” He waves me off. I grab my things and run down the back stairs to stay out of the way. The sirens blare loud enough to alert the whole neighborhood and surrounding ones too. I head in the direction of the flat that Claire and I have shared for the past four years. It’s three blocks from the firehouse. I stop at the corner store to pick up milk and a few other things. My phone buzzes. Another text from Claire reminding me to feed DB. Our cat. Claire named him David Beckham. I quickly shortened it to DB. I climb the stairs to our top floor flat and open the door. Immediately I feel stifled. Claire likes it a balmy 74 degrees year-round. I on the other hand prefer it frigid. I lower the temp and climb into bed with the tv remote..

Hours later, I wake to the sound of my alarm. The remote sits on the bed next to me. I was asleep before I even had a chance to watch the morning news. The tv hums quietly on the wall across from me. I scroll through the channels. Station after station no mention of the early morning fire at the bakery. It’s in the other direction of Claire’s flower shop so no worries there. I pick up my phone. A bunch of missed texts. Claire sent me a picture of a flower arrangement. She does that when she’s particularly proud of one. A text from Rupert going into great detail about the fire this morning. Electrical. Everyone is safe. That’s the important part. Another text from Chloe canceling our plans for tonight. Time to get up. I shower, throw on a t-shirt and gym shorts. DB naps comfortably on the windowsill. I order a pizza. Half pepperoni. Half plain.

I settle on the couch with the pizza on the coffee table and beer in my hand. The doorknob wiggles. Claire. She always has trouble with the lock. I hear voices. She didn’t bring Frank here, did she? She wouldn’t do that. Not since last time and that disaster. She pushes the door open and quickly closes it. She’s alone. I can relax.

She whispers, “Mrs. Cook is such a talker. I lied and said I wasn’t feeling well to get away.” She looks at the pizza then back to me. “Why are you here?”

“Pfft. Hello to you too, Claire.” I take a swig of beer and take in her outfit for the first time. Sleeveless, tight black dress emphasizing her generous curves, bare legs. I quickly focus on something else before she catches me.

She throws her bag on the counter. “Tsk. You’re cranky.”

“My date canceled.”

“What was her name again?”

I grunt. “Chloe.”

“Aw. Why did she cancel?” She sits next to me on the couch.

“She didn’t say. It was a second date. No big deal. I wasn’t that into her.”

“That’s right. She was the low talker. Played with her hair too much.”

“Mm hm.” I reach forward to take another slice of pepperoni and offer her a slice of plain. She takes it happily. Her tongue moistens her lips after the first bite. She groans and leans forward to see the top of the box. Her dress rides a little higher. Now I’m licking my lips. She hums, “Antonio’s. You went all out tonight.”

She settles in next to me. We sit shoulder to shoulder. “How’s Frank?” I ask because I should.

“Frank. He’s good.” She takes a bite and snuggles closer. I glance at the goosebumps on her thighs. The air is too cold. That will be the next thing she says. “What’s the temperature in here?”

“Don’t you worry about that.” I mumble and close the pizza box. I stretch my legs out on the coffee table, and she does the same. I follow the lines of her long legs. “Frank was ok with you wearing those?” I point to her strappy black stilettos.

“No. Of course he wasn’t. I was eyeball to eyeball with him. I might have been even a little taller. Whatever. They look cute with the dress.”

“Mm hm.” I agree and laugh at something on tv.

“Oh shit. I just remembered what I wanted to tell you!” She grabs my forearm. “Frank wants to get a tattoo. Can you believe it?”

“Uh no. Frank. Christ no. What and where?”

“The symbol for doctors. Whatever they call that…on his bicep. He’ll never go through with it.” She shrugs. “It’s a pity. I do think they’re sexy.”

“You do?”

“Oh yea. Major turn on.”

“Really? Do you think I should get one?”

She twists her body to face mine. “Hm. I think one right here would be hot.” She places her hand on my left pec and squeezes. “Your fire station number or truck. Flames. Or…” She traces a design with her fingertip. I grab her wrist and kiss the inside.

Her breath catches. “Jamie.”

“Claire.” I hold her gaze.

“What are you thinking?” She bats her lashes.

“I’m thinking my date cancelled. Frank’s gone. It’s still early.  I thought maybe we could…” I waggle my eyebrows.

She holds back a smile. “I mean we’ve already seen all the latest releases on Netflix.”

“True. And you’ve been stressed with work and such.” I toy with the hem of her skirt.

“It does relax me. Will you go down on me?”

“Aye. If you like…” My cock twitches.

“I like.” She giggles. I stretch my neck and ask for her mouth. She holds up her finger. “Ah ah. You know the rules. No kissing.”

“Claire.” She has all these stupid rules. No kissing. No sleeping in the same bed. Not during the day. She used to make me shut the lights too. I got that one overturned. I want to see her.

“Jamie.” She gives me a stern look.

“Fine. Take your panties off.”

She stands before me and raises her dress. Tiny black lace panties. A scrap of fabric. A thrill runs through me knowing Frank hadn’t a clue what his lass had on under her dress. But I do. Fuck I do. I salivate knowing what comes next. She pushes them over her hips. I slide to the floor and rest my head back on the cushions.

“Sit on my face, Claire.” My voice is hoarse with desire. She straddles me and lowers her body until she meets my mouth. I have the best view in Glasgow. No. The world. She holds onto the back of the couch and rides my face. I’m relentless. I want her to come and quick because I’m aching for my turn. I clasp onto her hips and double my efforts. She calls out. Nothing incoherent either. She’s very clear. My name followed by instructions. It’s a major turn on. I don’t care if the whole building can hear us. Yeah our neighbors suspect something. Frank doesn’t. That’s all the matters. Because if he found out I fuck his girlfriend, she would end this. And that cannot happen.

“Oh God, Jamie. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.” She holds my head in place as she comes all over my chin. I lick up every last drop. She moans. “Christ. You’re so good at that….”

I pant, “Get down here and ride me.”

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” She moistens her lips. I’m tempted. Very tempted.

“Next time. You’re tight and soaking wet. I want to be in you.” I push my gym shorts down. My cock springs free. “Get on.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Condom.” I open the coffee table drawer and she takes one out of the small box hidden in the back. We learned a long time ago to keep them close by. She rips the wrapper off with her teeth and covers my cock. She lowers herself down taking me whole. My head rolls back. I pull her dress off and undo her bra. She likes to stay covered. I’m not having it. I like her breasts bouncing in my face.

"Did you feed remember to feed DB?" She changes her angle. Christ.

I grunt. "Yes. I fed him."

"I'm worried about him. He's moving slower than normal." She pants as she picks up the pace.

"He seems fine to me."

“Jamie.”

“What?”

“I’m going to come again.” She bucks her hips furiously.

“Ok, so?”

“I didn’t want to catch you off guard. Then you’ll get excited and it will end too soon. You hate that.” She never stops riding me. We’ve gotten very good at having full conversations while fucking.

“I do. But contrary to what you think, I do know when you’re close. There’s no catching me off guard.”

“You know?”

“Aye. Your walls squeeze my cock so tight sometimes I think you are going to break it off.” I smirk. “There’s other signs too.”

“Like what?”

Careful. “Other stuff.”

“Tell me.”

“You make noises.” And your face has the sweetest, sexiest expression sometimes I think about it when I’m not with you, and I get hard.

“I do not.” She pouts. It’s too cute. I lift her up and slam her down. My balls are getting tight.

“Oh aye. And loud too.”

“Do I feel like I’m close now?”

“No. But I can make you.” I bite my lip and sit up straight until her legs spread wider. I take her nipple in my mouth and suck hard. She whimpers and her head rolls back. That’s it. There we go.

“Oh Jamie. Yes.”

“You’re tight and very close. Ride me and we’ll come together.” And she does. My balls ache. She’s going to have rug burn at this rate. “That’s it, lass.”

She frowns.

“I mean, Claire.” I give her a tight smile. She laughs. It does something. It vibrates through her. Through me. There we go. Her mouth pops open. I’m tempted to kiss her. As I always am. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only natural. I slam her down one last time. We both call out. I can almost hear our neighbors cursing us out.

I rest my head on her shoulder while we catch our breath. She goes to pull away. I bite her. “Jamie! Let go.”

I release my grip. She stands and walks away still wearing her stilettos. I watch from the living room floor. She’s right. It’s never long enough and I hate it. She tosses me a box of tissues and a water bottle before she enters her bedroom. Minutes later I hear her shower running. I would join her if this was more than sex but it’s not.

[amarachno]

Gotham City can be a terrible place to live but at least it has a nice skate park. It wasn’t always that way but ever since Bruce Wayne started his free space repair program all kinds of free activities for city kids had opened up. In Tim Drake’s opinion, the skate park was the best. Conveniently placed near Gotham Academy AND in the direction of Tim’s house? It was perfect. The best part? Sometimes, Jason Todd showed up with his older brother. What’s cooler than one Robin? Two!

Not that either boy knew Tim existed, of course. Tim Drake was fantastic at getting peoples eyes to glance right over him. Janet Drake had trained him to become invisible, after all. But really, it was too cool to watch. if a little funny at times. Dick Grayson was a wonder in the air, but finding your balance of skateboard is a bit different than finding your balance on a beam. Jason wasn’t much better about it but hearing him laugh at Dick falling on his butt after attempting a kickflip always brought a warm feeling to Tim’s chest.

Sometimes, Tim was tempted to go over and try to teach them, but he always chickened out at the last moment. He settled for helping out the seven year olds who always fell off their scooters. There had been a few times where he picked them up and out of the way right before they could get run over but it was all in a days work.

Tim usually managed to visit the skate park for an hour or two after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the other days he had extracurriculars Or had to be home in time to check in with Mrs. Agnes, the house keeper. Heaven forbid he gets home even a minute too late. Her pointy fingers always left his arm sore when she marched him up to his room.

where was Tim going with this again? Oh yeah, school is finally out and it’s time to visit the skate park. He had debated bringing his camera this morning, but ultimately decided that it wasn’t something he wanted to carry around all day.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he would see Jason and Dick there that day. Usually, they went around every three weeks after school. One of the nicest parts about seen him there though, was a heads up that Nightwing would be out that night. Nightwing was so fun to take pictures of. he was an entertainer after all. His movements fluid and quick. Once, Tim had gotten a picture of him falling from one of the higher buildings in a pose that almost perfectly made it seem like he was flying through the air. Arms spread, feet together, and chest out. A stark contrast to the way he windmilled and gracelessly fell at the skatepark, though Tim was pretty sure he only let himself fall because it made Jason laugh. The ride from school to the skate park wasn’t long, thankfully. It would be such a hassle to have to bike to the skate park and carry his board too. upon arriving to the park, he glanced at who was present that day

The good news, was that Jason was there! Not so cool news, Dick wasn’t. Jason seemed to be in a bad mood either way. Usually, Tim wouldn’t butt in. Usually he would’ve just made sure that Jason got back safe. But… Tim had a bad feeling. He hadn’t seen Robin out with Batman the day before. or the day before the day before that. Tim knew he couldn’t just leave this alone.

“So, where is your older brother?” Tim blurted out as soon as he was next to Jason

Jason blinked, looking mildly shocked before furrowing his brows. “Who’s asking? And why d’ya wanna know?”

“Uh” Tim said unintelligently. “I see you around here a lot and usually you don’t go by yourself.”

Jason stared for a moment, looking conflicted.

”Oh! I’m Tim, Tim Drake. We’re um, we’re neighbors.” Tim’s palms felt sweaty. This was painfully awkward.

“I guess that makes sense. Not that it’s any of your business.” Jason said hesitantly, taking a deep breath and then speaking again. “So, you skateboard?”

“Yeah, I guess, a little” Tim stuttered out. “You never answered my question.” Before clapping both hands over his mouth. he did not mean to say that out loud.

“He’s out of town for the month, ya nosey little shit. He lives in Blühaven.” Jason gave a wry grin. “He’ll be back soon.” he opened his mouth as if to say something else, but closed it again and looked away.

let it be known Tim is just as stupid as he is smart. He knows that once he starts talking, there’s no stop. It’s why he never talked to Jason or Dick before. Despite that, he opened his big, dumb, mouth. “Hey I’ll raise you to that ice cream place around the corner. Whoever loses has to pay.”

Jason grinned maniacally, “Alright short-stack, you’re on!” And then Jason shot off like a blur. Tim yelped out a “Hey! No fair!” before running after Jason.

Tim lost, not that there is really any competition, Jason’s legs were longer anyway.

One Neapolitan bowl and one Superman cone later, (courtesy of Tim’s wallet, of course) Jason and Tim headed back to the skatepark. they wound up wandering around, talking about anything and everything, laughing at the college kids who fell on their faces and the pigeons who attacked some guy for his fries. (The random dude was fine but he seemed creepy anyway so Tim couldn’t bring himself to feel bad.)

One hour turned into two and two turned into four. Soon enough, it got late and it was just about time to head home. The older kids were showing up anyway, and usually it wasn’t a good idea to stick around.

Tim was about to mention this, but when he turned to look at Jason, he paused.

“Not sure why I’m tellin’ ya this. But, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders.” Jason murmured, “I was gonna run away tonight.”

“Oh.” breathed Tim.

“My- I found my bio mom. I’m um- I was, that is, staying with Bruce Wayne.” Jason turned to stare out towards where Tim knew Wayne manor was. ”But, he thinks I did something I didn’t. something I would never do.” Jason swipes furiously at his eyes. “I found my birth certificate. The woman I called my mom all this time was actually my stepmother.” He turns back, making eye contact with Tim, a determined look on his face. “Her name is Sheila Haywood. I was going to fly to Ethiopia to meet her.”

Tim inhales sharply, “Alone?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yeah.” Jason replies guiltily. “I didn’t think Bruce would believe me.”

Tim pauses, thinking it over. “And, how much research have you done on this?”

Jason tenses, “Enough.” he snaps defensively. “I found a way there and back. I have enough to find somewhere to stay for about a week. But, if everything goes well then I should be able to stay with my mom.”

Tim laughs a little, a short exhale through his nose. “Oh no, I know you can take care of yourself. I’m talking about how much you researched into your mom. it would be smart to know why she moved. I don’t think a lot of people move to Ethiopia just for a change of pace. What if she were involved in some kind of-“

“She would never!” Jason exclaimed. “She’s an aid worker there.”

“Okay, I believe you.” Tim reaffirmed “ it was just an example. my point is just that, having all the facts is an important part of every plan.”

Jason relaxed at Tim’s reassurance, “Oh. That makes sense I guess.”

“Maybe I could help!” Tim squeaked out nervously. “ you could come to mine I’ll get my laptop out and we can look into her public records. Maybe we could do a little bit more digging and see if there could’ve been an outside situation.”

Jason considered it for a second, tilting his head back.

“If you sleep over at my house tonight, you don’t have to see Bruce.” Tim added quickly.

Jason whipped his head to look at Tim, nodding vigorously. “Yeah that would be great. Um, maybe we can stop by really quickly though just to tell Alfred and pick up my clothes for tomorrow.”

—>

With Tim’s help, Jason found evidence that Sheila was involved with the Joker. He never went to Ethiopia, he does tell Bruce about his bio mom. Batman goes to investigate it, finds out about the Joker’s plot, and stops it in time. Jason Todd doesn’t die. But he doesn’t see much of Tim anymore either.

Tim Drake saves his favorite Robin. Who knows what would’ve happened had he actually gone to Ethiopia? Especially since the Joker was there. Nothing good obviously. Jason and Tim stay friends for a little while, but don’t stay that way for long, only occasionally seeing each other in the hallways at school. Jason was busy with personal matters anyway, not much time for the skate park. Or for Tim. Eventually, Dick and Jason show up again, bringing Cass, Steph, and Damian along to teach them how to skate. Tim keeps his distance, content to watch.

Sometimes. Sometimes he wishes he could join them. Not that he’d ever say that out loud, of course. It’s the same way with their nightly activities too. It’s selfish. Tim has everything he could ever need. A roof over his head, food in his pantry, and two living parents. Even though they aren’t around. he has his hobby, chasing shadows around Gotham, taking pictures. That’s what Tim was meant for. He wasn’t meant to be a brother, or even a friend.

[madwomansapologist]

━ ✧ unraveling you | chapter 4 - the scarlet race

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series synopsis: Trapped inside Westview, Agatha Harkness was reduced to Agnes. The noisy neighbor and nothing more than that. Until a meteor rain brought something strong to Westview. Something strong enough to help her, and maybe strong enough to free her. You. In a journey to save herself by teaching you the ways of magic, Agatha Harkness wants one thing only: to avenge herself.

It would be so easy, the voice whispered sharply in her ear.

Watching over your sleeping form, Agatha changed the damp cloth on top of your head. Brushing away the wrinkles of your forehead, she felt your freezing skin. She wiped the new cloth, placing it carefully not to wet your hair.

It was more than just cold skin. Agatha made sure to get you enough blankets and adjust the temperature on the thermosthat. Nothing changed it. Almost as if it was your natural state. Muscles as stiff as stone, fingers clenched from hours on end. She sensed no pain coming from you, but that was a sort of exhaustion Agatha never saw before.

Such a helpless prey, the voice tempted her once again. What obstacle does she impose on us?

Whatever it took from you to save Agatha, it was more than you could give. More than you should’ve given her. And still, not enough. Not when Agatha needed so much more. Were you dreaming now? You look peaceful.

So stiff, eyes closed, mouth shut: you weren’t so different from a doll. A pretty thing, unable to move or react. Unable to defend yourself, or to understand what is truly happening. If you were dreaming, would you even mind? If Agatha played with you, did the things she truly wanted, would you even care?

Do it, the voice said. It will make no difference. It will mean nothing if you become great again.

So she reminded herself: her name is Agatha Harkness, and that voice belongs to her. That voice is her. It wields to her desires, silences when it pleases her. When that voice tempts her to abuse your generosity and just take until you’re left with nothing, it’s still her voice.

Agatha Harkness came back, and she will never disappear again.

You wouldn’t be able to stop her. Even if you were awake. It would be so easy for Agatha to stole your magic and empower herself. To become better again, herself again. You already gave her so much, why would you mind if Agatha just a bit more? She could wield your power in better ways than calming strangers. Wouldn’t you prefer if it was used rightfuly?

Wanda needs to be punished, the voiced screamed. She screamed. Do it. Punish her. Make her beg. Make her cry. Do it. Stop being a fool. Stop being a coward. Don’t be weak. Do it. Break Wanda.

― Stop! ― Agatha screamed, louder than the voice in her head. ― Leave me alone!

The world was silenced once more.

Her gaze fell upon you, and she realized again how cold you were. She reminded you deserve warmth. The pain Agatha endured pierced through her skull in cold needles, taking turns to allow the rage boiling her organs to torment her. Agatha continued to care for your sleeping form.

She still has time. Agatha can make that choice later.

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Sore eyes, sore throat. You stretched out every member of your body, eyes still closed to better enjoy the rejuvenating silence. What a nap! Soon after you noticed how loud your stomach growled. You wondered what you would find to eat. Whatever it is, Agnes can make anything taste amazing.

― Agnes!

It all came back to you. The stairs, the pain, the fear of losing her. You remember darkness, and you remember welcoming it. Not fighting back as it controlled you.

You jumped from the back, forgetting about the sore muscles and dizzy mind. Your mind new only a word: Agnes. Shoeless, you looked for her. With her bedroom empty, you ran downstairs. Your heartbeat was loud enough to deafen this whole town.

Her sweet perfume, a telltale of her location, took you to the kitchen. To see her back, that long black hair, made you breath again. You would give anything to hug her, to make sure Agnes was perfectly fine, but she looked at you and made you stop moving.

Something was off about her. Her movements were so slow, tamed, her mind unsure about how to proced. Agnes wasn’t smiling. Not even a glimpse of a smile made to your eyes. Agnes looked bigger, somehow.

― What happened? ― you tilted your head, worrying about everything and nothing at all. When she hesitated, you hugged yourself. ― Are you alright, Agnes?

Yes, of course she was alright. You saved her. You discovered there was a way to save her and did it, even thought you had no obligation to do so. Somehow, and even Agatha with all her wit can’t find an answer to that, outmaneuvered the Scarlet Witch. You, such little wretched thing, saved her.

And now Agatha owes you one.

Fuck you, Agatha thought about screaming at you. Go to hell, go anywhere, just nowhere I could find you. Runaway from me. Look at my eyes and see the monster others do.

― We need to talk ― she said, instead. No smiles, no flourishes. ― Sit with me.

Her fingers toyes with the bottom of an empty glass. Could you smell the wine, notice how much she drank to make peace with her mind?

― Let’s start from the beginning ― Agatha looked at you. She reach out, an open palm waiting for your touch. ― It’s nice to meet you. You may call me Agatha Harkness.

She told you everything. Agatha made sure to explain it all cautiously. Truth and omission, vulnerability salted with pinches of self preservation. Oh, old habits really do die hard.

A hex can be, if the witch casting it so desires, used to imprision others in its walls, Agatha introduced you to the concept. Not a word about how it was her choice to enter it. Her choice to stay in it.

The Scarlet Witch’s immense powers can bend reality, can rot someone’s mind and break the life cicle as if it was weak bone, she reprimand, not sharing how bad she wanted all that power to herself.

That witch controlled me as a revenge for my rebellion until you saved me at the basement, Agatha was so grateful for your help. And she still doesn’t care about those innumerable chances of helping the people of Westview she ignored.

And I could you, help you with powers until you’re able to control it, she smiled. Then, when your potencial reveals itself, you both will be even. And Agatha will be able to take everything from you without hating herself for it.

Unaware to her omissions, you thought you finally could see this town for what it was. An unarmed trap. One that scares all that remember that time when they had to deal with the pain and the loneliness all by themselves. Agnes gave you the truth. No, Agatha did it.

This time, you didn’t stop yourself from hugging her. From hugging Agatha Harkness.

Agatha felt a bitter taste in her mouth.

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There are no more evenings at the backyard, a book in Agatha’s hands and dry paint under your nails. No more flowers for you to smell, birds to steal your focus with their lullabies, neighbors to greet. Since Agatha came back, all you have is the four walls of the basement.

Once a place surrounded by fear and pain, now it’s your study room. It’s were Agatha keeps her tomes, books overflowing with her knowledge and the one of witches that came before her. It’s were you read about magic, learn about witchcraft history, practice drawing runes.

But mostly, the basement is the place were you fail.

Again and again, you tried to make Agatha’s teachings work. To enchant or curse, to cast a spell or to write down a rune. Again and again, you couldn’t. Nothing you ever did before had something to do with knowledge or technique, only about caring and hoping to make things better. You wanted people to feel save, to calm down, to stop suffering.

What could those books do for you? Until now, nothing but take the time you could use with better things. You read about magic, learn about it, but your mind can’t help but wander around town. To wonder about all things you could’ve been doing.

― Isn’t it weird? ― you turned to Agatha, sat in a chair in the opposite side of the basement. She faced one of her tomes, the one she wrote first. You just wanted a break from this exercise. ― That all those things really do exist? Not those signs, but that they work.

― Soon it will all come natural to you ― Agatha murmured, far away from you. A sort of distance that had little to do with where she was.

― A sign that contains magic in it… Aren’t words also just signs we draw? None of my words turned magical because I wrote them.

That made Agatha sign. Good, you bit your tongue to stop you from saying it. At least now she’s paying attention to me.

― You must start to pay attention to what I say ― she snapped at you. ― Like I taugh you before, intent and concentration will do nothing for you if you don’t know what you’re doing. Words on paper are nothing but paint; words with intent, concentration and the specific spell turn into a curse. Our pillars as witches are: creativity, resilience and knowledge.

You almost yelled at Agatha, but instead you decided to nod. Instead of teaching you with care, she treats you like shit and expect for her harsh words to do the work only patient ones could. How can you really learn if any question, any curiosity, is answered that way? How Agatha expects you to be creative if your creativity is treated like a burden?

Agnes treated me better than that.

― Try again ― said Agatha. ― You have potential.

Agatha turned to her tome, pretending to be concentrated when all she could focus on was breathing. She should not, must not, give herself the opportunity to feel bad about the way she treats you. Now, more than ever, Agatha needs to learn not to care about you.

It will be easier if Agathar stop caring about you. It will be easier if you hate her.

With lungs filled with air, you gathered the patience to practice one more time. You repeated the basic runes as the book instructed, one in each dark wall of the basement. It took you way longer than when Agatha demonstrated, but you did it.

They appeared in a pearly glow, every curve and line as you intended for them to be. You breathed in and out: they were still there. Opening your mouth, no sound came out of it. It worked! You did it.

Your smiled faded away as the dry sound of Agatha closing her tome reached your ears. A moment later, the runes glitched and disappeared.

― Again ― she said. ― Do better this time.

Once again, you convinced yourself it was better not to fight her. Agnes was a trap, and you would never wish for Agatha to disappear again. Maybe if the next time you do it right, she will stop being so rough. You did it this time. Now you just need to do better.

Watching you try one more time, Agatha wanted to rip her skull and destroy her rotted brain. C’mon, she wasn’t superior to begging. I’m not a good person. Why can’t you just see it? Why can’t you just hate me?

You kept on practicing.

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― Shit ― Agatha hissed, accidentaly dropping the pan on the floor. She turned on the tap, whimpering as the water ran down on her burned skin. Agatha only then noticed the wasted food. ― Oh, fuck me!

Agatha was shaking now. Grabbing the sink, she did her best not to allow her hands to touch her hair. Bad habits do die hard, and her scalp is so sensitive. She breathed in, then out, just to realized it didn’t help her at all.

― That’s it ― you appeared besides her. ― Today I’m cooking. Step back.

Why are you still here? Why haven’t you ran from her yet? There’s something wrong with you. Something stupidly wrong with you. Somethin stopping you from seeing the bared teeths of a wolf standing right in front of you. What sort of prey doesn’t even try to run? Hurry, little rabbit, Agatha begged. Leave me while you still can.

― Don’t bother ― murmured Agatha, not even looking at you. Using a towel she grabbed the pan from the floor. ― I just need a minute.

Instead of walking away, you took the pan from her and threw the food in the trash can. You explored the kitchen, putting your mind to work. If you could make something chewable, than it would be a victory.

― Stop ― Agatha sighed. ― I’m fine. Go away.

Yes, she’s fine, go away. She’s all the things people say she is. Rio, her mother, Sarah. That damned witch. Agatha’s selfish, broken, cruel. She is bitter. She is not a good person. And she is surprised you haven’t realized that yet.

Why can’t you just run? At least then Agatha would be allowed to hunt you down.

You held her by the shoulders, finally felling her gaze on you. With Agatha focused on your eyes, she almost didn’t notice that you were calming her down. You were learning how to be subtle with your magic.

― Sit your ass down and let me cook for us ― you said, softly. ― The world won’t end just because you took a nap.

Out of the kitchen, Agatha realized there were better asks to be made. Why is she still here? Why haven’t Agatha runaway yet? The cage is fully open now. Agatha can walk out of this town anytime she wants. Why is she still here?

Thinking, it was your sweet voice that brought her back to the world of the living. For a second, all she did was to look at your eyes. Once more, she saw no malice in them. With her own tearing up, Agatha forced herself to look at the two bowls of popcorn you carried.

― Is this dinner?

― Dinner is burned in the trash can ― you tried to smile. ― But the popcorn is good. I think. I hope. I know for sure it’s salty.

Too hungry to do something else for you two, Agatha just grabbed her bowl and made space for you to sit besides her. You turned on the television, searching for something good to watch. The noise coming from your belly made Agatha look at you again.

― Someday I’ll teach you to cook ― said Agatha, mouthful of popcorn. She covered you two with a blanket, and for a second you thought Agnes was back. ― Coraline again, you coward?

As the credits rolled up on the black screen, Agatha saw your image reflected on the television. Deep asleep on her shoulder, unaware of all the dangers out there in the world. Of all the danger inside this very house. Agatha closed her eyes, now painfully aware of the truth.

Agatha is still here because she fell in love with you.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @lovelyy-moonlight

UNRAVELING YOU TAGLIST: @harknessshi

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@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[tinycoded360]

Sterling Household: Happy 4th of July!

Note: Remember, these are snapshots of their lives, not necessarily in a timeline order. Even though the previous ones followed one after the other. :D

Sterling sat at his kitchen table, sipping his morning coffee. His eyes lit up at the sight of little Agnes throwing her makeshift grappling hook and climbing her way up to the top of the table. Sterling resisted the urge to pick her up or cup his hands under her to provide a safety net. In past cases when he tried this, the little folk gave him an ear full. Sterling understood now that doing something like that made them feel belittled, and such gestures were only appreciated if they were in true danger. He understood now that they needed to do things independently without help, and he should only aid them if they asked or if they truly did slip and fall.

“Hey there, little friend.” Sterling greeted the tiny teen.

"Hi, Mr. Sterling, do you have any of those big cotton balls? I think you keep them in your bathroom, Ma, and Pa told me to ask you." Agnes asked; she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.

“Sure, I have a bunch; how much do you need?” Sterling asked.

“I guess enough for all of us and extra for padding; we need to make new earmuffs and lining for the walls,” Agnes replied.

“Oh? Can I ask what for? It’s too hot outside for earmuffs?” Sterling asked, his tone filled with curiosity and puzzlement.

“Oh! It’s for the great booming tonight. You giants like to make a lot of noise, and it's scary, and my ears always hurt.”

“OH! I see it’s for the fireworks! I’m sorry. I didn’t think how that would affect you guys,” Sterling replied. In the past years, he wasn’t one to shoot off fireworks at home; usually, he was visiting family or spending it at a friend’s home. But his neighbors loved shooting them off. Thankfully, in the area they lived in, it was only allowed on the day and a few days after the 4th.

“It’s ok, we’re used to it,” Agnes replied with a shrug. “But why do you guys make so much noise?”

“I see; you don’t know what the 4th is?” Sterling asked; it never occurred to him that they might not know or wouldn’t have had anyone to ask or teach them.

“Of course, I know what the 4th is……it’s the great booming silly!” Agnes replied with a cheeky grin.

“No,” Sterling said with an amused grin. “It’s something we do to celebrate our country; it’s like a birthday; we shoot off fireworks, and they light up the sky! Theres so many colors and shapes, it’s quite the spectacle.”

“I don’t really understand what all that is. What are fireworks?” Agnes asked, getting more confused as Sterling tried to explain.

“I guess they’re explosives, really colorful fire, that explode into patterns and colors. There are smaller ones, too, things that use smoke and sparks.” Sterling tried to explain, finding it hard without showing the little borrower.

“That sounds dangerous, you giants play with fire? But why does it have to be so loud?” Agnes asked.

"They are loud because they are a really big explosion and they can be dangerous, we just find it fun to watch." Sterling conceded with a nod. “Here, let me show you.” Sterling reached for his phone in his pocket.

Sterling selected a video on his phone and brought it closer to the small girl. The phone looked massive compared to her. It could act as her personal TV.

"See," Sterling said, his voice gentle like a summer breeze, “Just watch this. Sterling suggested tapping the tablet to life. Bursts of color exploded across the display, accompanied by a symphony of oohs and aahs from a recorded crowd, the volume low enough not to startle.

"Look at that one!" Agnes pointed with a tiny finger toward the tablet screen, her eyes reflecting the cascade of colors as another firework exploded into a chrysanthemum of light.

"Fireworks are art, painted with light and gunpowder," Sterling explained, watching Agnes’s face. She watched in delight as the video played.

"I like this one; it doesn’t have that boom….. sometimes it feels like it shakes our entire home; it really scares Finn and Lila; I’m older, so it doesn’t scare me.” Agnes said.

“I’m sorry it scares you…...hmmmm……you know, I’m not planning to go anywhere this year…. we could spend it together.” Sterling mused.

“I guess, but we really don’t like the noise.”

“We can watch it on TV. The noise will be less, and you’ll have your little earmuffs. And I can treat you guys to a 4th of July cookout. Give you a taste of what we humans usually do.”

“Oooh, that does sound Yummy; I’ll ask Ma and Pa,” Agnes replied. She was more interested in the offer of free freshly cooked food.

“We can pick out a few movies to watch before the fireworks.”

“Oh! Can you make popcorn? I would really like that,” Agnes said, giving him her best puppy-eyed look.

Sterling leaned closer and gave her a teasing poke to her belly, he was very mindful of how delicate she is. “Of course, sweetheart, I’ll make whatever treat you want.”

“Hey!” Agnes giggled, batting her tiny hands at his finger.

"Thank you, Mr. Sterling," Agnes said, her voice steady, but Sterling could see the subtle excitement dancing in her eyes.

“Of course, now go run along. It seems like I've got some grocery shopping to do.” Sterling said with a hint of reluctance. He did not look forward to going to the stores on a holiday. He regretted not coming up with this plan earlier and thinking of spending time with the tiny family this way.

****** Much later, after Sterling slaved away in the kitchen, he presented a platter of hotdogs, hamburgers, and chips. And mini chocolate cupcakes and a bowl of popcorn for their movie night. He had made sure to cut the food into small pieces for his little guests. He even went as far as making miniature hamburgers that the borrowers could easily pick up. Sterling had watched video after video of miniature food preparation to get that right. Having to use a pair of tweezers to dress the tiny hamburger patty. The hardest part was cooking it.

 After a while, Emma had startled him in his task while he was grilling outside. Saying he’d make them too well done. The tiny woman had bullied him into giving her the tiny patties so she could cook them. She had even brought freshly made bread for the buns. She had offered to finish making them, but Sterling refused- wanting to have a hand in some of it.

Sterling felt warm and fuzzy in his gut. Out of all the borrowers, Emma was the hardest to impress. He was happy that she felt comfortable enough to approach him and offer to help.

"Wow! It's a feast!" Lila's voice was a quiet murmur, her eyes wide as saucers. She looked over the mountain of food, at least compared to her.

"Can we start now? Can we?" Finn bounced beside his siblings, his small stature barely containing his eagerness.

The Borrowfield family was gathered at Sterling’s coffee table, where everything was laid out.

“Thank you, Sterling. This is really too much,” Cassia said, but she looked grateful.

“Yes, thank you,” Milton said. He still felt nervous being this close to Sterling, but he tried his best to overcome that fear. He was starting to see that Sterling was a good human.

“No problem, I wanted to. Now dig in; I’ll start the movie. I think you might like this one.” Sterling waved a DVD in the air. The words “Night at the Museum” written on the disc.

The borrowers happily filled their plates and found a place to sit and watch. Sterling sat on his couch, and the borrowers sat on the top of the couch. Sterling only paid half a mind to the movie, but he couldn’t help but watch their reactions to the movie and watch them expertly climb down to the couch cushions and find their way back to the coffee table for seconds.

Sterling was amused and startled when little Pippin dropped to his shoulder and climbed down the front of his shirt like he was a mountain. The tiny boy scampered to his knee and then took a flying jump to the table. Sterling almost lounged forward to catch the boy. But another small weight landed on his shoulder, and tiny feet walked up to his ear and gave it a sharp tug. 

Sterling froze, not wanting to knock the borrower off him. He felt relieved to see Pippin make it safely, but Sterling could feel his heartbeat frantically.

“Let him, be, us borrowers are sturdy, we can handle jumps and falls like that.” Emma's voice sounded right next to his ear.

“I…sorry, I just…...” Sterling had trouble describing that he just felt protective and didn’t want to see them get hurt.

“HA! I know, you’re like a giant mother hen!” Emma laughed. “Now, I’m gonna sit here, and you better not knock me off.”

Sterling felt his face heat at this, but he held still, letting the tiny woman settle down against his neck.

Sterling held still as the other borrowers used him as a short cut to the table. Sterling looked in amusement as Milton gave Finn a piggyback ride as the father climbed down him and made his way to the snacks.

Lila took to sitting on his knee to watch the movie; she liked the close access to the table.

Sterling was so engrossed in watching the borrowers and marveling at the feeling of their tiny feet and hands climbing on him that he didn’t notice when the movie ended.

He felt a tug on his ear. “That was fun, Gigantor. Is there more, or are we gonna watch those fireworks I keep hearing about?” Emma asked.

“Oh, right!” Just then, sounds of booming started outside. Looking at the time, Sterling realized it was indeed dark enough for others to start firing them off.

The borrowers pulled out their cotton earmuffs and put them on.

Sterling made sure none of the borrowers were on him. He reached for Emma and scooped her up as he got up. This earned him a startled squawk from the tiny woman and a sharp punch of her fist to his thumb.

“Sorry, but this is quicker, and you weren’t moving,” Sterling said with a smirk.

Emma gave him a sharp glare but said nothing else. Sterling was glad she wasn’t scared; he would have put her back down if she had been trembling or shaking.

Sterling changed the DVD with one hand and then grabbed the remote, flicking to the correct channel. He made sure to keep the volume low, the sounds outside where enough.

Sterling then settled back into his spot and placed Emma on his shoulder. She gave him a playful hit to the side of his neck but sat back down, leaning her back against his neck.

Sterling kept an eye on the borrower’s reactions. He hoped they liked it. He smiled at the delight on their faces as they watched. Milton and Cassia were curled next to each other, with Finn on his mother’s lap and Lila on her father’s. Agnes had found a spot on Sterling’s other shoulder, leaning against his neck on that side. He could feel her tiny weight getting heavier as she dozed off.

Pippen sat on Sterling’s knee; the boy’s face was awash with wonder and delight as he watched.

"Happy 4th of July, everyone," Sterling whispered.

"Happy 4th of July," the Borrowfields echoed back. 

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Winifred Dailey from her grandniece Agnes, 189x

Dearest Aunt,

You’ll be pleased to know that I am not completely isolated here in my new town. I know you worried so, especially with Will moving us out to the middle of seemingly nowhere, but I can assure you that Chestnut Ridge is far from uncivilized. It is a much smaller town than Brindleton, granted, but we are certainly not hurting for pleasant company. Recently, I had the delight of meeting our neighbor – one Mrs. Martha Reed, who lives just a short ways from Will and I.

She’d stopped by one morning while I was occupied with my knitting but do not worry so, I am not without my manners, you raised me far better than that after all! I was happy to invite her in for some tea while we had a nice little chat, where I learned that it is just her and husband, Clarence, on their farm. They have two daughters who are grown and married and live far away from them, so she was quite pleased when she’d discovered Will and I had moved nearby. I am pleased as well, Aunt, she is a very kind woman and I feel fortunate knowing she’s only a mile away should I ever feel the need for company while Will is out working.

You will also be relieved to know that there is indeed a church here in town, and Will and I are faithful attendees every Sunday morning. The reverend is a good and honest man, not quite as loud as Reverend Powers I daresay, but he can still preach something fierce. Will doesn't care too much for his sermons but then, he's never been much of a church man. I myself find them to be quite riveting though, I'm not sure I've ever heard such eloquently spoken words of truth before in my whole life.

The congregation, thankfully, has been quite welcoming thus far, Will and I have even met another couple around our age who we’ve taken to conversing with following the conclusion of services. Walter and Minnie Lester, I believe that was their names. They also have a very darling baby girl named Florence, and are expecting their second child any time now.

All in all, I think we’re going to have a good life here, Aunt. The people are nice and the land is aplenty, I feel no worry when I think of our future here.

Yours Truly,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

[ask-missparker]

WandaVision AU - We found wonderland you & I got lost in it 🤍

Pairing: Amelia x Nikolai

Summary: What if 2 Agents of Shield were trapped in a classic all American sitcom created by a old friend? Utter bliss!

Characters mentioned: Marlene, Melissa, Wanda, Vision, Agnes, Mr. Hart & his wife and etc

—

‘It’s Been A Long, Long Time’ played quietly on the radio situated above the sink, just loud enough to be heard over the sizzling pancakes on the frying pan. The humming could be as the women swayed side to side, chuckled at the song being played. Her kitten heels clicked against the hardwood floor, running a finger across her pinned curls.

She looked outside the window, listening into her town with a soft smile. The occasional bark of the house dog could be heard throughout the day as they pranced about the neatly cut grass of the town.

Each house was lined with the most decadent array of flowers around the fence, each petal greeting you as you walked by the uniform bushes. A postcard worthy image to behold.

As she worked around the kitchen, her hands went to smooth down your cream colored apron. She glanced around the clock, with a darling smile. 6:45 on the dot. She placed the pancakes onto two sliver dollar plates and poured herself a glass of morning coffee.

As if on cue, her husband walked and called out, “Honey, I’m ready.” He was fixing his tie, newspaper under his armpit and grin plastered across his face. A silly grin to be correct. He was all dressed up his favorite suit, leaning down to place a kiss on her lips and hummed, “You look lovely this morning.”

“You say that every morning.” She replied.

“Because that’s correct, you always look lovely in the morning.”

“And at night?”

“I can’t say that with straight face, doll.”

“Silly man.”

“You love me for it.”

“That I do.”

The two sat down and ate breakfast, listing the plans for today and hearing the soft hums that played from the radio. Sadly, time was of the hour and not a moment later, resulting in the brunette man to scurry off to work not without lacing a few more kisses on his wife’s face.

“Have a nice day!” She called out from the door.

“I will! And remember we have dinner plans tomorrow night!” He called out, touring the car onto the highway.

She headed back inside, cleaning up the living room as she guided herself towards the magazines on the kitchen table with a smile. The pictures were just dreamy. The nicely tuned housing, the radio in the living room, the tv placed right in front of the couch, the curtains evenly sized for the windows, the coffee table filled with magazines and a flower pot of daisies.

——

She sighed happily at the sight, suddenly hearing a doorbell. Who could possibly ruin her perfectly good morning?

She ran up, stringing her dress and opened the door, “Good morning, how may I help you?”

“Why hello dear, I’m Agnes! Your next door neighbor.” She replied with a smile.

“Next door neighbor? Pardon darling, but my next door neighbors is Marlene and her wife.”

“Oh right! I meant next door neighbors on the other side of the block.”

“Is there anything you need, dear?”

“Yes! I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to meeting our NEW neighbors? They just moved in.”

“I’m rather busy, maybe next time? I have dinner plans to prepare.”

“It would only be just a moment, I promise. Besides everyone in WestView should be welcome with open arms, correct?”

“Correct, let me get my bag.”

She followed Agnes out of the door to their next door neighbors around the block, Ms. Vision.

——

Meanwhile her husband appeared rushing into work, and not a second later! He slid into his chair behind the new man at the office, Vision. But his gaze was quickly brought to the brunette woman sitting next to him with a smile. His best friend his childhood grinned brightly as his hair swift to the side typing on the keys of the typewriter, filling in and out paperwork.

“Morning, Nikolai!” She with a grin, handing her best friend the paperwork for him to fill out.

He took the copy of the work and replies, “Morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Alright I guess? The dog from Mr. Jetsons kept me up all night.”

“That was the dog? I thought it was my stomach growling.”

Both laughed at their banter. That was when their boss, Mr. Hart came in talking with all the men and women at the office building. He remarked, “You remember tonight’s plan, ay Vision?”

The blonde man with glasses, “Huh? Oh yes, sir, Mr. Hart!”

“Good because I like a good meatloaf! Hope your wife can cook just as well.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Hart! My wife is a master in the kitchen.”

The two men talked, it was clear to Marlene and Nikolai that Vision forgot about today. He looked uttered lost, like he had a screw loose or something?

Marlene stood up from her desk and carried herself over to Vision saying, “Hey it’s alright. Mr. Hart just wants to see his employees make good impression.”

“Why yes but what do I do? It’s tonight! I had nothing planed.” Vision admitted, running a hand across his blonde locks.

“It happens to everyone! I remember my first dinner with our boss, I practically fumbled over my words and my wife had to save my skins.”

“Really?”

“Yeah but after a few seconds, I pulled myself together.”

Nikolai chuckled leaned over his desk, “Hey man, don’t sweat it! Just call up your wife and see if there is anything that you can do.”

“Oh yes, right!” He said, dialing his wife waiting for her to pick looking over his shoulder, “And thank you..?”

“Nikolai. And that’s Mar!”

“Thank you. Both of you are too kind.”

“It’s no problem, you’ll get the hang of it.”

——

Amelia and Agnes arrived a Wanda’s household. There were plenty of disagreements, trying to coax Wanda on how an anniversary should be spent with your spouse, playful remarks that had an underlying concern to them. But women laughed, including Wanda who took a liking to both girls. She heard the phones and picked up, realizing it was her husband as she spoke with him. Sending signals for both ladies, to take notes about her plans for tonight.

Agnes left soon enough, leaving Wanda alone with Amelia to get ready.

She was brushing the light redhead hair as she asked, “Amelia?”

“Yes Wanda?” She replied, pinning the curls.

“I heard you say to Agnes you have been together longer than us. How long?”

“Since after the wars ended, my fiancé and his best friend returned home safely. And soon we were hitched.”

“Was it lovely?”

“It was. I remember the look on Melissa’s face seeing her best friends get married. We had our honeymoon and you know the rest.”

Wanda chuckled, “Oh yes I do! My husband didn’t go to the war, he stayed behind to help with performances and engines on machines.”

“That sounds daring.” Amelia chuckled, “I remember my husband returned home a little hurt, he bruised his leg but he was fine. Now we’re married then got our puppy.”

The short redhead spinner around in her chair, “You have pet? You didn’t leave him alone did you?”

“He’s only 6 months old, big boy, and staying with a friend for the weekend.” Amelia explained. 

“Aww that’s sweet.”

“I should get going, bye love!”

“Bye!”

“And remember, share tonight like it’s your last.”

——

Nikolai drove up to house down the block away after work with flowers and knocked on the door.

As they door opened, it revealed a set of glasses, pin up curls and a lovely flared out dress.

“Aww for me?” She asked in a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “No Mel. Theses are my wife, yours is coming home later with a surprise for you.”

“Ooh can’t wait! And someone is excited to see you.”

“Where is he?”

In came a strong pair of footsteps hurrying out the door to face his owner. Arrow barked and wagged his tail as Nikolai ruffles behind his ears and kiss his furry face, causing Arrow to lick his own. Melissa chuckled and pats the very dog on top of his head before asking how are things at home with the misuses as he repiled ‘As good as ever.’

With that he left waving at his friend was the same time Marlene arrived home herself. Perfect timing.

~~~~

The man of the hour arrived home with the barking joy following him, knowing his wife had no idea of the little surprise as he held up flowers in the other hand. Walking across the the doorway into the living room, he met the frame of his wife reading a magazine humming with a smile.

He chuckled, reaching over setting his suitcase on the floor with a small thud that catches anyone’s attention. It caught her attention, as she looked up to see her husband and dog.

She chuckled getting up from the couch leaning into to kiss her husband with a soft smile. He gladly returned the kiss reaching down to wrap his hand around her waist, as Arrow stood in-between them barking as if to say ‘I’m here too! Pay attention to me’. She rolled her eyes and held Arrow’s face in her hands pressing a kiss his cheek as he wagged his tail as if to say, ‘There’s the sugar!’

“Is that why your home late?” She asked following him into the kitchen to finish stirring up the pasta, she was making for the two of them.

He placed a bowl of doggie food on the floor next to the table and repiled, “I know we both stay away from him for long.”

“You just him to sleep in your bed with us dear.”

“Guilty as charged.”

As they ate dinner, Nikolai remembered what else happened today at work, bringing up the topic of their neighbors again. Having both met the newest couple in WestView today.

He chuckled, “I hope Vision and Wanda are doing alright tonight.”

“What do you mean?” She asked with a curious smile.

“You didn’t know? Mr. Hart is having Vision host a dinner for them tonight. You know to impress his boss and have his job fully secured.”

“No? Tonight is their anniversary, Wanda said it herself. Their was a heart on the calendar.”

“Then Wanda is mistaken because the heart of the calendar was for Mr. and Mrs. Hart.”

“Ohhh…oops?”

“We’ll see on Monday if he gets the job or not.”

Both couldn’t help but laugh, smiling brightly.

~~~

That’s all folks! Tell me what you think?

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @rickb-chaos s @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @rooster-84 @thecavalrywife @cherrysft and etc

~~

[typhoid-moi]

Peoplewatching

Chapter 1/3

(Gen, teenage Matt Murdock)

In O & M, Ms. Lucero taught Matt to hold his cane like a pencil, directing it with his index finger to give him control. He swings the cane to the right when he steps forward with his left foot, then swings it left when he steps with his right foot. The counterintuitive rhythm took a while to master. But he mastered it.

There’s no one else to take care of him, not unless you count Stick. And Matt’s not sure if he does.

He pulls open the heavy bodega door and carefully finds his way to the deli counter and grill at the back. Today is the first day of the month. The church gets to keep Matt’s Social Security Disability payments, but Sister Mary Ignacia always slips him some cash; he has four fives folded lengthwise in his pocket and he plans to spend one on a sandwich and a Snapple from the cold case.

The bodega is crowded. Whoever is on the grill today is talking loudly in Spanish with some other guys. Matt hears a clutter of overlapping heartbeats and starts to get overwhelmed. Who’s on line to order and who is waiting for their food and who is just here hanging out? Where should he stand? Do they see him already?

Stick gave him a breathing exercise to calm him down at times like this, but Matt can’t remember it. There is no reason for him to be here; they’ve got peanut butter back at St. Agnes’s. He turns around, reorients himself to the aisle, and taps himself back to the front of the store.

“Hey, kid,” a voice calls. “Blind kid. Hold up. I got you next!” But Matt is already pushing his way out the jangling door like a weirdo. Right foot, tap. Left foot, tap. Half-running. He trips over something he should have found with his cane, and goes sprawling. His palms sting.

No matter how fast he is, he can’t get away from himself.

::::

When he first got discharged from the hospital, different neighbors would take turns coming to sit with him while his dad was at work. “What do my eyes look like?” Matt asked Trang from 4D. One year older than him, raspberry-scented body wash, playing her GameBoy Pocket on the other end of the couch.

“They’re brown,” she said without pausing her game.

“Yeah, duh. But do they look weird? Or normal.

“Normal.”

“Do they look different at all? If you didn’t know me, would you think I could see?”

“I guess.” Trang’s breathing maintained its steady in and out. Link’s ocarina played a song. “Maybe if I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“What if you were paying attention?”

“Then I’d probably know. Because you don’t really look at things, do you?”

“Oh. Right,” Matt said.

::::

His life should feel so different now from what it used to be. But a lot of things are still the same. He still goes to City Knoll Middle School in the P.S. 111 building on West 53rd. He confesses his sins to the same priests and attends catechism class with the same kids from the neighborhood. He's known Nico Persiani by sight for years – he's the kid with the white cane and the extra-thick but mostly useless glasses. But the two of them never really talked until Matt moved to St. Agnes’s.

Now that they live in the same dorm, Nico wants to be friends. And he never shuts up. He tells Matt all kinds of personal stuff. That he’s twelve, too, and his corrected vision is 20/300 in his better eye. That his dead mom was from St. Thomas, in the Caribbean, that his white dad surrendered parental rights, but sends guilty letters when he’s drunk that the nuns love to read out loud. That the new Star Wars movie sucked, but Ewan MacGregor is actually a better Obi-Wan than Sir Alec Guiness was. That his favorite food is sushi and his favorite color is yellow.

Then, he stops himself. “Oh, man. Sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk about it.”

“It’s cool. You’re allowed to have a favorite color.”

Matt listens to Nico’s heartbeat and the squeak of thin-soled sneakers on the linoleum as the other boy awkwardly shifts his weight. It is garbage day and the smell drifting in through the cracked window is terrible. The ceiling fan stirs the hot air, but the pressure tells Matt it’ll rain tonight. The A uptown express is passing through the tunnel under their feet and some of the older girls are in the rectory, playing Janet Jackson’s “Together Again” on repeat while they practice their routine for the dance team.

Matt’s head hurts, like it always does now, and every inch of his skin hurts. His heart hurts, too, a pain that feels real and grounded in the body. And Nico feels bad for him because he can’t see colors.

“I heard what happened to you,” says Nico.

“I know,” says Matt. Everyone has.

::::

He used to get comped tickets for Battlin’ Jack Murdock’s boxing matches. He’d sit alone in the front row and watch the fight, but in between rounds, he’d turn around and watch the crowd. Old people. Young people. Mostly men, but some women mixed in. Rich and poor, shoulder to shoulder. He’d watch their faces and body language, notice the clothes they wore, make up stories about them. Who was from out of town. Who didn’t like violence. Who had bet on the loser.

He can’t do that anymore. Now, people watch him.

::::

He notices the different ways Stick uses his cane against different surfaces. One minute, his teacher might let it skim delicately over the sidewalk, then the next, he’ll slam it against the side of a newspaper box or drag it skittering over a subway grate. Sometimes there’s a long, long wait between taps, as if Stick has actually forgotten this tool that Ms. Lucero says should function as an extension of the arm. Other times, Stick holds the cane in his fist, perpendicular to the concrete, and he brings the tip down with a hard rap, like he’s trying to poke a hole in the street. BANG. It makes Matt jump.

Maybe Stick is listening for the echoes. Maybe he’s just trying to get people’s attention so they’ll get out of his way. Matt’s not stupid enough to think that Stick doesn’t always know exactly what he’s doing. But he can’t help thinking about how it must look to anyone watching. He remembers how he used to stare at Nico, before. He knows that when he and Stick are out in public, eyes are always on them. And Stick doesn’t look very respectable. Yes, that’s why the unusual cane technique bothers him so much. Because it seems sloppy. Inconsistent.

"You get around so good,” Matt says, clothing his concern in a compliment. “Do people ever think you’re faking it?”

“Nope,” Stick says shortly. “My eyes look funny. Cataracts. You know what that is?”

“Um. Not really.”

Stick grunts. That’s his version of a shrug, a noise Matt knows means that he’s not interested in explaining further.

He grunts a lot.

::::

Matt is still painfully slow at Grade 2 contracted Braille. It takes him a long time to get through anything, so he also checks out textbooks on tape from the National Library for the Blind – each book is dozens of cassette tapes – and stays up late with his headphones, reading them both ways, over and over. His fingers tingle and his muscles are sore from training, but he is slowly getting better at everything, even if there is no one to notice or care. Matt’s IEP specifies that he should always be seated in the front of the classroom. So he can hear the teacher better? So he can find his seat easier? So someone in charge can always be watching him? He’s not really sure what the rationale is. He feels exposed.

Today, when he gets to pre-algebra, someone is sitting in his reserved seat. Matt knows it’s Brett Mahoney, one of the popular kids. He can smell the wintergreen Altoids Brett is always chewing on. He lets his cane knock into Brett’s foot and the other boy jumps up quickly.

“Oh! Sorry, man. I honestly forgot.” Then, after a pause, “Um, you know you have, like, a nasty cut? On your face?”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Believe it or not, you are not the first person who has mentioned it. Also, I can feel it. I’m not stupid.”

“OK,” says Brett. “You know it’s bleeding, though, right?”

“It’s bleeding now?” Matt lifts his hand to his brow to check and to his surprise, his fingers come away sticky.

So that’s how Brett ends up escorting him to the nurse’s office.

“What happened, anyway?” Brett asks on the way back. Matt hates having to depend on another middle school boy for sighted lead. He doesn’t want anyone to tease Brett, so he keeps as much space between them as possible, his fingers barely touching Brett’s bicep, but Brett doesn't seem too worried about it. And it’s nice that he isn’t assuming Matt walked into something or fell down, the way the nurse just did.

Obviously he can’t explain about Stick, though. “I was fighting,” he says. It is true.

“Did you win?”

No.”

::::

Is Stick good-looking? It's really hard to guess. He’s old and crotchety, but he could be handsome in a rugged way, Matt thinks. Anything is possible. Clearly some women like him, like Sister Dora, whose pulse picks up when Stick comes to fetch him.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Matt asks him.

Stick ignores the question. “Time for you to get outta here, kid. I got another student coming in 10 minutes.”

Matt feels obscurely jealous. “He’s blind, too?”

“She,” Stick corrects. “No.”

“Huh.” Matt puts the escrima sticks back in their case. “Can she do all the things I can do?”

“She’s much better than you.”

“Does she work harder than me?”

“No. No one does. She’s just better.” He knocks his hand into Matt’s shoulder, a soft blow or a rough pat. “Haven’t I taught you yet that life isn’t fair?”

He didn’t need Stick for that lesson.

::::

Sometimes Matt just walks. He walks east into the anonymous scrum of Times Square and finds his way to Broadway, following it down through Midtown, through Union Square, into the Village and Soho and then Chinatown. It feels good to stretch his legs and the smell of the egg doughnuts from the famous cart makes his mouth water, but all the knockoff perfume shops on Canal exacerbate his perpetual headache. He passes by the arch he remembers and begins to cross the Manhattan Bridge on the footpath. Trains pass on the left with a metal rattle so deep he can feel it in the roots of his teeth.

He doesn’t have a watch, but a subtle drop in temperature tells him that the sun is going down now, the river far below darkening in a way he remembers from outings with his dad when he was a little kid. Halfway across the bridge, he pulls up his hood and stows his folded cane in his backpack. No one here will know he’s supposed to need it.

Downtown Brooklyn roars around him. Cars are getting on and off the BQE. Matt finds his way to the steps that wind down to street level, but he is afraid to stray too far; he doesn’t know these streets at all, and he has no way to reorient himself if he screws up. The river and Manhattan are behind him, he remembers, at his 6:00.

Matt promises he’ll just walk to the next block, recite the Nicene Creed, then turn around, retrace his steps, go back across the bridge the way he came. Return to the orphanage, his neighborhood, his whole life. His blood is beating in his ears. Strangers shove past, taking no notice of him. He’s just a white kid in a hoodie, wearing sunglasses at night. His footsteps are silent without the echoing tap he’s gotten used to.

Turn around, he tells himself. Turn around.

But he keeps walking. He could disappear completely.

Notes:

It's strongly suggested in that Season 3 flashback that that Sister Dora teaches at St. Agnes's and Matt goes to school there, but I think it makes more sense for him and Nico to go to public school, given their accessibility needs.

I love Father Lantom, but I am confused about whether he was around when Matt was a kid, or if they just meet in Season 1, so I left him out.

I'm visually impaired/low vision. If anyone blind reads this, please please please tell me what you think.

[quasarlasar]

GALAXY MERGER - PART 1

In my imagination, galaxy mergers are basically star wars. Not Star Wars, but literal wars between stars. Galaxies are like star nations, and sometimes a bigger galaxy tries to forcibly assimilate a smaller galaxy. They insist on calling it "annexation" though, not galactic cannibalism like astronomers do...cannibalism is such a dirty word.

This particular comic is about a galaxy merger between Stella's home galaxy Antiocheka and a neighboring galaxy in the galaxy cluster, Oglinant. Antiocheka is basically a galaxy that will eventually become the giant elliptical galaxy at the center of its galaxy cluster. This comic is set roughly 10 billion years ago, and even back then, it had already lost a lot of the cold gas necessary to form stars (it is the yellower galaxy in the first panel). This is why the Antiochekan government launches wars of acquisition against bluer galaxies that still have this cold gas. Though of course it's never called that. Like our own civilization, the galaxy always tries to cloak its self-interested behavior in benevolent terms.

I was trying to combine two hypotheses for elliptical galaxies' formation here. Some papers say that the precursors to ellipticals are similar to these galaxies called "red nuggets" which are bulge-dominated. However, other research indicates the ellipticals quenched (i.e. stopped forming new stars) while they were still disks. So Antiocheka has both prominent disk and bulge components. It sort of resembles Centaurus A. And like Centaurus A, Antiocheka is known for a powerful radio-loud AGN...but that comes in the next parts of this comic!

In other news, I recently became a postdoctoral student. I've branched out a bit and started studying neutron stars too, so there might be more comics about them in the future.

[shikonstar]

So.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband walked off and left the back door open because he didn’t want to expend the effort to close it then open it again.

We have three cats.

He didn’t bother telling me, and it wasn’t until the next afternoon that I discovered that one of them got loose. Needless to say, I was devastated and beyond pissed.

I set out food for a few days; something was eating it, but I could never catch it in time. Obviously, I was going to have to step up my game.

After some research, I found that one of the best ways to lure a cat back is to sprinkle used litter around your yard. Disgusting, but okay. For my cat, I will 100% do.

This led to me going out, bag of used litter in hand, and sprinkling it around as if I performing some arcane, sacred ritual. (Please include loud chirping noises, just in case she is nearby.)

I finish, and look up to find my neighbors staring at me with morbid fascination. I could only imagine what they were thinking.

“Best get the cats in, Agnes. Looks like the neighbor is tryin’ to lure ‘em over fer some type of blood sacrifice.”

Still no cat.

Did you know that the best time to find cats is between 10:30 at night and 2:30 in the morning? It’s true. I had no idea there were so many cats in the area, but at night, the population explodes. A cat for every garbage can. We spotted what we thought was my cat, but another cat ran her off before we could get close.

Cue sad trombone noises.

We go out another night, and, lo and behold, we find her—just up the street from my house! Overjoyed, I slide into the yard (hoping I don’t get shot, but again, anything for the cat) and she looks happy to see me.

But not happy enough to rush into my arms.

Oh, no.

She is a cat.

Cats tease.

Every time I get close, she dances away. I’m terrified I’m going to lose her. I crouch on the ground, waiting for the perfect moment. She’s close…..so close….I spring!

Just as a car backfires and she bolts.

So I end up grabbing her by the tail instead.

She has feeling about this.

Feelings she is determined to share.

My sister, by this point, comes close enough to see me and the cat going at it WWF style; at this point she would do anything to be getting this on video, so she can add Dancing in the Moonlight for effect.

It’s a brief struggle that ends with the cat fleeing as I wail her name. Now, I had been worried about her, but friends, I now know for a fact that she is a fighter. She has bitten me so hard by this point that I have a goose shaped lump on the back of one hand, and she’s completely bitten through the thumbnail and deep into the pad on the other hand.

I walk back to the car, feeling like a failure. Just as I’m passing close to the house, a man pops out with the trash. Shakily, I try to explain why I’m in his yard at midnight, wailing like a banshee. He waves it off, backing away with a frozen smile. He practically runs back inside and you can hear the door locking. Weird.

When I get to the car, it hits me.

My hands are drenched in blood.

I mean, it looks like I’ve dipped them in a bucket.

So now there’s another neighbor that may or may not suspect me of being a serial killer.

Broken hearted, I returned home, cleaned my wounds (which would require a tetanus shot and result in swelling so severe that I couldn’t use my hands for three days) and went to bed.

My husband wakes me at 6:00

Normally, this would result in swift execution.

However, he came with good news! Our cat had been outside when he took the dog out, and he managed to catch her!

……without injury, further proving that we live in a harsh, unjust world.

She spent the next two days sleeping and cuddling me like she didn’t try to gut me like a rat.

The neighbors, unsurprisingly, are still avoiding me.

[mookyandlulu]

November 3 2024

Back for blog 2. 

Dear reader,

It is week two of our blog. We are back at our spot, all drinking hot chocolates. Lulu and Abery (friend of blog) were inspired by Mooky, and because there is no more coffee left at the coffee spot. We are generally reminiscing and thinking and looking around. Here are some things we have for you this week:

The Pink Man (studio neighbor) showed up to school for the first time in many days, in his mourning garb (same shirt and pants as always but a darker, more muted, dustier pink). He was also clean shaven for the first time since we have known him, and [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED], and he SPOKE, expressing his deep love for Agnes Martin. This was an absolutely revolutionary occurrence in our lives. We wondered what event took place in the Pink Man's life for this change of heart to occur. We wondered. and Pondered. Alas, we will never know, we can only guess… The blog formally sends our best to Pink Man and hopes for his swift recovery. Love love love to Pink Man. 

In the middle of the week we returned to Our Spot for our weekly Jazz bar night..! Excellent. Everyone except for me ordered a Negroni. I opted for a CLASSY Red Wine. (BECAUSE Lulu does not like the taste of alcohol like a WHIMP!) Whatever, my palette is refined. It came in the CUTEST little wine glass. Stout and filled to the brim. 

Anyways, our spot was packed and the jazz was beginning to pick up. We stood in the center of the backroom for a while we searched for a spot. FINALLY we found the perfect spot in the back corner of the room. All seven of us packed in and we even shared chairs. How sweet. 

Us sharing a chair

Topics of discussion at Jazz night: 

The Rizzler 

Ohio

Skibidi Toilet

Fanum Tax (along with it, twitch streamers)

Mogging 

Glazing (painting & being overly complementary AKA KISSING ASS)

Onceler (& onecest) 

What a night.

SEMINAR

Now I have to backtrack quite abruptly, unfortunately for you, reader. Earlier that day we were at our weekly seminar. Our tutor is a beautiful genius with a beautiful mind, our peers….

The reading that week was about plasticity, we were asked to put up images that responded to the reading on a website. Images like memes, drawings, whateve. I put 3 pictures on the board, one of them was of Kylie Jenner. Because she is so funny and I am her fam(n). Also because a part of our reading talked about how late capitalism rewards people who are more plastic, people who are able to form themselves around certain trends and physically change themselves in service of trends. That's Kylie, no? "NOOOO!!" was the resounding answer from our esteemed peers. My Kylie Jenner screenshot sowed great discourse, in particular with one person who has always been very tortured. His claim against my Kylie Jenner picture was that not everyone can afford plastic surgery, only the megarich can. I was taken aback and shocked by this very much, because I didn't think anyone was negating the claim that richer people get better medical care… BTW, he did not say his points as succinctly as I have just outlined for you, either. But I did a summary because I love you, and because I don't remember what he said word for word. Below are two excerpts from my live reactions during class:

"when I pushed back by suggesting that sometimes people who don't have one billion dollars also get plastic surgery, he said in this gentle patronizing way… "not to be morbid or anything, but many of those people… die…." This set my heart ablaze with hatred."

PLAY

While Mooky was in deep pain over the Kylie Jenner discourse Lulu was chilling… kicking back… writing a play about the events unfolding in front of her. Also. This is me writing this IDK why I went into third person. Here is my play inspired by 1.5 hours of academic excellence: 

THE CURTAINS OPEN 

Students sitting around table quietly mumble as they read out loud 

Upset man in corner holds his face and mumbles louder than the other quiet mumblers 

Two girls in back typing - louder than the readers and the quiet and loud mumblers 

HEGEMONIC - the word appears on TV BIG 

Loud mumbler repeats it outloud, ENUNCIATING

Quiet mumbler repeats it outloud, not enunciating 

Taxonomizing, catalogin, controlling bodies - these are the quiet mumblers notes from class 

Here is the conversation Mooky and I had through our shared google doc during class about my play: 

IM A CAR 

Do you like my play ?

i like it a little bit

Wtf 

Concise.

Back to Mooky's thoughts. 

Here is quote two from when I was angry in class:

"Why say things in so many words when you could say them in less? For the poetry of it all? Not even poetic. Word salad. Word caesar salad. Word caesar salad dressing. They speak like how you mash up anchovies and egg yolks and garlic in a big wooden bowl. A TOTAL MESS. It does not even result in a beautiful creamy emulsified caesar salad dressing. It results in GARBAGE.

That's all. I'm sure there will be more madness to come.

WONDER OF THE WORLD

On Saturday we went to Stonehenge, apparently Not one of the wonders of the world. Abery (friend of blog) thiks its should be. Because it is mystical. 

I like it because its neolithic. 

Mooky thoughts on stonehenge:

I didn't like it because it's dumb. But I did like it I guess, maybe it just wasn't worth the 6 hour round trip journey, just a thought. Before we set off on our journey, Abery (friend of blog) had a dream that we were on the bus all day long until it was dark out. This turned out to be a prophetic dream, because when we finally got back to London it was pitch black darkness. 

(over this sentence, the blog almost came to an end just now.) 

Lulu thoughts on stonehenge:

Stonehenge, at first, was boring to me. Sorry, I just didn't get it. Until…. I took a closer look and the rocks really started to speak to me. It all started with my favorite set of rocks. These rocks closely resembled a chromosome and I LOVED IT. So…. i looked at these Chromosome rocks and what did I think to myself. Well, 1) Great rocks. Good shapes. 2) How long will these rocks be here. So these rocks are like 5,000 years old. Will they be here in another 5,000 years? I became very existential. My heart broke at the thought that my  favorite Chromosome Rocks could disappear! 

So, I posed the question to my friends (and friends of the blog): How long do you think these rocks will be here? Whatever, they said probably forever. But then I reminded them of the possibility of lava&volcano&nuclear winter and etc. and everything changed. I decided the rocks would probably not be here in another 5,000 years due to these very reasons. How sad. Long live the chromosome rock. 

Kong Dog eating spaghetti at stonehenge

EVIL MONKEY

On the drive back from stonehenge, the strangest thing happened. Lulu starting having episodes… attacks… one could say… attacks of the evil monkey. She took Kong dog (friend of blog)'s notebook by force and started doing BABY SCRIBBLES inside it. Kong dog's precious beautiful bound notebook from the school store. Then she started Kicking me with her muddy boots from across the aisle. KICKING like a baby evil monkey. I don't know how we made it through, but we did in the end. We will now begin documenting and tracking her evil monkey attacks as a way of medical notetaking, hopefully coming to a cure for evil monkey some day.

Let me gather my thoughts. Deep breath. In. 

Out. In Out

Okay. So, Yeah I was having fun with my dear friend and seat mate. She whispered in my ear "why don't you draw a picture." 

She knew i was bored and she wanted me to express my thoughts and feelings. Of course, I couldn't deny my dear friend this privilege. So I took her notebook, yes that was true, and I drew a scribble. just Because Mooky does' like my scribble does not mean I was overtaken by evil entity ""evil monkey." This is all very witch hunt isn't it. Let's recall the consequences of the great American(?) witch hunts. Ya. Chew on that. 

LET ME just say that Lulu did not simply do "a scribble". She did scribbles on multiple pages with the most insane speed and efficiency. Imagine a baby on speed. This is what she was doing. Sticking her tongue out and holding the pencil in her fist and Furiously scribbling away. It was crazy to witness.

ACTUALLY NOT TRUE

Anyway. Everyone needs to take a breath. Time for our weekly list.

LIST

Things we liked and places we liked and also did not like this week:

Corsica - did not like! Sucked. We dressed up as Ball (Mooky's cat) and Pippi Longstocking and Steven Yeun. 

Swan - did not like! Didn't deliver as usual. Not one One Direction song played all night. 

Conveyor belt sushi - Loved!!!! So yummy. 

Student bar - liked. Old reliable. 

Our spot - liked! Got free loaves of bread. Loved it. 

Guest lecture - did not like. Horribly boring. We made code during it.

Our secret code

Next week Mooky and Lulu will be forcible separated… How sad. Mooky will be making an expedition to Rome, and Lulu has to go on a boat in Malta. No blog probably, will make up for in the week after, you will hear all about our trips. 

MOOKY SECTION

I don't have that much to say this week, because my mental facilities have been exhausted by other sections of blog. All I have to say is that Scarjo and Colin Jost are like the Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller of our time. To make up for my lack of content, I will attach an image of my cat. I miss him greatly and hope he is doing well in Connecticut. 

Baby ball

LULU Section 

This week I can only remember one dream, and not very clearly at that. I dreamt that Mooky was on a big street and insisted on driving a lime scooter (this was probably derived from Moli telling me IRL she tired to lime bike home after the bar, GR..!!). I told her that it was a dangerous intersection and she should not turn!!!!! Especially on a scooter. That was my dream. 

What else… in Gilmore Girls I am starting to see that Lorelai is the true villain. Hmmmmmm Oh! I saw the Manet painting of the girl at the bar. That was good yep. Ummmmmm that's all for now i am tired. 

P.S. Abery is sick. Yuck! Yuck. Sickness is swiftly moving up from her throat into her noses and ears. Her hearing and breathing have been severely compromised. We will always support our friend, though. So, we are eating her sandwich in order to stand in solidarity with her. 

Love,

Mooky and Lulu

[principiumindividuationis777]

Doeth (Supernatural Drama)

("Doeth" has two meanings: In English, it is an archaic third person form of "to do", but in Welsh, it means "wise".)

"Doeth"

Chapter I

George Root, from a small town in the ceremonial county of Shropshire, England, not far from the Welsh border, was little regarded by his neighbors, which is not to say that they thought poorly of him, but that they thought little about him at all, and such was to his liking.

Root, 42 and for some fifteen years an accountant, would drive a beige car to work and back, take a regular Saturday walk, and otherwise, saw no company of any kind. A frugal man, his wardrobe consisted primarily of hand-me-downs from his father, uncle and grandfather, which Root, having some knowledge of stitching and alterations, had made presentable despite their age.

George's life would have been so routine as to be outside the routine were it not for troublesome neighbors. Oliver S. Allen was pitied by those who vaguely knew him, and despised what few had the misfortune of knowing him well. For purposes of finance and any slight legal difficulties, he spread a story that his wife had died, leaving him alone to take care of his daughter, Kelly.

In truth, Oliver and his wife, Elizabeth, had divorced, with his wife receiving custody of their other daughter, but they were in London, so few locals knew of this. Given the emotional turmoil and an unscrupulous father, Kelly, about thirteen in age, had become much like her father, repeating his bogus tale of Elizabeth's death, and finding particular amusement in pelting George Root's windows with debris to disturb his peace, which the local police dealt with lightly, given that they too believed Oliver's canard.

Root considered contacting a solicitor, but soon, the Allens became the least of his concerns.

Chapter II

Their small town was given a bit of a stir by the arrival of a film producer of some note, the ambitious Terence Mathis, who, hearing rumors that a coven of witches, perhaps dating back centuries or even millennia, lived in the area, wanted to make cinema, or rather, make money, from the legend.

With a loud, colorful outfit that resembled the gaudiest men of the 1970's, the contrast between Mathis and the quiet Shropshire locale could not have been greater, and he was not well received, least of all by Helen Ford, a very religious woman, head of the choir in the town's only church.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Where do the locals say the Simmer lives?" asked Mathis, referring to the name of both the rumored coven and its leader.

"What business have you with the devil, city man?" asked Helen Ford, very sternly.

"Why, profitable business, of course, but there is no devil, and the only magic is the British Pound."

"Turn to God or you will perish. Simmer knows your mind. She has many times placed hexes on our church, and she has powers like the evil one himself."

"Rank superstition, ma'am, but how about you let me take the risk for you? I'll get Simmer away from you for a while."

Noticing telltale signs from Mathis's fingernails, which she had seen in recovering addicts in a larger city, Ford shook her head.

"You're into drugs too, I see. I cannot help you. You are lost."

Scoffing on the exterior but a bit rattled deep within, Terence, on foot, very quickly and against the lights darted out into traffic. As the Fates would have it, at that moment, George Root was driving homeward from accounting, and in his effort to veer away from the reckless Mathis, struck a pedestrian on the sidewalk.

The pedestrian, Agnes Patala, originally Agni Patala, of Indian heritage, beloved among the townsfolk, passed away at 38 of her injuries.

Root was too stunned to express anything. He continued his routine, but now his eyes were dead. Someone, someone preying on the weak, sensed George Root's state of mind and sought to take full advantage of it.

Chapter III

When word reached the Shropshire town that, less than ten miles away, Terence Mathis had passed away of an overdose, Helen Ford again shook her head sadly, telling the congregation that, "She whose name we do not speak took down this wayward soul. Be sober before the LORD."

Helen referred, of course, to Simmer, and soon, dressed in black, with a black star on her forehead, Agnes Amber, the one called Simmer, walked into the town, and everyone, even the police, even the dogs and cats, fled at her approach. A full-figured woman of about five and thirty, she walked briskly until she stood in front of the home of George Root, and Root's pet cat fled, causing Simmer to laugh in a cruel tone.

Simmer would again and again approach Root's home, ring his doorbell, then leave, until finally, Root reluctantly opened his front door.

"I am of the earth. My card."

A card, decorated with pentagrams, read, "Resh Annwn", which read as gibberish to Root but was a mix of Hebrew and Welsh.

"Birch tree, do not fail me…"

Simmer pointed a wand, evidently of birch, at Root's forehead. The next he knew, George, a teetotaler, was suffering the effects of a hangover, and was quite certain that he had been intimate with the stranger.

George managed not to miss work, nor even be late, but his haggard appearance was noted by coworkers as highly unusual for the normally neat, disciplined Root.

Meanwhile, the chaos continued in the once sleepy town: Oliver S. Allen had died, of unknown causes, in his sleep. Helen Ford again asserted before the congregation that it was Simmer's work. Oliver's death, in turn, devastated his already troubled daughter Kelly, who ran away from authorities and became the town's first homeless citizen.

Chapter IV

By this time, George Root, unable to face the outside world anymore, had taken to working remotely, via computer, his sole comfort in life now being his cat, Tao, so named because his fur resembled the Taijitu. George, like Tao, now spent most of his time sleeping.

After three months time, George finally found it in him to step out his front door again and go for the Saturday walk by which townsfolk had one literally set their clocks. The town he saw was not, however, the little town he had known. Police had lost control of the now unruly traffic, and the first to interact with Root was Kelly Allen, who tried but failed to pick his pocket, having become a street urchin and thief.

As George mournfully sauntered onward, a man of considerable stature and dignity, and eccentricity also, being dressed in Victorian gentleman's clothing, seemed to be awaiting him on the sidewalk.

"Do you want something?"

"I know of you and Simmer, but I bring hope."

"What has hope to do with anything?"

"You do not realize the seriousness of what happened," said the strange man, "For Simmer is with child by you, and for reasons you cannot bear to know, the child could be the son of perdition, the scourge of the world."

"You mean the Beast or something?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. But the hope is in this bottle."

The mysterious man took out a bottle of liquor.

"I hardly think that becoming an alcoholic would lessen my troubles, sir."

"No, it is not to drink. It is firewater, an Americanism, or so we must call it if it is to work. You must destroy the bottle, and your child will be like any other, not the one to fear."

With nothing to lose, George Root ambled back home and bid the stranger enter.

Chapter V

"The conditions are not right yet, but if my friends… ah, there it is…"

The stranger seemed pleased that, from the sound on the windows, outside it had begun to rain quite heavily. He directed Root, the latter unsure of what to make of any of this, back outside.

Kelly Allen, dirty and barefoot, was just then running off with a gnome statue from Root's front lawn.

"Pay that no mind. We must focus," said the Victorian visitor, who began to say something in Latin, of which Root understood very little.

The man then directed Root to hurl down and break the bottle of "firewater" on his front walkway, which George did.

"It is done."

"What is your name, incidentally?" asked Root, drenched from the rain and from the "firewater" on his shoes.

"Raphael."

Though George asked nearly everyone he knew, none of them knew who Raphael was, nor did anyone know of a man matching his description, neither among the locals, nor among regular visitors.

Chapter VI

Two years later, George Root, having recovered such that he was back to his old routine, was one day astounded to see who appeared to be Agnes Amber pushing a stroller, but Amber was not Simmer, but a commonplace citizen just pushing a stroller.

Root parked his car, and approached her on foot, trying to settle in his mind what his eyes were seeing.

"Excuse me. Sorry to trouble you, but I believe we may have met," was Root's stumbling introduction.

"I don't think so…" replied a confused Amber.

"You see… there's no easy way to say this: I think I am this child's father."

"That's possible, seeing as how I have no memory of that night, and you do look like him in the eyes at that."

It became obvious to George Root, the more he spoke to Agnes Amber, that she remembered nothing of whoever and whatever she had once been. This, thought Root, must have been the effects of whatever Raphael did.

Little by little, the two, with Agnes as nothing sinister, just a struggling, single mother, reached an understanding, and genetic tests proved that yes, Root was the father of the sixteen-month-old boy in the stroller, Angelo by name.

Agnes Amber wanted to move into George's place, along with Angelo, but Root was reluctant.

Chapter VII

As Root and Amber discussed their future, torrential rain beat on the roof of George's home, as Tao slept soundly. curled up in a corner.

"I want to do the right thing by Angelo, but I am very fixed in my habits. I may not be what you are looking for in a husband."

"Who said 'husband'? We could just live together."

"After what I have been through, if we were to live as if married, I would, for my peace of mind and soul, need to have us under the sign of the Cross."

"All right, then, will you marry me?" asked Agnes in reply.

"I hide nothing. I am not one for intimacy. It is not part of my routine," explained Root, "My one foray into it, which was rather too grotesque to describe, was most unpleasant, but even if not for this, no, I cannot."

With further terms, such as no alcohol on the premises, thus began an unlikely Marriage: Unlikely for George Root, in that he was a likely lifelong bachelor, and unlikely for Agnes Amber, up to then a woman of far from abstemious habits, now living as the Shakers once had.

More improbable still, Agnes Amber was fully accepted now by the townsfolk, who no longer feared her, as only George Root seemed to have any memory of her ever being out of the ordinary.

While the small Shropshire gathering mostly returned to its tranquil norm, Kelly Allen remained homeless and, by seventeen, a feral one, with several crimes of violence by now. She often looked at Amber and Root's home in bitter envy, wishing she could have such a home, and a family once more. To Kelly, the rain George now loved was a curse, given that she lived outdoors, and her mischief always escalated when the weather was less than fair.

On the first anniversary of his Marriage to Agnes, George found, to his astonishment, a photograph, lying on the floor, of the man he knew as Raphael, the one who had, so far as he knew, broken some dreadful spell. Agnes, however, did not recognize the man, nor did anyone else in town. Tao, the housecat, though, seemed, in his own way, to recognize or acknowledge something about the photo, or perhaps the man.

The end.

[billyktothemax]

"I do technically categorize 'feeling pain' as part of being hurt." Billy lifted one hand, but the fingers remained somewhat limp. Sure, there was finer details. It wasn't grievous injury or something like that. But he remembered the pain.

He remembered hearing it. The neighbors screamed in his head, how loud it was. It wasn't until they went to Aunt Agnes's place that it finally stopped.

"I just, I need a minute," Billy said. Just a minute. She could come over then but, just a minute. He pinched his nose. "Mom's dead, I'm not-"

She wasn't replacing anyone. She still had her own spot in his head, his heart. It was just so complicated. He dropped his hand, and finally nodded.

"I think we're both at a loss. I don't think there's books on this." He tried to laugh. "So. You can deal with the 'flare ups'?"

Wanda sighs. “I shouldn’t have told you. That part… nobody got injured. They just felt my pain. They’re fine. I mean I don’t expect Christmas cards any time soon. But… nobody was injured. The government came. But what’s important. Is… your father. And you boys. You’re all still alive. And I was able to… correct the mistakes I made. I didn’t know what I was doing. But I’ve left them alone now. I swear I have.” She attempts to explain.

“I don’t want to crowd you. But can I come over there? I’ll give you space if you need it.” She’s fidgeting with her fingers.

“You’ve been having flare ups with your powers. I can help. I’ve learned how to keep them under control. And I know. You already have a mother. So I’m not asking to take her place. I just… I had to see you. Let you know. That I’m okay. And that if you need anything… I don’t know Billy I’m at a loss here too. I’ve not done this before. But I want to be better for you.”

[burberryfaerie]

welcome home: I dream

steve rogers × witch!avenger!reader

a wandavision au

warnings: fluff, angst (if you squint), wandavison spoilers?

series masterlist

you stare at the coloured helicopter between your slender fingers in surprise, how? you were now certain that someone out there knew of your sly plans to live a quiet, normal life with the love of your life.

"what do they want from me now?" you ask yourself, feeling a hint of fear striking your nerves.

"look, it’s the star of the show." a very loud agnes startled you making the foreign object land on the ground with a small thud.

greetings and small jokes were exchanged. you liked agnes, as loud as she can be sometimes, but she was a total sweetheart with great humour, she even let you borrow señor scratchy—her sweet rabbit, for today's magic act.

you two were then headed to dottie—your neighbor and the hostess of the talent show fundraiser you and steve were a part of—agnes went with the name queen cul de sac describing her haughty neighbor whose attitude she clearly despised.

the meeting with the ladies go by and yes, dottie was in fact queen cul de sac. she was a spoiled primadonna who thought the universe revolved around her. luckily, you sticked with your newest sweet neighbor, geraldine.

being the lady you are, you decided to help dottie with the cleaning, trying to be as nice as possible to the brat while being treated like a trash can on a public street.

"she's playing her part perfectly" you thought.

"i’ve heard things about you. you and your husband." she shoots you a wary look, slowly making her way to you.

"well, i don't know what you've been told, but i assure you i don't mean anyone any harm." you lift your hands up in defence, backing away from the woman who's face starts becoming more and more distorted.

you feel yourself slowly glitching, time going fast and slow, as if you were being sucked in a supermassive blackhole, floods in your mind and glass shards striking your heart.

was this it? was the truth about to be unraveled to the small town of westview? was he going to leave you again?

the radio begins to crackle, breaking you from your trance, a manly voice comes through.

your name was being called

"can you read me over?"

"who is that?" dottie's now watery eyes dig a hole into your pale face. your breath hitches and your eyes widen in disbelief.

they know

the voice from the radio calls your name over and over again.

you glare at the radio momentarily, the scarlet celestials in your eyes widening at the device.

"who's doing this to you? do-"

and then ...

supernova

time suddenly returns to normal. the radio blows a fuse and begins to smoke, cutting off the voice. dottie's hand is covered in glass shards, red liquid gushing out of it.

"dottie!" you exclaim, finding the nearest towel and applying pressure on the wound. only for her to realize that the blood wasn't in black and white.

"pop quiz, how does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? by doing it herself." dottie then storms off leaving your panic-striken in the middle of her place.

"time for a commercial break" you thought.

.

let's have something controversial for the audience, maybe something hydra related?

.

"where on earth could he be?"

your leg tapped impatiently while geraldine put an arm around your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

could he possibly attempt to leave again? no no no, he couldn't right? he couldn't easily es-

"oh is that him?" geraldine's sweet voice interrupted the string of thoughts.

suddenly, a very disheveled steve rogers came barging into the place.

"my little cabbage, you look smashing!" the salty yet sweet petname he used for you rolled of his sultry throat, the void blinding his eyes.

"where have you been?" your hands were at your hips as your brows furrowed together.

he then went on rambling about something that involves horses and shoe horses?

shit, i forgot about him not being capable to be drunk.

the show started in a whirlwind of chaos, steve calling the crowd idiots and having limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe.

okay mr. i'll travel back in time for a girl i kissed once.

it's only been two minutes up that stage and everything has been going horribly wrong.

god do i really need to mind control them into believing our bullshit?

the final act was the cabinet of mysteries, and in an attempt to save the show, you had to transport geraldine into the cabinet.

ironically, the residents of the little town of westview found the stunt you and your husband pulled out there is hilarious! including queen cul de sac!

after pulling out the alcohol from steve's system using your powers, you bid farewell to your neighbors.

now back at the comfort of the rogers' residence, your husband gently kissed your temple.

"you were tremendous, glamour." he let out his usual small smile that has made you fall in love with him.

"as you were illusion." you let out a small chuckle to hide your almost-teary eyes.

"i dont know what i was so worried about. it wasn't so hard to fit in."

"and all we had to do is be ourselves."

"well, with a few modifications."

"and it was all for the children."

"for the children."

wait, now's the prefect time.

"well, i think the children might need some popcorn."

steve mumbled your name in a low voice.

"hmm, what?"

a gasp could be heard from both of you as you stared down at the small bump forming in your stomach.

"stevie, is this really happening?"

"yes my love, it is really happening."

your intimate moment was interrupted by a loud thud as you both groaned in annoyance.

"ugh i swear to god-"

you both rushed outside to the source of the thud.

your heart fell out of your ribcage.

a man covered from head to toe with bees surrounding him?

seriously?

your mind spiraled a thousand thoughts per second as you felt the milky way swirl faster than it should be.

a strong "no" left your mouth and before you knew it, you were rewinded into your living room.

wait, let's go back to colour so the colour anomalies would go unnoticed.

with a little flick from your pointer finger, colors started flowing in your house then spreading your surroundings and beings.

"well, that calls for a re-decoration."