#house of harkness counter

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Day 780

Wanda: *crying* “I’m of no use besides spreading destruction and chaos whether I want to or not!”

Y/N: “Wanda, you’re so much more than that! Everyday you prove it in so many different ways”

Agatha: “Yeah! Like when I got my head stuck in the bannister and you blew it apart!”

Wanda: “But- but- but- That’s DESTRUCTIVE” *sobs*

Y/N, to Agatha: “Would it have killed you to say anything about her caring or creative habits?”

Agatha: “….but the violent ones are my favorite” *tears up*

Y/N: “Good thing I brought the “should be reserved for conversations in therapy” tissues”

[creepling]

NSFW ALPHABET - DIGGER HARKNESS/CAPTAIN BOOMERANG

requested by @sweetnsaltyclussy. template cred @the-coldest-goodbye. mdni banner cred @cafekitsune.

tags. smut - MINORS DNI. digger harkness x gn!reader. switchy digger at times but mostly dom. deals with a lot of things but inolves themes of scentplay, exhibitionism, and rough sex.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Either gets sleepy or can go another round, there is no in-between. On the times he doesn’t pass out (and makes you cum multiple times), he takes a piss, runs you a bath and carries you around the house. When he passes out, he invites you to sleep in his arms. His head anchors your chest, snuggled into you like you’re a pillow, and you're trapped in that position until the morning. 

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tits or ass man? Why not both? This man fucks like his life depends on it. He worships your body and has perfect access to every inch of you when you’re sitting on his lap. His hands grabbing your ass, his mouth kissing, biting, licking your chest and neck. The most taboo body part he likes is the armpits. Inhaling your scent and kissing down your sides, tasting your sweat, the nasty fucker can’t get enough of it.

The most obvious answer for his favourite body part of himself may be obvious, but I don’t think it’s his dick. I say this because he didn’t act smug when Deadshot commented on it. He wasn’t aware it was above average until later in life when he began having sexual partners. He thinks people are overreacting. His favourite part of himself is his chest and arms, mostly due to his tattoos. He’s proud of them and the story they tell. The way to win his heart is by stroking his arms and palming his chest.

But may I suggest your favourite body part on Digger? His nose – riding on it. That’s all I’ll say.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He can shoot a load. It’s thick and white and comes in large quantities. He likes tasting his cum too, especially when kissing you or eating you out after finishing in/on you. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Pantie sniffer!!! It’s an addiction at this point, and his ‘dirty secret’ was outed very early in your relationship. He is not so discreet about it, sometimes asking you directly for your underwear after sex or when you undress for a shower. Bonus points if he can make you cum in them and keep them afterwards.

Another one is that he fantasises about being a swinger. Fucking multiple people at the one time, not knowing who he’s fucking or who is pleasuring him. He was close to doing it during his bachelor days but chickened out at the last minute. He is too afraid to bring it up to you in case you think it’s him saying he’s not interested in you anymore. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Digger has had his fair share of sexual encounters, most of the body count accumulating in his twenties. During his time in Arkham, his sex life fizzled out, but his drive was unrelenting. Being with you is his way of unleashing the desires pent up in him, and he can get a little carried away. He fucks you fast with long, hard strokes, hands taking fistfuls of your hair or imprinting your skin. His endurance is unwithering. Do you think he’s out of breath or needs to slow down? You thought wrong. You have to remind him not to get carried away at the moment, and just one look at you brings him back to humanity. Sorry, love, ‘couldn’t help myself.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Digger is into anything that involves you sprawled out on a surface. That being a kitchen counter, desk, etc. He also likes fucking you against a wall with one of your legs hooked around his arm. Mostly positions that have you facing towards him and beneath him, so your body can take him fully and cling onto him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He is not deliberately humorous, but sometimes his Aussie slang gives you the ick, especially when he refers to his balls as ‘goolies’ or calls his dick a ‘donger’ or ‘old fella’. He tries to avoid them while having sex, but he slips up now and then. 

If you think goolies is bad, we also call ‘em jazz crackers.

Please, just shut up.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is in the in-between when it comes to hairiness. Like this chest hair, the rest of his body hair is light and sparse, giving the illusion he has none at all. His pubic and ass hair is where it’s the most coarse, fading up into a snail trail and light flicks on his ass cheeks. He doesn’t pay much attention to grooming. Since his hair is light, he prefers keeping what is there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He’s no Mr Romantic, but with the right person, he can go slow and steady, take a break from the ‘fucking’ for ‘lovemaking’, and remind himself he is capable of love if he allows himself to. That is only if he can muster it. Growing up in an unloving family, he struggles with displaying affection. When you are intimate with him, it’s as if he forgets how to move or talk. The feeling of his heart growing heavy is alien, and he recoils at first until he feels the warmth of your body, the light kisses on his face. No longer is he driven by a primal sex drive, this time the feeling is everlasting. He slowly eased himself into your nurture, soothed by your words. All you do is repeat, I love you, I love you, but it’s enough to move him to tears. So simple, it’s the bare minimum, but it means the world to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It is second nature to Digger, and it was his only form of pleasure in the Arkham years. One day his hand was not doing it for him, growing so used to it that it became useless. He looked around his cell, thinking about humping the pillow, until he spotted Pinky perched next to him. He lifts his beloved plushie and takes a while to debate his idea. Then eventually said, Fuck it. He only did it one time, and he couldn’t sleep with his beloved unicorn for a week after out of guilt. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He probably has plenty of kinks, but here are the main contenders. Digger gets off at the thought of getting caught. Touching you in public areas where someone can spot you at any time is his dream scenario. If you do get caught, he performs to the peeping tom, teasing you with his words. Looks like someone else thinks you’re hot stuff. 

Digger is a bordering alcoholic and has been known to take drugs. Intoxicated sex isn’t somewhat of a voluntary kink but it comes with being with him. He knows what certain things to take to make sex feel good, and what to avoid that kills his libido.

Dare I say he is probably into roleplaying as well? He loves seeing you in costume, something skimpy and showing your best physical qualities. He doesn’t always commit to the scenario but will always relish how good you look in certain types of clothing. He particularly likes maid dresses, watching you bend over and clean as a form of foreplay.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

He loves car sex. The clumsiness, the restricted space, and having the car parked on a busy street. The steamy windows hide you from the public, but Digger will tease about wiping the condensation for everyone to see you (and do it if you consent). He also likes alleyways. If you go out for a drink and he’s dying to get in your pants, he will pull you into the dark, dingy lane because he can’t help himself. Bonus points if it’s raining, seeing you wet and bothered while he licks the raindrops dripping from your jawline. Getting you on your knees to suck his dick, your body concealed by a trashcan so you’re not seen by passers-by. The dirtier, the better.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Digger knows he is really into someone he likes their smell. He appreciates perfumes and colognes, but it is natural scents that turn him on. An artificial scent mixed with your musk, sweetening it for his pleasure. It urges him to taste you, bury his face into the crook of your neck and suffocate his senses.

He will also be turned on at the mere fact that someone is into him. If he can sense you getting flustered around him he will hound you like a dog. Face it, you want to see what old Digger’s all about. If you are submissive, he will be persistent, doing anything to push you over the edge and admit your feelings for him. He will take enjoyment out of how shy you get, showering you with compliments and become aroused as you unwind beneath him. He is also partial to being a power bottom, toying with your sexual confidence, and doing anything to get your attention. No matter his stance, if he’s turned on, he will always have that shit-eating grin on his face.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Digger outright refuses to hurt you, even if he has his loopholes. He likes spanking, biting, and roughhousing, but he will not slap, punch or tie you up. This is deep-rooted into his childhood, and some of the abuse has embedded into his kinks, but there are still actions that cause flashes of bad memories. He also doesn’t like to see you cry. If you don’t give him the safe word, he will continue but go slow and soothe you, kissing the tears and stroking your face. It’s alright, love, I’ve got ya. Cheer up for me, lemmie see that pretty smile.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He finds enjoyment on both sides. Giving is when he can have you at his mercy, liking the way you flush and squirm in his mouth and hands. He gets a kick out of making you orgasm and holds it against you, being all smug about it. Receiving is when all the attention is on him and he gives you all the praise, letting you know how well you take his cock, and how good you make him feel. He loves training your mouth for his massive size, encouraging you to take as much as you can, holding your face in place as he drools at the cock-hungry look in your fluttering eyes. That alone is enough to have him finish in your mouth, letting his hot cum stream down your throat and swallow every last drop.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, for sure. His roughness bleeds through depending on the day. If he’s had a rough time, or a robbery goes wrong, or he hasn’t seen you in months, he fucks you like it’s his last day on earth.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He pretends it’s not his thing, but it is definitely his thing. He is sex-driven, especially when you are in range. It is very common for both of you to disappear from a mission or a social setting just to release tension. Stroking his bulge or flashing a part of your body is enough for him to pull you aside and fuck his cum into you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Consider Digger a ‘Yes Man’ when it comes to experimenting. This man will try anything that doesn’t exceed his limits. He is the one to suggest more than you are. Some of his suggestions you’re convinced he has invented himself, and some are so bizarre you don’t know if he is joking or not. Better to try everything at least once, is his motto.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

If you make it certain you are one hundred per cent into him, Digger can last a whole night. There have been times were he exceeds you in rounds and (depending on your mood) you let him fuck you on the brink of sleep. He has Superman levels of sexual stamina and it can be difficult to match his energy, but he is more than satisfied to have another orgasm at the mere sight of you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Digger is partial to a cock ring, more for convenience. It comes in handy for days when he wants to edge himself and make the orgasm more pleasurable. If you have toys, he is more than happy to use them. He would be very invested in which ones you own, and give you new ones to try out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Digger is the teasing master when it comes to words, taunting you with anything dirty that comes to his mind. In action, he gets too excited and wants to make you cum when you’re ready to, and fuck another one out of you. When you are teasing him, he acts like it's torture, but he is so into it. If you pull your hand away from his dick just as he is about to finish, he is almost screaming but gets too turned on. He loves the feeling of the build-up and will treat you like a brat or plead with you to keep touching him. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Certified grunter. He sounds like an animal. His voice grows hoarse matched with heavy breathing. In downtime moments like oral, his sounds are more like groans with sly chuckles.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

On more than one occasion Digger has suggested a gangbang or cucking with the other members of the suicide squad. He has a plan in his head of the routine and how it would go down. If it was you and Harley, he wants to cuck and watch you fuck. If it’s with Deadshot or King Shark, he would want a threesome/gangbang. When Digger brings this up he passes it off as a joke, but you can tell it’s something he wants to do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The canon speaks for itself. In my opinion, however, Digger is just above average, around 6-7 inches. He makes up the rest in girth. Also, the canon suggests he is not a ‘grower, not show-er’ type. What you see is what you get.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Inhumanly high. The man needs to be sterilised.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Considering he has come multiple times like he usually does, he is falling asleep right away. He is not the post-nut clarity type because he manages to pass out before that stage. He saves the pillow talk for the morning.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (3)

Falling Asleep On The Job

Wanda Maximoff X Reader

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 3- W/c 3.6k

Falling Asleep On The Job

The cup of coffee warmed your hands while you sipped from it slowly, listening to Natasha as she talked about the class she just escaped from, Professor Harkness being her usual bitchy self according to your best friend.

"But at least I got to stare at Maria for almost an hour," she mumbled at the end, a chuckle leaving you at the amazement in her eyes when she thinks back to the blue-eyed beauty. "Anyway, enough about me, how's the babysitting job going?" You smile at the thought of your job, the last two weeks of looking after the boys passing like a blur, everyday full of fun and silly adventures.

"I love it," you sigh out contently, finger tracing the rim of the coffee cup, "The twins are perfect for me and actually really fun to play with." Natasha laughs with you, teasing you about finding better friends than her.

"What are their parents like?" she splits her chocolate chip muffin, handing you half knowing you wanted to have some without even needing to ask.

"Their father is well...He's a bit of a dick," you answer honestly, thinking back to every encounter you've had with the man. Vision is always either blunt, cold or dismissive of you and is extremely keen on leaving the house as soon as you arrive. Natasha merely grins at the small scowl that appears on your face while thinking of the man, taking a sip of her own coffee.

"What about their mother?" she asks, and you feel a slight blush form on your cheeks, "Oh so the mother is nice then," she jokes, you taking a bite of the muffin and ignoring her comments. "Oh, come on Y/n, spill."

"Fine," you grumble, fingers tapping against your cup now, a subconscious thing you do when you're happy. "Wanda is just amazing," you ignore the insinuating look your best friend is giving you and continue, "She is so kind and caring all the time, makes sure I'm alright and is just a perfect mother to the twins."

"It seems like you finally have a crush," she teases, knowing you're not the kind to fall for many people, too scared of the consequences.

"It's not a crush," you dismiss, taking a bite of the muffin, Natasha chuckling at how quick you were to deny her comment. "I can't have a crush on her anyway, she's married with children in case you forgot."

"That doesn't stop you from being able to like her," she counters, and you just retort to stealing her half of the muffin to shut her up. "Cyka," she mutters, you smile innocently at her with your mouth full of her treat. "You can pay me for that."

"No, I won't," you joke back, "You love me too much to charge me for a muffin." She shakes her head at you, laughter tumbling out of your mouth as she grumbles something else in Russian. You simply sit there looking at each other for a few moments, basking in the comfortable silence before she speaks up.

"How's everything at home at the moment?" her tone is not pushing as she knows it's a sensitive topic for you. Your gaze flickers down to the table, staring at the wood patterns, each swirl and darker tone standing out to you.

"The usual," you say, shrugging your shoulders and taking a sip of your coffee again, the warm liquid helping with the lump forming in your throat. "I haven't spoken to her properly for a few days, she's either at work or passed out so..." Natasha moves to sit next to you in the booth of the cafe, letting you lean your head on her shoulder as she can tell you don't want to talk about it anymore.

"The offer is always there, Y/n," she softly says, "You know Melina and Alexie would love to have to stay at ours," you smile at her but shake your head.

"I can't just leave her Nat, I know she's not perfect but I'm all she has," her arm then wraps around you, letting the conversation die out when you rest your head back against her shoulder and stare out the window. Your eyes follow the people passing by, poking Natasha's ribs and making her look when a dog like Fanny walks past with its owner.

"I can't believe you guys let Yelena name the dog," you chuckle out, Natasha groaning as you always tease her about this.

"It's her dog Y/n," she mumbles, "And how was I supposed to know she'd name it Fanny Longbottom." You bark out a laugh at the name, unable to help yourself and almost falling over when she playfully pushes your head off her body.

"Cyka," you say, trying to copy her Russian but your pronunciation is not the best, making her laugh. Natasha goes to say something in return but is interrupted when your phone starts to ring. The name Wanda flashes across your screen, the redhead smirking at the way your lips tug up into a small smile.

"Hello?" you answer the phone, Natasha moving back to the seat across from you and continuing to drink her coffee.

"Hey Y/n," Wanda's voice rings through the phone as you place it near your ear to talk to her, not putting in on speaker as you just know Natasha would try something while you speak to the older woman, "I know we said you could have today off, but Vision has just called me saying he has some emergency meeting he needs to attend to." You listen and look over to your best friend who's looking at you curiously, "Is there any chance you could look after the twins until he comes home? I'm sorry, I know how out of the blue this is and understand if you can't."

"What time would I need to be there?" you mouth 'babysitting' to Nat, her nodding her head in understanding, smiling at the apologetic look on your face.

"As soon as you can," you plan the journey in your head, trying to figure out what buses you would need to get to reach their house quickly.

"I can do it but it might take me a while to get there depending on the buses," Natasha grins at you before making a whipping gesture at you, a pained noise escaping her when you kick her shin under the table. "What time would Vision or you be back?"

"Well, I'm currently out of Westview on a work trip and just coming back from my parents so I won't be back until after twelve, Vision on the other hand said around six or seven."

"That's fine then, I'll start heading over there now," Natasha helps you put away the work you two were doing before you both got side tracked.

"Thank you, sweetheart," A smile takes over your face at her term of endearment before you both say goodbye.

"I'm sorry Nat-"

"Don't apologise," she cuts you off. "Go and have fun with your other friends," she jokes, giving you a hug and letting you get on your way to the Maximoff's residence.

***

Panting slightly, you ring the bell and try and catch your breath, running all the way from the bus stop as it started to rain, your hair and jumper now drenched. Within seconds, the door opens, an impatient and unhappy Vision standing at the doorway.

"You're late," is all he says before grabbing his own coat and making his way out of the house. You don't even bother making a comment to him, accepting the fact that he's definitely got something shoved so far up his arse that makes him act like a dick.

You take your shoes off, not wanting to trample dirt and water into the home and walk into the living room to see Tommy playing Mario Kart and Billy sat on the sofa watching his brother, seemingly lost in thought with a sad expression.

"Hey mini Maximoffs," you call out, slicking your hair back and deciding that the warmth of this house will quickly dry it. Tommy's face lights up at the sight of you, Billy only smiling a little making you concerned. You drop your backpack off at the table before sitting with Billy, wrapping an arm around him and letting him lean against you. "What's wrong Billy?" Your voice is soft as you speak to him, his shoulders shrugging as he stays quiet, his gaze lowering to the floor. "Come on," you stand up, motioning your head for him to follow you while his brother is preoccupied with his game.

You walk to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water while Billy takes a seat at the kitchen island, placing his hands on his cheeks as he looks at you.

"I can tell something's bothering you, ok?" you say calmly, sitting next to him and mirroring his body language, arm propping your head up. "I'm not going to make you tell me if you don't want to, but I just want you to know you can talk to me if you need to, alright?" He slowly nods at you, pondering for a minute while his mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words he wants to say.

"Is...Is it bad for a boy to like drawing?" his voice is quiet while he looks away from you, fingers playing with one another.

"What? Of course it's not," your brows furrow at his question, "Boy can draw if they want to, anyone can." You try to explain him looking back at you with a confused look.

"But my dad said boys shouldn't like to draw," You see red for a second, imagining Vision telling Billy false things, especially when it involves something he likes. "He said it's a waste of time and I should like things like science or sports."

"Your father is wrong, Billy," you don't want to go against one of your bosses but when it comes to crushing this little boy's heart you don't care. "Just because you're a boy that doesn't mean you have to like certain stuff, you can do whatever you want as long as it makes you happy," you see a smile starting to form on his face again. "Also, as long as it's legal," he lets out a chuckle at that.

"Can we draw some things now?" hope starts to surface in his eyes and who were you to deny him.

"Of course we can, go and grab your things and bring them into the living room," he runs off to his room while you go back to where Tommy was.

Soon enough, you have Billy drawing at a small table while you play against Tommy at Mario Kart, swallowing your pride and letting him win a few games to make him cheer. When the track Rainbow Road comes up, you pull a face, remembering how horrible this track was when you would play it with your father.

"I'm so going to beat you Y/n," Tommy teases, sitting upright and focusing hard on the screen as the countdown shows.

"Bring it on Maximoff," you retort, a competitive nature overtaking you. The game is neck and neck as you both complete your laps, the race coming down to the wire as you take the lead. Just as you're about to celebrate, a red shell hits your car, your character spinning out while Tommy's drives past and wins the race, jumping up off the sofa in joy.

"I win!" he exclaims, sticking his tongue out at you making you laugh and roll your eyes.

"Cheap move Maximoff, cheap move," you grumble, placing down the controller and walking over to Billy, checking how his drawing was before making your way back into their kitchen.

Your eyes check the clock, seeing it just gone past half six and decide to make their dinner as you don't want Vision to come back soon and complain. Flicking through cupboards and the fridge, you decide the only thing you're going to have time to make is a simple dish of chicken nuggets and chips.

While preparing the food, as in putting in on a tray to put in the oven, the twins come in to ask what's for dinner, their eyes lighting up at the dinosaur shaped nuggets that you were putting in to cook.

"Thank you, Y/n," the twins say at the same time, freaking you out a little but you brush it aside as you hand them both their plates and sit with them, eating your own plate of food. Biting the head off the poor dinosaur you chose to eat, your eyes widened at the random questions that were thrown your way from either twin. You tried your best to answer them, the question of 'how were we made' making you choke on your chip before you stuttered out that you didn't know.

After the eventful conversation finished, you let the boys digest their food before sending them for their showers and telling them to get dressed in their pyjamas. Billy came down in his red and navy set of pjs while his brother came down in a matching sky blue and green set. The three of you then sat watching one more episode of a cartoon they were watching, you check your phone to see the time and frowning when you see it's half eight. You replied to the few messages Natasha sent, her asking you about your 'dreamy boss' and teasing you more before you decided it was time to get the boys in bed.

"Thank you for tonight Y/n," Billy says while you tuck him into bed, making sure he was snug in his duvet before pulling away.

"No problem, Billy," you whisper, "Remember if you ever want to talk, I'm also here for you." He nods and lets you go over to his brother, tucking him in and chuckling when he starts to say he's too old for it.

"I guess I'll just go now then," you tease, slowly walking away from him, his eyes widening.

"Wait no," his voice a little panicked, "You can still tuck me in if you want to." Chuckling, you move back to tuck him in, ruffling his hair a little before saying goodnight to them both and heading downstairs.

You let out a tired sigh, glancing over to the clock and seeing it was past nine, a little confused as to where Vision was. You send Wanda a message, asking if she knows when Vision will be home and decide to try and finish some of the schoolwork that's in your bag.

Psychology work stares back at you while you glare at the paper, the abundance of information you're meant to be learning not wanting to stay in your mind. Flashcards are soon filled with notes as you try and learn the topic for the test you will be having in Mr Wilson's class in a few days, your eyes growing heavy while you look over the notes once again. Before you know it, you're placing your head down on your arms, resting your eyes for a minute that soon becomes longer than intended.

***

Just after midnight, the front door of the Maximoff residence opens to reveal a very drained Wanda, her hand running through her auburn locks as she leans against the door after closing it. A tired and defeated sigh leaves her lips, exhausted after the long drive from her work trip and ready to just climb into bed and let sleep overtake her.

With the last bit of energy she has, she pushes herself off the door, waking up when she sees the sight of your shoes near the entrance and walks through her home. She tosses her phone onto the side table, the item useless as it died a few hours ago, and searches for you or her husband. Wanda pauses when she sees you, confused as to why you're still here but also concerned as you're slouched over the table, the position definitely going to give you a sore back.

"Sweetheart," she whispers, gently rubbing up and down your back, trying to stir you awake. In response, you just let out a sleepy noise, Wanda's face softening at how peaceful you look, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted as gentle, quiet snores leave your lips. "Come on dear, wake up for me," she tries again, shaking you a little bit to try and get you to wake up.

"Mum?" you murmur, waking up gradually and moving to rub your eyes, back cracking as you stretch.

"Not your mum sweetheart," you hear a voice say, not comprehending it for a moment before your eyes widen when you realise who it is.

"Wanda, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to fall asleep-"

"Hush dear it's alright," she says softly, "It's past midnight, if you weren't asleep, I would have been worried." You flush at the way she's looking down at you, her hands still running up and down your back soothingly. "Is Vision not home?" she asks, her tone more serious than before making you blink your eyes to try and fully wake up.

"Uh, no?" you look away from her trying to think, not noticing how her jaw clenches at the news. "He wasn't home before I fell asleep, that was probably around ten?" you look at her with a shy look, still embarrassed that you fell asleep at their table. "I messaged you earlier about asking where he was, did you not get it?"

"My phone died a while ago dear," she explains, moving her hands to your shoulder and giving it a gentle and assuring squeeze. "I'm sorry you had to stay here so long," she sighs out, moving to sit next to you, her hands moving off you making you miss her touch.

"I didn't mind it," the tone of your voice genuine, "But I am so tired," you honestly say, stretching once again. "Morning classes are practically child abuse," you mutter, her laughing and remembering how she felt all those years ago when she was in your position.

"Oh god, they were absolute hell," she reminisces on her college life, thinking back to the early mornings and grumpy lecturers. "What did you have this morning?" Despite both of you being so exhausted, Wanda found it easy to talk with you, wanting to stay up a little longer just so she could find out more about you.

"Psychology," you practically groan, "Mr Wilson decided to set another test, so I've been trying to learn it all, but it just won't stay in my brain." Wanda can hear the hint of stress in your voice and places her hand on top of yours, your eyes not meeting hers and skin feeling warm wherever she touches.

"Hey, look at me," your gaze immediately catches her, her green eyes almost overwhelming you with care, "Don't try and force yourself to learn things otherwise you'll just burn out."

"That doesn't matter, I need to pass this test-"

"Don't say that," her hand squeezes yours, "You need to take care of yourself, ok?" You refuse to meet her gaze once again making her speak up, "Can you do that for me Y/n?"

"Yeah," you whisper, giving her a small smile, "Thank you."

"No need to thank me dear," her tone motherly, "Now, do you want to crash here in a guest room?"

"I need to get back home," you considered her offer for a moment but remembered your morning class tomorrow, well today as it was early in the morning, and did not fancy travelling to the college from here. "I just need to find out what buses are still running-"

"I'm not letting you get a bus at this time," her voice leaves no room for arguing, "What would your mother say if I let you do that?"

"Probably nothing," you mutter, Wanda not able to hear the comment. "I need to get home though."

"I'll take you home then," she stands up, moving to grab a glass of water to drink before she drives you back.

"What about the twins? You can't leave them alone," as soon as the words left your lips the front door opened, Vision entered the house, face paling at the look Wanda was giving him, her head tilting to the side slightly.

"Vision can stay with them while I take you home," she states, Vision lowering his head as he walks up the stairs of the house, Wanda helping you put all your things away and walking you to her car. You climb into the red vehicle, Wanda following suit and motioning for you to enter your address in the sat nav.

The drive is only about twenty minutes but the whole journey passed in a blur, you just enjoying the company of the older woman. She assured you many times that she didn't mind taking you home, wanting to make sure you got there safely. During the drive you occasionally glance over at her, admiring her side profile and noticing how her fingers drummed against the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing.

"This is it," you say, a little embarrassed, your apartment block is nothing in comparison to her house. "Thank you once again Wanda for the ride," you turn to her, a smile gracing your lips.

"No problem, dear," her eyes look over at your building before returning back to you, "Have a good night, Y/n," she calls out when you start to climb out of the car, grabbing your backpack from the backseats.

"You too Wanda," your hands hold your bag strap, Wanda's heart melting how cute you look before shaking the thought away. "Get home safely," you tease, copying her words from whenever she walks you to the door after babysitting.

"See you soon Y/n," she says while you open the door to the building, putting her car in reverse and heading back home with you on her mind.

---

As a brit, Yelena naming the dog Fanny will forever been funny

I hope you enjoyed :)

Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes <3 I really appreciate them!

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

[https-wildchaos]

Oooh because you have asked for asks I’ll word vomit an idea I had!

Meeting boomer in a bar and he’s just his cocky self and tries to challenge you at pool or darts and he just keeps losing, then cheering him up with buying him a drink lol

a/n;; OH MY GOD HI!! I LOVE UR ART TY FOR THE ASK OH EM GEE YES YES AMAZING!!

————————— • 🪃 • ——————————

ss;ktlj captain boomerang / george "digger" harkness X male reader

“ Losers Round ”

It was a normal day for you, nothing out of the usual night routine of going to the nearby bar round your house after a long day of working. You entered the bar, greeting the barmen. " the usual? " you nodded with a smile, looking around to see the other folks on the bar counter until you find a new face, a blonde man around your age looking like hr just came out of the costume shop. you felt your social battery recharge, wanting to know the old looking stranger.

— "hey." you tried greeting him, the man raised an eyebrow, turning towards you giving a small nod before taking a long swig of his beer bottle. "you new round here?" you asked him before he opened his mouth to reply: "yeah, name's digger, yours?" he asked you back. "its m/n... had a wild day today? you seem beaten." you'd say, the barmen handing your favorite drink to you. you'd take a long swig before he looks at you with a hint of annoyance as he let out a scoff.

— "ya sure mate? i can prove you otherwise" digger said as he stared at you with a pair of furrowed eyebrows, taking a sip of his drink. "how exactly are you gonna do that?" you asked curiously before he snickered. "ill beat you at every game on this bar" he replied proudly before you let out a laugh. "are you sure? im known as the best player on this bar." he nodded excitedly, ready for a challenge. You both got up ready to compete.

after losing the first round of pool he would scoff, looking at the pool balls angrily "you're just lucky mate!" which he was quickly proved wrong after the few awkwardly short rounds of pool. — "darts! let's do darts, I know for a fact my aim gotta be better than yours you mutt!" he said angrily before you laughed: "ha! alright dude, whatever you say." you guys played darts and well... he proved to be a sore loser after the 5 rounds he lost.

he muttered angrily before sitting back on the bar seat. — "it's some spell you put on me!" he said, looking back at you while you sat by him. "well I've played these for a long time digger, i know you're good at something else." you tried to reassure him, wanting to have him calm down a bit. "yeah alright." he replied, leaning into the corner, tapping his finger on the wood. "listen, what about i give you a beer and we just talk instead, eh?" you'd say to him before he sighed, nodding in defeat.

"barmen!" youd call out with a smile, wanting to know about your new friend

————————— • 🪃 • ——————————

[deathbecomesthem]

The Piano Man

Part 2

Older!Eddie Munson x Reader | 1K

This is something. It's possible there will be more tomorrow. For now, I leave you with this teeny bit of a thing that I wrote while thinking about home.

The hotel is a ghost town, and it has been since the snow hit. Unlucky you missed your last chance at escape because you believed the weather report. You should have trusted the folks on their mass exodus from the tiny Berkshire village. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be on the road to your mother’s house last night. The trip was an impulsive decision. The day that Russ left, you turned in your request for the vacation time you’ve been hoarding for the last several years, and hit the road the following day. Your apartment was too quiet, and you remembered visiting this town when you were a child. The mountains are a dream this time of year, fresh snow capped peaks hiding over every hill. Mother Nature foiled your escape, and left you with the ghosts of regret to haunt you in the eerie stillness of the snow covered landscape.

Now, it’s Christmas Eve, and you’re sitting at the hotel bar with the elderly bartender as your only company. The martini is passable, it’ll do its job anyway. You’re picking at the tray of cheese and crudites, the only food available from the kitchen with no staff past 6 in the evening, when you hear it from across the big room. 

Like a punch in the gut, the tinkle of piano keys echo through the space. O Little Town of Bethlehem. You close your eyes and listen to the song without turning around to see the pianist that’s celebrating their own private Christmas concert. A small part of you thinks you’ll see your grandmother sitting at the baby grand in the corner. Even now, with the taste of gin still on your tongue, you can almost imagine that you’re sitting in the first pew of your grandfather’s church on a Christmas Eve candlelight service so many years ago.

“Carl,” you draw the attention of the bartender behind the counter to you as the mystery pianist begins a new song - Hark the Herald Angels Sing, “can I get another martini please?”

He nods his head and makes your drink. When he sets it in front of you, you pick it up, along with the square black napkin underneath the base, and begin to make your way towards the sound of the music from the corner.

You do not expect to find a man, let alone a man with long black hair and tattoos on his neck and fingers, with his eyes closed while his hands dance along the keys in front of him. Of course, his long fingers are made for the instrument in front of him, and they are clever. You think maybe under other circumstances, you’d see him at one of the fancy piano bars Russ used to like to take you to. He’d fit right in there. 

When his eyes open, he finds you standing next to him, glass in your hand. He smiles and nods his head in a bow before asking, “any requests? Christmas music only, please. ‘Tis the season and all that.”

“O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” you answer without hesitation, “and then you should join me at the bar on your break.” 

He nods and closes his eyes, giving you the opportunity to watch him in private. His neck is long, and it delights your eyes to see the way he moves his body while his fingers pull the song from the keys in front of him. He’s not playing a song, he’s discovering it, he’s pulling it from the piano and breathing life into it.

After a couple of beats, you reluctantly turn and make your way back to the bar, hoping he’ll join you at some point. You’re willing to sit and wait. You’ll stay there until he either sits down next to you, or leaves. 

Three more songs, ghosts from your childhood, float through the room. With your eyes closed, you are that child in knee high socks and a red bow in your hair. You can almost smell the spiced cake baking in your grandmother’s kitchen. You can’t even be sorry that he hasn’t joined you, this stranger is giving you the gift of memories long forgotten. You wonder if he’s searching for his own past in the songs he’s playing.

The timing is perfect, you drain your second marini as his clever hands run along the keys for a final time. O Silent Night, how true that is. The snow outside absorbs every sound, and the cars are all sitting under several feet of snow. You don’t remember another time when things were this silent. 

“Is this seat taken?” The stranger, soon to be friend, takes a seat without waiting for your approval. A neat whiskey, double, and another martini for you, and you’re both well on your way to a new kind of holiday memory in the frozen New England hideaway.

—

The ink on his skin, jet black marks on his neck and thighs, gray on his arms and chest, shine under the bright moonlight that filters through the big window of his hotel room. The fresh snow on the ground outside makes that moonlight radiate in a way that can only be seen during this time of year. 

The snow soaks up the small sounds that escape your lips while your bodies seek pleasure and refuge on that frigid December night. The clever fingers that danced along the keys of that baby grand piano move along your skin. Those fingers find the keys of your body, and bring out the songs that are hidden deep inside of you. You are his instrument, and he plays and plays and plays until sweat slicked and spent, you sleep under the warm covers of the hotel bedspread.

[marilynthornhilllover]

For kinkmas Agatha Harkness smut please 🫣

Kinkmas fanfic: #4

Good girl

Agatha harkness x fem!reader

Warning: arguing, relationship problems, hurtfull words, indecent language,Agatha being mean and full of shit,smut, fingering, Cummings, make up sex, praise kink, mommy kink if you squint, slight overstiumlation.

The elevator dinged as you arrived on the main floor of your wife's company. You held your phone in one hand and her lunch in the other. Agatha had an unexpected important meeting to attend early this morning which caused her to rush out of the house with an empty stomach - obviously that does no one any good especially when they have a long day ahead.

So you promised her you'd bring her lunch about an hour before you head off to work, that way you'd eating lunch with her but it'd be breakfast for you. You walked up to the lady at the front desk with a polite smile.

" hi good morning! This isn't really my thing, showing up at a office so early but I'd like to see Ms harkness please" you spoke as you placed your bag on the counter. The lady smiled and nodded as she picked up the phone and dialed a number, she waited a while before dialing again. She sighed as she placed the phone back down in its holder.

" sorry ma'am but I'm afraid Ms.harkness is busy and probably can't answer the phone right now" she spoke firmly but her tone of voice showed no attitude or rudeness. You pouted as you looked around the room for another option before the lady spoke up again.

" If you tell me your name I can give you a security pass and you just go up" You turned to her with a huge grin and nodded.

" I'm y/n harness, her wife I'm just here to drop off her lunch and i'll be staying a while" the lady let out a small "oh" as she returned your smile.

" Well I suppose you can go up" you gaved her a small smile before picking up your belongings and reentering the elevator. The ride was long yet so short. With a soft ding again the doors opened and you stepped out into the huge work room where everyone was either standing, walking around or sitting clicking away at their keyboards trying to get whatever work that was assigned finished.

You turned a couple heads as you walked down the isle to your wife's office. You stopped in your tracks as you saw Agatha emerge from her office with her phone at her ear and her laptop in hand. You quickly walked up to her as she entered an empty conference room, where her meeting will be held later.

You knocked on the door to announce your arrival as you entered. She turned to face you and gestured for you to close the door.

" what do you mean you'll be here in an hour?! - no I don't give a shit if your taxi broke down!..... look be here in 20 minutes tops or your fucking fired!" She spoked as she hanged up the phone. If you were being honest if your boss shouted at you like that or didn't even have the courtesy to listen you'd probably only show up to work to give them the middle finger before quitting on the spot, but lucky for you that persons boss just so happened to be your grumpy wife.

She threw her phone onto the desk with a loud thug as she sat and opened her computer.

" what do you want y/n" she asked in a harsh and cold tone, you were a bit taken back to be honest. Even though she was having a rough morning that didn't give her the right to talk to you like shit and that was something you both had agreed on - she promised she'd never do since the last time she did it resulting in you breaking down in tears.

When you didn't respond she looked up at you in rather a aggressive way, it's safe to say if looks could kill you'd be dead. She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes at you, her way of telling you to speak up or get lost.

" you need to drop that attitude, and plus give that poor guy a chance if his taxi broke down his taxi broke down-" she slammed her hands on the desk making you jump as she held the bridge of her nose, possibly trying to regain her composure. She wasn't- she wasn't losing her cool with you was she? No, nah, she can't be for real.

" look, I don't need anyone making a fool of me and wasting my time and I certainly don't need my pathetic wife showing up at work telling me how to treat my employees because she simply has nothing better to do" you were utterly shocked, your mouth was open and you were positive that your jaw had dropped further than the lost submarine.

The worst part she didn't even look as if she was sorry, or as if she regretted it. She just scoffed at your surprised facial expression and proceeded to type away on her computer.

" here I was bringing you lunch and wanting to have a decent conversation with you wife but no, you have to be a bitch" you placed the lunch in front of her and backed up crossing your arms.

You didn't know what could have upset your wife in such way or what is was you said that could have offended her other than the work bitch that she uses every day but she got up and threw the bowl of food across the table causing it to make a loud crashing sound and making everyone in the office sprint to their feet to see what the commotion was.

All eyes were on the both of you on the other side of the room since the blinds were down and the entire room was made of glass and to make matters worse the room was not sound proof.

" you know what y/n, you can take your ' lunch ' and 'decent conversation' and shove it up your ass" she spoke before walking out of the room and down the hall back towards her own personal office.

" someone get that cleaned up I have a meeting in less than an hour for christ sake!" She shouted before slamming her door making everyone jolt. You were frozen between reality and what just happened. Surely that had to be a dream. She didn't just shouted at you infront of her entire staff, embarrassed you, humiliate you and insulted you. If this situation didn't scream "divorce her!" You didn't know what would. You picked up your bag, carefully not to make the shards of glass of the floor to cut your feet.

You avoided everyone's intense gaze as you walked out. Tears forming as you heard whispers, or maybe it was your imagination, but after what just happened who wouldn't talk. You were beyond embarrassed. You wanted to disappear or worse lock yourself in a closet and survive off ice cream and Gatorade for the rest of your life.

You walked out of the building at the speed of light, not even saying goodbye to the front desk lady. Surly you were the talk of the day now and Agatha sure as hell didn't give a shit. What could have made her reacted like that? You didn't give two flying fucks she owed you a apology.

You got into your car and drived home. To get your mind off things you decided to go to a club with your friends to release some steam, Turing off your phone in the process.

After you arrived back home you saw Agatha sitting on the couch drinking red wine as she was clearly not paying any attention to the movie that was playing on the TV. As the door opened and closed her eyes flicked up to meet your gaze. You scoffed as you placed your bag down onto the kitchen counter as you began to take off your shoes and jacket. She should be lucky you even spared her a glanced, if you could ignore her entire fucking existence you most definitely would.

Agatha got up and placed her wine glass down on the coffee table as she slowly approached you. A rather apologetic look plastered across her face.

" y/n darling can we talk about what-" you pushed passed her not allowing her to finish her sentence as you made your way into your shared bedroom, her following you like a lost puppy.

" talk about what Agatha? That your full of shit or how you humiliated my infront of almost hundred people. which should we first talk about?" She looked down bitting her lip before she looked back into your eyes that were on fire with several different emotions. Sadness being the most evident one, she could tell that you were hurt by her actions today and that whatever she says now can potentially add to your pain.

" I just wanna apologize for the way i-" again you allowed her no time to speak.

" apologize for what! Don't apologize babe I don't want you to bruise your perfect ego" you scoffed as you slammed the door to the bathroom in her face locking it in an instant.

" fucking unbelievable" you muttered under your breath. She knocked on the door several times but you continued to un dress and do you regularly night time routine. After taking a shower you wrapped your towel around your body and went out to see her sitting on the edge of the bed looking altruistic.

" please my love, let me atleast tell you why -"

" why you threw my bowl of food across the room and told me to shove it up my ass?" You sarcastically asked huffing putting your hands on your hips. That was your signature defense stance. With that she stood to be feet and tried approaching you but you took a step back. She sighed as she spoke up again.

" Yes would you stop interrupting me and let me fucking apologize?"

" I don't need your fucking apology" you shouted, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

" Yes you do because I can see that your hurt and what I did was wrong"

" wow, the egoistic bitch actually gives a shit about people, one including her wife" you scoffed as you walked towards your closet.

" Oh my lord y/n what is wrong with you" she acquired.

" leave me alone" you replied.

" let me-" she tried grabbing your arm as you walked pass her put you pulled it away.

" you keep saying let you apologize just talk!"

" I can't if you keep cutting me off mid sentence!"

" Well too bad, and sleep in the guest room" you said as you slightly shivered from the amount of tension that had built up over time. You looked up at her and you could tell she was in distress just as much as you were and maybe infact you were being a bit self-centered by not letting her apologize.

Agatha sighed as her will power to try to apologize died, she scoffed as she watched you take off the Towel and slowly put on your underwear, her eyes couldn't help to linger on your boobs and your fleshly shaved cunt and the small curves of your body.

" let me apologize using a different method then" she spoke in a low, sultry tone making you shiver as you made eye contact with her in the mirror, her eyes were suddenly darkened with lust and utterly desire as she made her way towards you from behind. She wrapped her arms around you as her lips found your neck in a slow opened mouthed kiss. You fought the moan that wanted to surpass your lips as you turned around to face her, her hand placement never changing.

" fine, if you can make me feel good in ten minutes i'll let you off but you have to apologizeto me i front of your staff, if not your sleeping in the guess room and your ordering take out tonight and your still gonna apologize to me in front of your staff" you said as your looked into her beautiful determined brown eyes. Your wife bit her bottom lip as she studied you for a moment before replying.

" baby you and I both know I can make you cum in five minutes tops" she husked, as she gently pushed you down on the bed. You chuckled at her playfulness as she sinfully smirked at you as she teasingly removed your underwear not ignoring the already wet patch that was presented before her eyes. She kissed in between your thighs as she maintained intense eye contact with you.

" so pretty my love" she cooed as she used her finger to move your arousal around, pushing her finger through you wet slit. You threw back your head against the pillows as you tried your best to not give her the privilege of hearing you moan so soon. Agatha was indeed very skilled with her mouth and hands and truth be told you weren't sure if you were going to last very long. She gently pushed your thighs up towards your chest as she leaned down and softly kissed your clit, gently pulling it and releasing it with a pop.

" fuck, oh my god" you moaned, you didn't want to give her the satisfactory but you lost all of your self control when it came to how this woman ate your pussy. It was incredible. you whimpered as Agatha makes cat licks up your slit once more before flattening her tongue out against your cunt before enveloping your clit in her mouth making you let out a pornographic moan as your hands immediately flew to her hair.

You whined as your hips stated rocking against her mouth trying to get some more friction before Agatha wrapped her arms around your thighs in a firm grasp pulling you down more so that you could be closer to her mouth. You were slowly losing your sanity as you became more desperate for her.

" good girl, such a good fucking girl, I promise I'll make it up to you sweetie" she spoke against your cunt, as the vibrations ran straight through you making you arch your back and strach your nails against her scalp, making her let out a moan of her own. You could already feel the knot in your stomach being tied,it was just a matter of time before it exploded and it was utterly embarrassing how easy she could get you to cum for her.

" gonna cum sweet girl? Mhm? Your doing so good for me" she mumbled as she sucked harshly on your clit moving her tongue through your folds and slightly entering at your entrance making you cry out. She was a tease and she loved how easily she could have you at her aid.

You plopped yourself up on your elbows to look at her and her gaze immediately flicked up to your tear filled eyes. The pleasure felt too good to be true.

" your gonna cum aren't you?" She chuckled against you when she saw how desperate you looked. It was as if you were stuck between enjoying what she was doing and let her win or play house by holding off your oragsm and making her go over her time limit.

She looked at you dead in the eye as she slowly pushed two fingers into your cunt at the same time. Watching as your eyes roll back and how your face confronts in pleasure as you lay back. She groaned as she felt how your pussy clenched down on her in such a greedy way. She slowly thrusted her fingers in and out of you watching as you tried your best not to ride them. She kissed your mound and your tummy and then your chest area and she picked up her brutal pace, making squelching noises as your moans got louder.

She latched on to one of your breast as her other unoccupied hand gaved the other one attention by twisting and squeezing your sensitive bud.

" Oh God please, Agatha, p-please, I wanna- no" she could feel you trying your hardest to not give into your pleasure rather than to let it absorb you completely. She realsed your nipple with a pop and kissed her way up to your face. She kissed you passionately doing the "barrel" movement with her fingers as she went harder and deeper making your eyes snap out and making you let out a crucial moan. She took the opportunity to push her tongue into your mouth.

You didn't even bother to fight her for dominance you allowed her to completely dominate you, fully submitting to her.

" you know your allowed to cum right? It's not a punishment darling, you have nothing to lose. cum for me please. Make mommy proud." She moaned in your ear as she nibbled on your neck. She curled her fingers in you going faster making you grab onto the bedsheets for dear life as you cummed hard on her fingers.

" FUCK-" you choked on your moan as she kept moving her fingers in and out of you, allowing you some time to come down from your high. You saw little stars floating in your vision as she carefully removed her fingers.

" there she is, such a good girl" she cooed as she licked off her fingers and gaved you a kiss on the cheek.

" so, that's 7 minutes and 34 seconds" she whispered and you chuckled. You turned to look at her with bright eyes.

" 2 minutes late but I still got to see the most beautiful girl in the world cum for me" she whispered and you playfully rolled your eyes.

" I am truly sorry for shouting at you baby girl" she muttered kissing along your jaw line. You hugged her tightly as you rested your head on her chest, listening to her her heart beat as it slowly drived you more into sleep land.

" I love you Agatha" you sighed as you slowly allowed the sleep to take over your body. She giggled at your spent expression and gaved you a little forehead kiss.

" I love you more my little cupcake" she mumbled as she too fell asleep.

Tag list: @readingtheentrails @agathaandgwenslesbian @aemilia19 @barbarasstar @samanthasadhdlife if you want to be tagged in more kinkmas fics coming soon please comment below! Happy holidays!

[doudouneverte]

I love you... | Purple Realm AU

Summary: When Agatha and Strange tried a new spell, everything goes wrong and your wife was touched. But after thinking you came at a way to fix their mess, only Agatha Harkness can counter a spell of Agatha Harkness

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Female!Reader; America Chavez x Female!Reader (platonic); (variant) mama!Agatha Harkness x Female!Reader: Stephen Strange x Female!Reader (platonic)

Types: Fluff

Warning: mention of death

word count: 1873

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n's POV

I woke up later than usual today, but something was wrong. Agatha was not here. I decided to not mind more than this, so after I came back from the bathroom, I headed to the kitchen, but she was nowhere. "Honey ?'' I yelled while I was walking to the basement, but there was no response. In the basement, the atmosphere was weird. While I was searching for any trace of my wife, I heard the doorknob for the main door and footsteps running to the bedroom. I walked to my bedroom to find Strange, America, and a sleepy Agatha. "Strange, what are you doing here ?'' I asked, and both of them looked at me, then exchanged a worried look, then look at me  again.

"Y/N we have a problem," the man said, and I started to worry too.

"What do you mean?" I tried to look stern, but they seemed to know I was worried, and the girl decided to explain.

"Stephen and Agatha were trying a new spell, but they totally missed it and Agatha was touched. We try to help her but it's seem the spell is too strong even for him." I looked at my brunette more worried

"Did you try to call Wanda? She can help too," I asked.

"She is in Russia with Natasha, Yelena and Kate" the doctor said and I understood she couldn't be here soon, and we didn't know we could help her "I'm sorry we brought her here because we think she just has to rest."

I started to think and something came to my mind "Who cast the spell?" I asked them and they looked confused.

"Her," replied America, and I nodded. I knew why they couldn't fix this and i started to smile to myself

"I thinks i have an idea to help her" I informed them and they were more confused now, it was satisfying to saw the Doctor Strange totally lost but i needed my wife "if she casted the spell the only one who could fix the spell is Agatha Harkness." They seemed lost before the little brunette understood what I meant.

"Do you think it could help?" she asked, and I nodded.

"Okay, can someone explain to me what you want to do?" Steven said, and, oh God, it was so funny.

"We will find an Agatha to help us with our Agatha and your mess," the girl said, and I smirked. If I had been here when Strange and Wong found her, I surely would have wanted to bring her with me, but I came too late.

I looked at America and said, "Focus on Agatha and try to find a universe where she can help us." I turned to Strange and said, "I'll go with her and you, you will stay here and try all you can to bring back my wife." He wanted to argue, but a big, bright star appeared on the wall, and I followed the little star girl.

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

[Universe 612, somewhere near New York]

"Here we are," America said. It was strange; this universe looked a lot like ours, but something felt different, and the glare of the people was uncomfortable. We walked to a house, and the little brunette stopped in front of it, and when I looked at it, the house looked exactly like our house. I was registering what was happening, and America knocked at the door. We didn't wait too long until someone opened the door. A teen girl who had my hair color and blue eyes. She looked at America and then at me, and she froze.

"Mama, you need to see that!" She yelled, and her gaze never left my eyes. We heard footsteps and we saw her mother; it was Agatha, but she looked a little different—a little more tired but more happy. When she looked at me, she froze for an instant before noticing I was not alone.

"Come in," she invited us, and we walked in. They led us to the living room, and we saw some pictures of them and some pictures of me. I meant they were not really me. There was an awkward silence until Agatha spoke again. "Hey Eva, can you bring us tea and cookies?" The girl nodded and made her way to the kitchen.

America seemed to notice the fact. I was shocked and started to say, "Hi, Agatha, we are here 'cause we need your help." Eva came back with four cups of tea and cookies and sat down after we thanked her.

I stared at Eva, and she looked at her feet. "Eva, right?" I asked, and she nodded. "You're beautiful, you look like a princess." I didn't know where that came from, but I felt like she needed to hear that, and her eyes started to brighten; she was crying, and Agatha too.

"What do you want?" She asked, and even when she was sad, her question was harsh, and I couldn't blame her. It seemed that something happened in this universe, something that caused me to let them alone, and I started to hate myself, and the Y/n of this universe. Of course we already had a baby talk with my Agatha, but we couldn't really have one, and it was okay to me, but this me had this and she was not here, why? I was lost in my thoughts before the older woman spoke again. "I mean, if you travel through the multiverse, that means something serious happened, no?"

"How do you know for the—?" I didn't find the strength to finish the sentence; something in my head knew already that I shouldn't be here with them.

"Because," the witch started, but she seemed to be too sad to finish.

"Because in this universe, you are dead," the teen said. Her eyes were full with sadness and anger, and when nobody talked, she explained, "In the last battle against Thanos, you snapped with the gauntlet, and you didn't survive." Her voice cracked, and she couldn't hold back her tears now. "I couldn't say goodbye." She fell apart, and America and I started to cry too.

"But if I died against the younger Thanos who died on Vormir?" I asked, and this time it was Agatha who replied.

"Natasha," she replied, and I chuckled, In every life, she needs to be the hero, right? "You didn't seem surprised," she said.

"She also did it in my universe," you paused for a moment, "but we found a way to bring her back. We tricked death," I said proudly, but their pain didn't leave my mind.

There was a silence until America spoke, "We're here because we need your help, Agatha. The Agatha and the doctor Strange from our universe messed with a spell, and she was touched, and she fainted, and we didn't find a way to bring her back." After the explanation, I could see Eva's face. She was worried. I thought that, like me, even if she wasn't her mother, she would always worry for Agatha. "Y/n said you were the only one who could help us; I mean, she said something like, ‘only an Agatha Harkness can help an Agatha Harkness’." and the mom laughed.

"Even in your universe, you always consider me the most powerful person in the world," she said, and I laughed too.

"I mean, it's not really false, you helped me a lot in my life, and even if I want to repay you, it's always you who helps me more," I chuckled.

She laughed at the memories; even in my universe, she seems to always be the one who has my back. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you," she said, and we were confused, "I gave all my power to Strange and Wanda to help them keep everyone safe," she explained, and I felt bad, I knew who she was when we started to date; she always wanted more power, but she let all that go after I convinced her.

"Oh, I didn't know, I'm sorry," I apologized.

"Why are you sorry to help them against Thanos, so it's alright?'' She smiled, and I smiled too, but mine was wider. "So in every universe, I can make you smile like this," I chuckled.

"Don't forget we love each other in the entire multiverse," I said, and she blushed. "You- I mean, my Agatha always said that to me, and I think it's true." I looked at Eva. "Hey, Eva, do you know why your moms called you that ?" I asked; honestly, I had an idea, but it seemed surreal.

"You- I mean, my mom said it was from the name of my grandmother," she said, and I raised an eyebrow at Agatha.

"We named her after Evanora,” I said in surprise, and Agatha laughed.

"Hey, you convinced me to name her like that," I raised my eyebrows again, "and you know I can't refuse you anything," she added, and I blushed.

"Eva, it's a beautiful name for a pretty princess like you," I teased Eva, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh gosh, mom, I'm 14 now, it's cringe," everybody laughed, and it was only after a moment that I realized what she said. Wow, it's strange to be called 'mom' but not too weird.

"Uh, I think we need to find somewhere else." The little stargirl said, and we stood up, but when we were about to leave, 'my daughter' seemed to want to ask something, and I smiled at her to let her know it was alright.

"Can I ask you if you have a daughter in your universe too?" She asked, and I froze for a moment. "Or a boy; I'm not jealous," she added, and I smiled.

"No, we don’t have a child in our universe," I replied, and Agatha looked worried. "In my universe, I can't have a child, but I wish I could. Your mom is the luckiest Agatha in the multiverse because she has the most powerful and pretty girl in the universe." I kissed her forehead, "I'm sorry." I whispered against her temple.

Why did I apologize? Maybe because she looked sad when she learned she probably didn't have a variant, or maybe I apologized to my agatha for not being able to give her something that seemed to make her happy, or maybe because I probably opened some wounds. Honestly, I didn't know myself, but I didn't have the time to think about it before America opened another portal and she crossed it.

----------

[Universe 717,???]

On the other side of the portal, we were in a forest. Something was familiar, and after I examined the forest, I found why. It was in this forest that I met Agatha for the first time.

“Okay, here we should find an Agatha with her powers, so she should be able to help us.” America said, and I nodded.

“Why didn’t you bring us here at first?” I asked.

“You said I should focus on your Agatha, and she’s a big mother figure for me.” She replied, and I didn’t find anything to reply to, but fortunately for us, someone seemed to find us.

~~~~~~~~~~

Next Part>>

[thewallerfiles]

Prisoner Name: Rebecca Harking

Name: Rebecca Harking

Aliases: Lucky

Age: 33

Date of Birth: April 7, 1990

Sex: F

Race: Caucasian

Height: 5’9

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Brown

Residence: Las Vegas, Nevada

Occupation: N/A (casino hopping before the time of arrest)

Special Abilities: Has the power of luck. Can also speak any situation into existence (considered highly dangerous. Approach with caution)

Notes: It should be noted that will try to use her powers whenever necessary. We have discovered that a simple counter to these powers is to have unlucky symbols on her suppression bracelet. The bracelet must be kept on at all times. 

June, 1997

“Derek’s home.”

Rebecca looked up from her reading homework. Sure enough she could see her stepdad walking up the walkway and heading to the front door of her house. “Does he look mad?”

Her brother Ryan shrugged. “He always looks mad. Ignore him if he says anything or you’ll just piss him off even more.”

Rebecca zips her mouth and throws away the imaginary key just as Derek walks in through the door. He scowls at them and tosses his jacket to the floor in the porch.

“Ugh. You’re still here?” He grumbles. He wanders into the kitchen and cracks himself a beer. “Where’s your mother?”

“We live here, stupid. And she’s at work. She took a double shift because you can’t stop spending her money that she pays the bills with.” Ryan shot his stepfather a look. “You’re still here?”

Derek took a long swig before chuckling. “You’re lucky your mom doesn’t let me smack you around. Otherwise I would. What are you looking at, goofy?”

Rebecca stiffens when Derek acknowledges her. “N-nothing. I’m just reading and doing my schoolwork.”

“Schoolwork is for sissies. People like you aren’t going to get anywhere in life working in offices or McDonald’s. Let me guess, you want to be an astronaut when you grow up?”

“You’re one to talk,” Ryan calls out from the living room. “You got a better job than mom and she still pays for everything around here. Lazy fuck-”

Rebecca covers her ears and shuts her eyes when Derek storms over and grabs her brother by the collar of his shirt. She expected to hear punches be landed but instead, opened her eyes to see them staring at each other with hatred in their eyes.

“Listen here, you little shit. Your mom and I had an agreement. She’d take care of you while I’d take care of myself-”

Ryan smacks his hand away. “Why are you even here then? Why are you even married to her if her money is all she’s good for?”

Derek backed away with a smile. “You’ll understand when you’re older, kid. A man owns a woman when they’re married. They’re your property to do as you please with them.”

Rebecca watches him go upstairs and soon hears a door close. “I hate him so much.”

Ryan sighed. “Ditto. I don’t know what mom sees in that guy. She should totally dump him.”

“I wish he was dead sometimes. Maybe he’ll fall down the stairs and break his neck one day then we’d never have to see him ever again-”

She was cut off by loud thuds coming down the stairs. For a brief moment she thought Derek had heard her and was coming down to teach her a lesson but to her surprise, that wasn’t the case. Derek did come downstairs….but just not in the way she was thinking. Both kids stared in shock as their stepfather tumbled and rolled down the stairs only to hit the bottom at a funny angle only for a sickening snap to reverberate through the small house. When Rebecca edged closer once he was still, she could see that his neck was bent in a position that it shouldn’t have been and a piece of bone was sticking out of his skin.

“Holy shit….” Ryan stumbled backwards onto the floor. “Becky, what happened?”

“I didn’t do anything! You saw me! I was here the whole time!” Rebecca cried. 

“Yeah but that was lucky. Him coming down the stairs exactly the way you hoped he would. Did you tie string at the top of the stairs again?” Ryan sighed when his sister quickly shook her head. “Are you sure? Because if mom comes home and sees him like this-”

“I swear I didn’t! I was downstairs the whole time you were home, Ry. You saw me.”

Ryan sighed and glanced at their dead stepfather at the bottom of the stairs. “Mom doesn’t need to know about this. Got it? We hide the body and if she asks where he is, we say he left-”

“But his truck’s in the driveway….”

“Shit,” Ryan looked out the window. “You’re right. Look….you keep doing your homework and act like nothing happened. I’ll take care of this mess before mom comes home at 9. Can you keep a secret?”

Rebecca nodded and watched as her brother began dragging Derek’s body away from the stairs and towards the back door. When both Ryan and the old fart were out of sight, she smiled and hummed happily as she finished her book report.

December 24, 2013

“Come on, dude! It’s Christmas! A little extra wouldn’t hurt for the holidays!”

Rebecca, 23, looked her boss in the eyes and pleaded for a small bonus. Money was scarce this year and the car dealership that she worked for didn’t see as much business as usual anymore. Everyone wanted newer, better models to ride around in. Even the ones looking for secondhand (the ones that her boss sold) weren’t worth the money that he was selling them for. She had bills to pay. Mouths to feed.

“Becky Doll, I told you at the beginning of the month. I ain’t got much money left in the business. I gotta pay you and the ones that work the lot. Utilities. Other things. I can’t afford to give you a Christmas bonus this year.”

Rebecca eyeballed the big black vault in his office when he wasn’t looking. “I understand. I thought I’d try anyway. My brother is sick again and his hospital bills are piling up. But I get it. Thank you anyway though. Merry Christmas.”

Walking herself out to the bus stop, Rebecca took a seat on the bench. She knew the money excuse was bullshit. She’d seen her boss laundering cash before and even saw how much money he had hidden away in his stupid vault. No one hated him as much as she did and she secretly hoped that karma would bite him on the ass one day.

The bus was late. Rebecca pulled out her phone to check the time right when someone ran by and slipped on ice, dropping a bag in front of her. Before she could say anything, they got up and continued to run away. The bag was staring her in the face and curiosity was getting the better of her. So she picked it up and peeked inside. She nearly died of a heart attack at the bus stop.

Piles and piles of cash. All hundreds from the look of it. Rebecca had to hold back a scream of surprise as she looked down at this gift that the universe gave to her. This looked like enough money to pay off her own bills as well as her brother’s. And they’d still be able to live comfortably for the next while.

“Hey! Hey you!”

Hearing a voice, she quickly zipped up the bag and hid it inside her winter coat. Thankfully it was big enough to make it look like that was part of the design just in time as a police officer approached her, breathing heavily and seemingly tired from running.

“Ma’am, did you see someone run by here carrying a bag of sorts? Black jacket, wool hat. They just stole money from Wheeler’s Wheels just up the road and we got called in to get a jump on the guy,” the officer inhaled a deep breath before continuing. “Yeah….yeah. I can’t keep up. But have you seen him run by?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No officer. I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes by myself waiting for the bus. It’s late tonight, probably due to it being Christmas Eve. But no one ran by. Was anyone hurt?”

The cop shook his head. “Thankfully, no. But if you see anything suspicious tonight, please don’t hesitate to call us. Theft on Christmas Eve is the lowest form of crime, in my opinion.”

“So you’re okay with murder….”

“Pardon? Did you say something ma’am?”

“No, officer. Just can’t believe someone would do something like this. So disgusting….”

The officer sighed. “Well. I’ll have to tell my partner that they got away with no witnesses. That should be nice to write up in the report….you have yourself a nice Christmas, ma’am. Be safe out there.”

The bus arrived shortly after the officer left, and Rebecca couldn’t wait to get back to Ryan and tell him what happened. When it arrived at her stop, she raced into the apartment building they lived in and rushed upstairs to their place. When she burst inside with a huge smirk on her face, her brother sat up on the couch, looking confused.

“Becks….what did you do this time?” He asked through a cough.

“I didn’t do anything this time. Well….that’s kind of a lie. I silently hoped my boss would get some long overdue karma and he got exactly that tonight.” She dumped the contents of the bag on the table between them. “There’s thousands here, Ry. I can pay your bills off completely.”

Ryan sighed. “Did you do the thing?”

“....what thing?”

“You know. That weird thing where you speak something into existence. You know. You’ve done it a thousand times before.”

Rebecca snorted. “I thought you’d be happy. I can get you your medicine with this and pay off the hospital. Maybe even treat us to a little something. But to answer your question, no. I didn’t do the thing. At least not out loud.”

Ryan shot her a look. “Not out loud? Since when could you do it silently? Is this new?”

“I don’t fucking know, Ryan. I don’t even know how it works. I don’t even know where I got this power from. I’m just lucky I suppose-” She paused for a moment. “Lucky. I’m Lucky.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. Please don’t tell me that you’re going to do this again, Becky. You’ll get caught eventually.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Rebecca pecked her brother on the cheek. “Now come on. Let’s get some of that expensive Chinese food that you love so much. My treat.”

August 12, 2020

The following is a transcript of an interview taken with two agents and the prisoner Rebecca Harking, aka Lucky. This is a part of the quarterly interviews that take place to recruit new candidates for Amanda Waller’s “Suicide Squad”. Please note that Harking’s suppression bracelet is activated for this interview as well as during her sentence at Belle Reve for the safety of herself and others. But mainly others.

Agent Shaw: Are we recording?

Agent Bellend: Yup. You can start

Agent Shaw: Alright. Hello, Rebecca. I’m Agent Shaw and this is my partner Agent Shaw. How are you doing today?

Rebecca: Spare me the bullshit, Shaw. This isn’t my first rodeo. Just do what you gotta do so I can go back to my cell

Agent Shaw: Wow, okay. Uh, so you know why you’re here today I’m presuming. To get screened for-

Rebecca: Yeah, yeah. I know. Screened for the stupid Suicide Squad. I know all about that merry band of assholes. Let me guess, the other crew are dead?

Agent Shaw: Some are, yes. But not all of them. Waller is looking for new recruits for a new mission in the future. For the time being, she wants to seek out potential candidates

Rebecca: Interesting. And she thinks my skill set has potential?

Agent Bellend: She doesn’t think. She knows

Rebecca: But do you know, Agents? Have you read my file before coming in today?

Agent Shaw; We did. It’s….impressive, to say the least

Agent Bellend: Can you really manipulate luck? Influence how things work out for you?

Agent Shaw: Bellend-

Agent Bellend: What? I’m curious. I could use a bit of luck in my life like that….

Rebecca: Would you like to find out, Bellend? Take this bracelet off me and find out

Agent Shaw: Nice try, Harking. You know that’s on you for a reason. Now back to our interview. You know you’re in here for a screening. If you were given the chance to join Waller’s team for some years to be taken off your sentence, would you do it?

Rebecca: For a shorter sentence? Maybe. Would I only just get thrown back in here if I commit the same crimes once I’m out anyway?

Agent Bellend: Uh….we’ll get back to you on that. But a shorter sentence is better than 50 years, isn’t it?

Rebecca: Hmm. As long as I don’t have to work with that weird shark guy. He gives me the creeps. All sharks do actually. Have you seen Jaws? I heard that they watched it over in the men’s cells and he laughed at it. Thought it was hilarious

Agent Bellend: Focus, Rebecca. Please. Next question. Have you ever used your abilities for your own personal gain?

Rebecca: [laughs] Would I be in here if I didn’t? Of course I did. I lived in fucking Vegas before I was caught and thrown in here. I’m no saint

Agent Shaw: Have you ever manipulated others?

Rebecca: Yes

Agent Shaw: Have you ever used your powers on your brother?

Rebecca: ….don’t bring him up

Agent Shaw: I don’t see why we can’t. It’s right there on your file. It says you killed him-

Rebecca: I SAID DON’T TALK ABOUT HIM!

Agent Bellend: Why did you do it though? 

Rebecca: It was….stupid. We had an argument and I let my emotions get the better of me. I told him to drop dead and he….he did. It was a mistake that I wish I could go back and change

Agent Shaw: You didn’t mean to kill him

Rebecca: Fuck no. I loved my brother. He protected me our whole lives. The least I could do to pay him back was use my powers to make our life easier. Jobs weren’t paying what I felt we deserved. So I took to the casinos where I knew I could use them to my full advantage

Agent Shaw: And was he okay with this?

Rebecca: Not at first, no. But I promised him it wouldn’t be a daily thing and he agreed to that. But I became addicted to winning and eventually people at the casinos caught on. Once I was banned, that’s when my brother got angry. Called me reckless. I told him that it was my powers that kept a roof over our heads. Put food on the table. He didn’t like that. So he began to yell at me some more and before I could control my words, I said the thing to him. Next thing I know, he’s on the floor. Dead

Agent Bellend: And then you got arrested?

Rebecca: I turned myself in, you mean. I might be a thief but I’m no monster. I know what I did was wrong and I couldn’t live with the guilt. If you accidentally killed your brother, you would’ve done the same thing

Agent Shaw: You turned yourself in instead of going on the run? You could’ve easily avoided authorities with what you’re capable of

Rebecca: Like I said. I’m no monster, Agent Shaw

Voice on overhead speaker: Don’t be fooled by her, Agents. She murdered her brother with a kitchen knife and ran with the money. Her powers don’t work when she’s asleep. That’s her only flaw

Rebecca: What the fuck, man?! They were totally falling for my story!

Agent Bellend: I almost felt bad for her too….

Agent Shaw: This wasn’t mentioned in her file, Waller

Voice on overhead speaker: Typos happen. I’ll be sure to add it to her file once this interview is over since I finally got her to admit to it

Rebecca: What? You tricked me!

Voice on overhead speaker: You’re the only one that can fool people, Harking. Now wrap this up gentlemen. I got everything I needed here today

Agent Shaw: Uh, sure. No problem. Wrap this up, Bellend. Did you get all that on the tape?

Agent Bellend: Yeah I got it. Didn’t realize this was a confession tape we were doing today

Agent Shaw: I’m sure that’s not the strangest thing we’ll record while we’re here. Agent Shaw and Bellend signing off. Session one ended

[zafirosreverie]

Their reaction to you dancing for them (KH’s characters)

Agatha Harkness:

To be fair, you weren't dancing for her. You were just cleaning the house (because being the partner of a powerful witch didn't mean living in a dusty cave, thank you very much) with music blaring and your body couldn't help but move to the beat of the song.

Unfortunately for you, your wife has a habit of appearing out of nowhere at the best/worst of times and she caught you right in the middle of your imaginary concert. When you heard her laugh and saw her leaning against the door frame, you blushed deeply. Agatha will never let you live with this and you knew it.

Months later, when you were fulfilling your role as Agnes's roommate at Westview, the brunette still liked to embarrass you in front of Wanda, telling her how from time to time you "delighted her with fine and elegant dances."

Olivia Octavius:

She doesn't like to be interrupted while working and you know it. But from time to time you must intervene to distract her and make her eat something or rest a little. Unfortunately, the scientist can be quite stubborn and you have to get creative.

When you walked into the lab that night, Liv definitely didn't expect you to swivel her chair around to make her look as you danced sensually in front of her. Now, that was definitely a good distraction and you actually managed to drag her to bed...although not exactly to sleep

Ursula Gernsback:

Sweet robo-wife, too pure and evil for this chaotic human world. In fact, you were teaching her to dance. Ursula might have all the knowledge of the internet at her fingertips, but she preferred when you took the time to teach her things, simply because she liked being with you and being the center of your attention.

At first, she was confused. Why did you have to move so weird? And what was the use of doing those movements with background music? Was it some ritual? You were in a cult and you had not said anything to her? Why? She could learn and help you!

However, over time (and many lessons, both in history and physical coordination) she learned to let go and now you find it adorable when you find her dancing while she cooks for you or while she reads behind the counter.

Eve Fletcher:

The moment she saw you dancing on her living room as if you owned the place, she become a babbling, blushing mess. There was nothing sexual about your dance, you were only goofying around, but it was still the cutest yet most sensual thing she ever saw. And she couldn’t concentrate at work for the next week because she kept remembering it and blushing again.

Jennifer Barkley:

Let’s be honest, you met her this way.

You had attended a campaign party because your idiot brother-in-law had run. You didn't even want to be there in the first place, but you owed it to your sister, so there you were, dancing like your life depended on it to forget the terrible fact of being surrounded by politicians and boring people.

Then you felt someone looking at you. You looked around until your eyes were fixed on a beautiful woman, who was looking at you amused and with a touch of challenge in her chocolate eyes. Without thinking much about it, you resumed your dance, pretending you weren't dancing for her, but making sure to move your hips sensually.

After a few moments, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you from behind and your back was pressed against a soft chest. "Maybe it's time to introduce ourselves" she murmured against your ear with a slight growl and the rest is history.

Milly Campbell:

She was shocked.

The poor woman was still getting used to her new life with you and the idea of having more freedom now that Shep was out of the picture. So when you walked into the living room after dropping the kids off at school and started dancing on her lap, she couldn't help but look away from you and blush furiously. And you still had the nerve to laugh at her.

However, after a few moments of teasing her, you stood up and grabbed her hand to pull her along with you. You put one hand on her waist and held the other, dancing with her into something much safer but that felt just as intimate. Her face only got redder.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

The Art of Healing: Chapter 2

Photo Cred: Me

pairing: wanda maximoff x agatha harkness

summary: wanda wakes up and freaks out. you would too. agatha talks her down and they talk.

content warnings: none

word count: 3.5k

Series Masterlist

The Start of it All

Wanda’s head swam with questions as she watched the dark-haired woman move around her kitchen with ease. The woman was humming to herself, glancing back at Wanda every few seconds as if to check that she hadn’t left. There was a rabbit on the countertop, munching on some cucumbers as it stared her down with beady eyes. Wanda stared back, her thoughts wandering as she strummed her fingertips lightly against the granite counter. 

She couldn’t recall how she’d ended up in the soft bed she’d awoken in. It was quite disorienting, waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom with a striking woman staring down at you. The first thing Wanda noticed about the woman was her viridescent blue eyes. The next thing she noticed was the slightly defensive stance the woman had as she regarded her.  

The next few moments were a blur, with Wanda feeling slightly flustered as she felt the soft silk of the pajamas she wore, realizing that the woman had most likely undressed her. She also felt strangely clean, which didn’t make much sense. She hadn’t been allowed to shower much at the HYDRA facility. Pietro had complained many times, wondering how he was supposed to sweet-talk pretty girls when he smelled ‘worse than a sewer rat.’

Speaking of Pietro, where was he?

Wanda’s eyes refocused, and she looked wildly around the kitchen in search of her brother. The dark-haired woman’s eyes shot back towards her, and she took a step closer as Wanda made a move to stand from her stool. 

“Looking for something, sweet cheeks?” The woman said, her eyes glued on Wanda as she watched the redhead’s expression morph into one of confusion. She looked around once more, before slowly sinking back into her seat. 

“I…” Wanda started, before noticing the way that the brunette’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She cleared her throat, eyeing the rabbit a few feet away from her. “I was looking for someone.”

Blue eyes searched hers, and Wanda stared back as she waited for the woman to speak. 

“Let’s start with an introduction.” The woman said, an air of finality in her tone as she turned back towards the food she was prepping. She popped two pieces of bread into the toaster, uncapping the peanut butter before turning back towards Wanda’s slightly hunched form. “I’m Agatha.”

An expectant brow was raised at Wanda’s continued silence. 

“Where is my brother?” Wanda asked, her voice soft as the sound of quiet munching filled the air. She glanced toward the rabbit, her ire growing with each passing second. 

Agatha sighed, leaning back against the counter as her blue eyes continued to study Wanda’s form. “I asked you a question hon.” She watched green eyes dart around the kitchen, lingering on the doorways and windows. She made a mental note to strengthen the wards around her house before the redhead could escape. A new witch with the amount of power she’d registered would be a catastrophe to the general public.

“Wanda.” 

A smirk formed on Agatha’s face at the barely-audible response. She nodded, just once, before answering Wanda’s question. “There was nobody else alive where I found you.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed, and she crossed her arms as her eyes searched Agatha’s. Her breath quickened slightly, her frustration growing at not being any closer to finding Pietro. 

“And where did you find me, exactly?” The words were spat out, and Agatha’s eyebrows rose as Wanda’s eyes started to glow an eerie shade of scarlet. The girl didn’t seem to notice, her anger simmering as she waited for a response. 

Fine. Agatha could play this game. She took a few steps forward until she was against the same counter that Wanda sat at. Her eyes bore into the green ones seated opposite to her, her fingers clenching the countertop as she responded. 

“Unconscious, on the ground, and surrounded by the dust of an incinerated building.”

The toaster pinged, the sound jolting them out of their heated exchange. Wanda blinked a few times as she stared at the countertop in front of her. Her eyes continued to glow scarlet, but she was unaware of their unnatural color as her mind started connecting the pieces. 

A weird tingling sensation started beneath her skin, and Wanda’s breath quickened at the familiar feeling. She couldn’t recall exactly why it was familiar, and the fear of her memory being tampered with caused her thoughts to spiral. 

“What did you do to me?” Wanda’s words were heated, and she quickly stood from her stool. The rabbit continued to calmly eat its cucumbers. The legs of her stool screeched across the floor as Wanda looked down in confusion. Scarlet wisps were forming on her palms, and the tingling energy beneath her skin had grown to a low hum. 

Looking up, Wanda found Agatha’s gaze locked on her hands as she slowly rounded the counter. She backed away, her eyes widening as her mind raced. 

‘Pietro.’

Her back hit a wall. Agatha advanced, her steps measured as her hands came up in a ‘calm down’ gesture. 

A scarlet wisp flew through the air, bouncing around the room as Wanda’s heart raced. She mentally tried to stop it, Pietro’s eyes flashing in her vision as she clenched her hands into tight fists. The scarlet glow around her hands didn’t fade, only growing stronger as each second passed.

More wisps flew through the air, swirling around Agatha’s slowly moving form as Wanda squeezed her eyes shut. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her pajama pants, chest heaving as the energy buzzing beneath her skin started to become uncomfortable. 

Pietro. Her skin buzzed. 

A glowing light. Scarlet light invaded her vision. 

Wooden blocks. The sound of a scream rang in her ears. 

Pain. 

A strong hand gripped her throat, another hand pressing against her sternum. Wanda’s eyes flew open, heat racing through her at the tight hold. The woman’s hands against her skin caused Wanda’s brain to restart briefly, a blanket of calm washing over her. Then, the ugly twisting feeling came back as Wanda removed her hands from her pockets. The scarlet wisps in the air froze, and Agatha reacted in a split second. 

Wanda was dragged from her spot against the kitchen wall towards a nearby door. After being practically dragged down a set of stairs, she finally felt the energy underneath her skin fade. No. Not just fade. It completely disappeared. 

Blinking, Wanda felt the echo of pain in her chest. She gasped, her hands clutching at her chest as Agatha shut the door firmly behind her. The pain started to sharpen, twisting through her as she remembered the feeling of Pietro dying. 

Pietro. Dead. 

Gasping as hot tears rolled down her face, Wanda’s eyes sought out the other woman. Seeing Agatha’s form still lingering near the door, she reached out a trembling hand. “Please.”

Agatha set down the rabbit, which she’d somehow managed to grab before dragging Wanda downstairs, before slowly making her way toward Wanda’s curled-up form. 

“It hurts. Please.” 

At that, Agatha moved quicker, her mind clearing of any hesitation as she knelt beside Wanda. Pulling the girl’s trembling form against her own, Agatha wrapped her in a tight embrace, feeling the frantic pounding of her heart as Wanda buried her face into her neck. 

Agatha awkwardly patted Wanda’s back, looking over at Señor Scratchy for help as she felt hot tears against her skin. She continued to comfort her, rubbing small circles against her upper back as the young woman’s arms tightened around her. To her surprise, Wanda’s breath evened within a few minutes. Then, a lightbulb went off in Agatha’s brain. 

“Oh. Is this helping?”

Wanda nodded, her arms loosening slightly as she pulled back to meet Agatha’s eyes. She glanced up briefly before an embarrassed flush rose to her tear-stained cheeks as she cast her gaze toward the floor. The heat of Agatha’s arms around her became too constricting, and as soon as Wanda squirmed, they disappeared. 

Soft breaths filled the air, paired with the occasional crunch from the rabbit. Wanda tried not to stare at it, confusion welling up as she regarded the woman kneeling in front of her. Looking up, her gaze imploring as green eyes bore into Agatha’s, Wanda’s voice cracked as she spoke. “Tell me how you found me, and how I ended up here.”

“What do you remember?” Agtha’s voice was velvety, her tone soft as she placed a hand on Wanda’s knee. The young woman sighed in relief, the calming heat of Agatha’s touch rushing through her until it calmed the frantic thoughts bouncing around her head. 

Wanda shifted into a more comfortable position, leaning into the older woman’s touch. “I had just been in a room with a weird glowing stone, and when I woke up I felt this energy underneath my skin.” Green eyes peeked up at Agatha. “Does that make sense?”

Nodding, Agatha maneuvered Wanda closer. She wrapped her arms around the redhead’s waist as the young woman let her head rest against her chest. “What next?” Agatha prodded, satisfied with the way that Wanda’s heartbeat was continuing to slow. 

“Then there were scarlet wisps around me.” Wanda started, the memories rushing back as she spoke. “I think it’s magic. Is it magic?” 

Agatha nodded again. “I’ll explain more about that part later. Finish your side of the story first hon.”

Wanda’s cheeks reddened slightly at the name, and she stuttered her way through the next few sentences. “I was levitating wooden blocks. I was making them race around my room.” Her breath stuttered as a realization came to her. “It was more of a cell.”

Within a few seconds, Wanda’s entire view of HYDRA shattered, and her warped sense of reality crashed to the ground. Her breaths shortened once more, her entire body tensing as the true nature of HYDRA revealed itself to her. 

“Oh, my god. It was a cell.” More tears came, and Agatha’s arms tightened around her.  “It was all my idea.” 

Wanda’s next few words were incoherent, her sobs overtaking any recognizable language. Agatha pulled her closer, not knowing how to comfort her. After a few moments of hesitantly patting her thigh, she decided to do the thing that felt most natural. 

A hand in Wanda’s hair startled her, and with a sharp tug, she felt her tears subside. She relaxed slightly, leaning back into the comforting warmth of Agatha as her thoughts calmed slightly. 

“I was the one who wanted to join them.” Wanda started, the hand in her hair relaxing before trailing down her neck. “Pietro didn’t want to, but I convinced him.” Tears filled her eyes, and her throat burned as she attempted to keep them at bay. “I got him killed.”

Wanda whispered the last part, the words reverberating around her skull. Her body subconsciously tensed, and she shut her mouth quickly. She didn’t feel like talking anymore, the image of Pietro’s dead body flashing behind her eyes. His eyes twisted through her thoughts again, and Wanda pushed away from Agatha. 

The arms around her were surprisingly strong, and Agatha pulled Wanda’s struggling form tightly against her. “You don’t have to tell me anything else, sweet cheeks, I get the picture.” 

As soon as the words were said, Wanda’s body relaxed against her will. She leaned limply against the older woman, letting the tears fall as she adamantly refused to let out a sob. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Agatha’s chest against her back, and the soft puffs of air that tickled her neck. 

Agatha smelled like lavender, and blood rushed to Wanda’s cheeks as soon as the thought appeared. She tensed again, just slightly, and Agatha pulled her closer once more. Wanda shifted, her breath speeding up slightly as her movements caused her to feel Agatha’s chest against her back. 

Sensing that Wanda had calmed down slightly, Agatha loosened her grip slightly. She fully expected the young woman to move away from her, but was pleasantly surprised when Wanda instead chose to relax further against her. Rubbing uncertain circles against Wanda’s thighs, Agatha contemplated how to proceed. She thought hard for several minutes, her frustration growing when none of her usual brilliant ideas popped into her head. 

Then, she felt Wanda’s breath hitch. 

Looking down at the young woman’s face, Agatha searched for any discomfort. Instead, her roaming blue eyes caught the sight of Wanda’s thighs clenching briefly, before they moved upwards and noticed the full flush now on the young woman’s face. Agatha smirked, an idea finally popping into her head. 

In all honesty, this was the best idea she’d had in a while. Plus, it had the additional benefit of actually helping someone. 

“Alright hot stuff, I’m gonna tell you some things about me,” Agatha started, smirking wider when Wanda ducked her head shyly at the pet name. “Your job is to sit here nice and pretty for me while I explain some stuff, okay?” 

Wanda’s cheeks felt almost feverish as she quickly nodded. She’d hoped that Agatha hadn’t noticed her flustered state, but upon hearing the smirk in the older woman’s voice, she knew that was a lost cause. 

Cold fingertips gripped her jaw gently, and Wanda’s eyes widened as her head was tilted towards Agatha. 

“I’m gonna need verbal confirmation, hon.” 

Agatha’s voice was sickeningly sweet, and her firm grip on Wanda’s jaw didn’t allow her to nod or shake her head. Wanda blinked a few times, the words getting stuck in her throat as she was distracted by the piercing blue eyes that raked across her face. 

“Yes,” Wanda managed, finally coming back to her senses as Agatha’s fingernails dug into her jaw slightly. The older woman smiled victoriously, and Wanda tried not to glance towards her mouth and subsequently, the plump lips that were tantalizingly close. 

A rush of purple energy snapped Wanda’s attention away from Agatha’s striking facial features, and she stared wide-eyed as a comfortable-looking couch appeared underneath them. The rabbit, who had previously been crunching near the door, hopped up onto the opposite side of the couch with ease. Its beady eyes stared into Wanda’s soul, and she looked away quickly as Agatha began speaking. 

“To state the obvious,” Agatha began, pulling Wanda into a comfortable position against her as she stretched out on the couch. “I’m a witch.” At Wanda’s lack of response, she snapped her fingers. 

Purple wisps started floating around the room, showcasing multiple scenes of what looked to be different times in Agatha’s life. Wanda watched with rapt attention as Agatha began explaining the Salem witch trials, progressing through each floating scene until she’d reached the present day. The woman’s voice was soothing, and Wanda felt herself relaxing into her steady embrace one more. 

Agatha described her most recent adventures, mentioning that her rabbit, who was named Señor Scratchy, was a longtime companion of hers. Wanda didn’t question how the rabbit was still alive, and after hearing some of the adventures Agatha was describing, she was pretty sure the rabbit was some sort of magical being. 

The only thought Wanda had as she watched the scenes play out in front of her, with Agatha’s raspy voice in her ear, was how incredibly lonely it must have been to live for that long. All alone. 

Wanda’s thoughts snapped back to attention when Agatha’s hand gently pinched her thigh. Tilting her head slightly, she glanced back at the brunette with a questioning gaze. 

“As I just said,” Agatha raised a single eyebrow, “You’re also a witch, sweet cheeks.”

Nodding, Wanda was surprised at her own reaction of acceptance. After thinking back to her brief discovery of the scarlet wisps back at Hydra, the least confusing part of this whole ordeal was the fact that she was a witch. I mean, no normal person could make blocks fly. 

No normal person could disintegrate an entire facility and everyone in it, until the only thing left was a fine coating of dust.

Bile rose in Wanda’s throat, and she attempted to pull away from Agatha once more. As if she’d already sensed Wanda’s unease, Agatha tightened her arms once more, quickly maneuvering the young woman to lie on her front. Wrapping her arms around Wanda’s shoulders, Agatha rubbed small circles against her upper back as the redhead buried her face into the older woman’s collarbone. 

Breathing heavily, the scent of lavender invading her senses, Wanda calmed down as Agtha’s touch seemed to cause her panicking mind to fully restart. She lay there for what seemed like a long time, her mind replaying the angry way her scarlet magic tore through the air around her. 

Eventually, Wanda had calmed down long enough for Agatha to begin speaking again. “As an accomplished witch myself, I’m going to be your mentor for a while until your magic is under control.” 

Wanda’s mind raced, “I had it under control, I’m just new to this whole witch thing, that’s all.” She looked up at Agatha, her green eyes wide and pleading. 

Agatha simply shook her head, gesturing towards the basement door. “Was that show in the kitchen an example of your exemplary control then?” She raised her eyebrow once more, smirking at Wanda’s annoyed huff. 

“Your powers are volatile, hon,” Agatha started, her tone becoming serious. “That makes you a dangerous witch. And bad things happen when a powerful witch loses control. I can teach you how to control your magic.”

“How?” Wanda asked, her voice quiet.

“From what I’ve noticed, your powers are closely connected to your emotions,” Agatha said, shooting a glare toward Señor Scratchy when he attempted to nibble on her sock. “If you can learn to control your emotions, you can learn to control your powers.” She hesitated, before finishing her thought. “At this moment, I can only think of one way to do that.”

Wanda shifted, taking in Agatha’s observation as she tried not to think about the way that her legs brushed against the older woman’s. Raising her head slightly, she met Agatha’s eyes as she nodded for her to continue. 

“I’m a dominant,” Agatha stated frankly, and Wanda’s eyes slowly widened. “And since your emotions aren't as severe whenever I touch you, I would like to take you on as my submissive while I teach you how to control your powers. As your dominant, I can teach you how to control your emotions through submission. Once I control them for you, it’ll be easier for you to control them by yourself, without my help.”

Nodding, Wanda was suddenly acutely aware of how her pelvis pressed against the side of Agatha’s hip. She ignored it, instead asking the question that was at the forefront of her mind. “How do you know?” 

Agatha’s eyes softened slightly, and her fingers stilled against Wanda’s back. “Because that's what worked for me”

“You were a submissive?” Wanda asked, slightly shocked. Agatha just laughed for a moment, shaking her head before growing serious once more. 

“You don’t have to be a submissive to learn how to control your emotions using sex, hon.”

Wanda took it all in, and Agatha seemed content to let her process. The older woman continued tracing lazy circles over Wanda’s back as she evaded Señor Scratchy’s attempts to eat her sock. Seriously, what was wrong with him sometimes?

Burying her face back into Agatha’s collarbone, Wanda let the smell of lavender wash over her. The body warmth of the other woman was comforting, and Wanda couldn’t remember the last time that she’d ever been held this way. With her mind racing, Wanda considered her options. 

She could try and run away, but what good would that do? She didn’t have a home or any identifying papers, and worst of all, she’d truly be alone. The other option was to stay here with Agatha, an experienced witch who was offering to teach her, feed her, and give her a place to stay. 

Upon feeling Agatha’s hesitant, but caring fingers tracing down her spine, Wanda made her decision. “I’ll be your submissive, if it’s truly the best way you can teach me to control my magic.”

Agatha answered in the affirmative, and after a few more minutes of what was essentially cuddling, she urged Wanda up. Stating that she was calm enough to exit the room, and commenting on the fact that she’d felt Wanda’s stomach grumbling, Agatha volunteered to make breakfast as she scooped Señor Scratchy into her arms. 

Throughout breakfast, Agatha answered Wanda’s question of why she hadn’t been able to use her magic in the basement. Green eyes widened as she took in the detailed explanation about runes, and Wanda gratefully accepted the steaming oatmeal Agatha slid in front of her as the woman continued to drone on. Her eyes shone with excitement as she gestured into the air to emphasize different points.

Wanda listened diligently, her mind racing as it attempted to process this new information. She was growing tired again, her body clearly exhausted from the amount of power she’d released, and all she wanted to do was bask in the comfort of Agatha’s lavender-scented bed. Shaking herself out of a daze, she focused back on Agatha, who was still talking at a rapid-fire pace about different rune combinations. Wanda smiled into her oatmeal.  And through it all, that infuriating rabbit munched away.

Next Chapter

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Day 778

Wanda: “I like how you rocketed up into the sky after murdering your mother and looting her corpse. You decided to go 3, 2, 1, BLAST OFF!”

Y/N: “Agatha, were you actually the inspiration for how rockets launches worked? You did predate them and all…”

Agatha, who thought she just looked cool: “I regret showing you those memories…”

[atotc-weekly]

Book the Second—The Golden Thread

[X] Chapter XXII. The Sea Still Rises

Haggard Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when Madame Defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Madame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of Spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saint’s mercies. The lamps across his streets had a portentously elastic swing with them.

Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: “I know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?” Every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. The fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; the image had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.

Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.

“Hark!” said The Vengeance. “Listen, then! Who comes?”

As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of Saint Antoine Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along.

“It is Defarge,” said madame. “Silence, patriots!”

Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked around him! “Listen, everywhere!” said madame again. “Listen to him!” Defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had sprung to their feet.

“Say then, my husband. What is it?”

“News from the other world!”

“How, then?” cried madame, contemptuously. “The other world?”

“Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?”

“Everybody!” from all throats.

“The news is of him. He is among us!”

“Among us!” from the universal throat again. “And dead?”

“Not dead! He feared us so much—and with reason—that he caused himself to be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have found him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. I have seen him but now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, a prisoner. I have said that he had reason to fear us. Say all! Had he reason?”

Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he could have heard the answering cry.

A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife looked steadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.

“Patriots!” said Defarge, in a determined voice, “are we ready?”

Instantly Madame Defarge’s knife was in her girdle; the drum was beating in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by magic; and The Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing the women.

The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they looked from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pouring down into the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. From such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, from their children, from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and actions. Villain Foulon taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! Miscreant Foulon taken, my daughter! Then, a score of others ran into the midst of these, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and screaming, Foulon alive! Foulon who told the starving people they might eat grass! Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had no bread to give him! Foulon who told my baby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with want! O mother of God, this Foulon! O Heaven our suffering! Hear me, my dead baby and my withered father: I swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on Foulon! Husbands, and brothers, and young men, Give us the blood of Foulon, Give us the head of Foulon, Give us the heart of Foulon, Give us the body and soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own friends until they dropped into a passionate swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from being trampled under foot.

Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This Foulon was at the Hotel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armed men and women flocked out of the Quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with such a force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in Saint Antoine’s bosom but a few old crones and the wailing children.

No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination where this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent open space and streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from him in the Hall.

“See!” cried madame, pointing with her knife. “See the old villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his back. Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!” Madame put her knife under her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.

The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining to others, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with the clapping of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of drawl, and the winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame Defarge’s frequent expressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, at a distance: the more readily, because certain men who had by some wonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architecture to look in from the windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her and the crowd outside the building.

At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or protection, directly down upon the old prisoner’s head. The favour was too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got him!

It was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. Defarge had but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable wretch in a deadly embrace—Madame Defarge had but followed and turned her hand in one of the ropes with which he was tied—The Vengeance and Jacques Three were not yet up with them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped into the Hall, like birds of prey from their high perches—when the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, “Bring him out! Bring him to the lamp!”

Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his face by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go—as a cat might have done to a mouse—and silently and composedly looked at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women passionately screeching at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out to have him killed with grass in his mouth. Once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him, and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of.

Nor was this the end of the day’s bad work, for Saint Antoine so shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people’s enemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under a guard five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on flaring sheets of paper, seized him—would have torn him out of the breast of an army to bear Foulon company—set his head and heart on pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession through the streets.

Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the children, wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakers’ shops were beset by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by embracing one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them again in gossip. Gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and slender fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards supping at their doors.

Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused some nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of cheerfulness out of them. Fathers and mothers who had had their full share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped.

It was almost morning, when Defarge’s wine-shop parted with its last knot of customers, and Monsieur Defarge said to madame his wife, in husky tones, while fastening the door:

“At last it is come, my dear!”

“Eh well!” returned madame. “Almost.”

Saint Antoine slept, the Defarges slept: even The Vengeance slept with her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. The drum’s was the only voice in Saint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The Vengeance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had the same speech out of him as before the Bastille fell, or old Foulon was seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in Saint Antoine’s bosom.

[klbmsw]

Early this morning, shortly after midnight, Republican Kevin McCarthy of California won enough votes to become speaker of the House of Representatives. Not since 1860, when it took 44 ballots to elect New Jersey’s William Pennington as a compromise candidate, has it taken 15 ballots to elect a speaker.

The spectacle of a majority unable to muster the votes to elect a speaker, while the Democratic opposition stayed united behind House minority leader Hakeem Jeffries (D-NY), raised ridicule across the country. McCarthy tried to put a good spin on it but inadvertently undercut confidence in his leadership when he, now the leader of the House, told reporters: “This is the great part…. Because it took this long, now we learned how to govern.”

But there is no doubt that the concessions he made to extremist Republicans to win their votes mean he has finally grasped the speaker’s gavel from a much weaker position than previous speakers. “He will have to live the entirety of his speakership in a straitjacket constructed by the rules that we’re working on now,” one of the extremist ring leaders, Matt Gaetz (R-FL) told reporters. Gaetz later explained away his willingness to accept McCarthy after vowing never to support McCarthy by saying “I ran out of things I could even imagine to ask for.”

In his acceptance speech, McCarthy first thanked the House clerk, Cheryl Johnson, who presided over the drawn-out fight. Johnson was chosen by Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) when she became speaker in 2018, and has served since 2019. Her work this week was impressive.

McCarthy promised that the Republicans recognized that their responsibility was not to themselves or their conference, but to the country, but then went on to lay out a right-wing wish list for investigations, business deregulation, and enhanced use of fossil fuels, along with attacks on immigration, “woke indoctrination” in public schools, and the 87,000 new IRS agents funded by the Inflation Reduction Act to enforce tax laws. Somewhat oddly, considering the Biden administration’s focus on China and successful start to the repatriation of the hugely important chip industry, McCarthy promised that the Republicans would essentially jump on Biden’s coattails, working to counter communist China and bring jobs home. McCarthy promised that Republicans would “be a check and provide some balance to the President’s policies.”

It was a speech that harked back to the past 40 years of Republican ideology, although he awkwardly invoked Emanuel Leutze’s heroic 1851 painting of Washington crossing the Delaware to suggest that America is a land in which “every individual is equal” and “we let everybody in the boat.” Despite the language of inclusion, just as the Republicans have since 1980, he emphasized that the Republicans would center the “hardworking taxpayer.” The Republican conference repeatedly jumped to its feet to applaud his promises, but it felt rather like listening to a cover band playing yesterday’s hits.

Immediately after his victory, McCarthy thanked the members who stayed with him through all the votes, but told reporters: “I do want to especially thank President Trump. I don’t think anybody should doubt his influence. He was with me from the beginning…. He would call me and he would call others…. Thank you, President Trump.”

Aaron Rupar of Public Notice pointed out that “McCarthy going out of his way to gush over Trump at a time when his influence is clearly diminished & political brand is more toxic to mainstream voters than ever—especially on the anniversary of the insurrection—is notable & indicative of who he'll be beholden to as speaker.”

I would go a step further and say that embracing Trump after his influence on the Republican Party has made it lose the last three elections suggests that, going forward, the party is planning either to convince more Americans to like the extremism of the MAGA Republicans—which is unlikely—or to restrict the vote so that opposition to that extremism doesn’t matter.

Yesterday, Ohio’s Republican governor, Mike DeWine, signed into law a series of changes in election law that include requiring a photo ID rather than permitting people to use other government documents or utility bills, shortening the time for returning ballots and fixing errors in them (called “curing”), prohibiting curbside voting, and limiting ballot drop boxes to one per county.

Also yesterday, a panel of three federal judges ruled that South Carolina’s First Congressional District is an unconstitutional racial gerrymander. Following the 2020 census, the Republican-dominated legislature moved 62% of the Black voters previously in that district into the Sixth District, turning what had recently been a swing district into a staunchly Republican one that Republican Nancy Mace won in November by 14 percentage points. District Judge Richard M. Gergel said: “If you see a turtle on top of a fence post, you know someone put it there…. This is not a coincidence.”

In contrast to McCarthy stood Minority Leader Jeffries, who used the ceremonial handing over of the speaker’s gavel from the Democrats to the Republicans to give a barn-burning speech. He began by praising “the iconic, the heroic, the legendary” former House speaker Nancy Pelosi as “the greatest speaker of all time,” and offering thanks to her lieutenants Steny Hoyer (D-MD) and Jim Clyburn (D-SC).

He reviewed the laws the Democrats have passed in the past two years—the American Rescue Plan, the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act, gun safety legislation, the CHIPS & Science Act, and the Inflation Reduction Act, among others. “It was one of the most consequential congresses in American history,” he said, accurately. He called for Democrats to continue the fight for lower costs, better paying jobs, safer communities, democracy, the public interest, economic opportunity for all, and reproductive freedom.

“As Democrats,” he said, “we do believe in a country for everyone…. We believe in a country with liberty and justice for all, equal protection under the law, free and fair elections, and yes, we believe in a country with the peaceful transfer of power.

“We believe that in America our diversity is a strength—it is not a weakness—an economic strength, a competitive strength, a cultural strength…. We are a gorgeous mosaic of people from throughout the world. As John Lewis would sometimes remind us on this floor, we may have come over on different ships but we’re all in the same boat now. We are white. We are Black. We are Latino. We are Asian. We are Native American.

“We are Christian. We are Jewish. We are Muslim. We are Hindu. We are religious. We are secular. We are gay. We are straight. We are young. We are older. We are women. We are men. We are citizens. We are dreamers.

“Out of many, we are one. That’s what makes America a great country, and no matter what kind of haters are trying to divide us, we’re not going to let anyone take that away from us, not now, not ever. This is the United States of America….

“So on this first day, let us commit to the American dream, a dream that promises that if you work hard and play by the rules, you should be able to provide a comfortable living for yourself and for your family, educate your children, purchase a home, and one day retire with grace and dignity.”

In this moment of transition, he said, the American people want to know what direction the Congress will choose. The Democrats offer their hand to Republicans to find common ground, Jeffries said, but “we will never compromise our principles. House Democrats will always put American values over autocracy…

“benevolence over bigotry, the Constitution over the cult, democracy over demagogues, economic opportunity over extremism, freedom over fascism, governing over gaslighting, hopefulness over hatred, inclusion over isolation, justice over judicial overreach, knowledge over kangaroo courts, liberty over limitation, maturity over Mar-a-Lago, normalcy over negativity, opportunity over obstruction, people over politics, quality of life issues over QAnon, reason over racism, substance over slander, triumph over tyranny, understanding over ugliness, voting rights over voter suppression, working families over the well-connected, xenial over xenophobia, ‘yes, we can’ over ‘you can't do it,’ and zealous representation over zero-sum confrontation. We will always do the right thing by the American people.”

The torch has indeed passed to a new generation, at least of Democrats. Between them and the extremists in his own ranks, McCarthy has his work cut out for him.

Heather Cox Richardson

[pontevoix]

@shimzus: kiyoko is not the most creative person, admittedly. she falls quickly to trends, and it’s only thanks to her self-restraint that she doesn’t let them overwhelm her. she’s been known to hide a few fashion magazines around the house in places where she hopes her husband won’t find them— her sock drawer, saeko’s personal “bar” shelf (which for some reason they allowed her to set up in their home), the small gap between the fridge and the counter… and to be incredibly mundane in her choice of valentine’s day gifts. all of the supermarkets are selling chocolates, so she bought some— the largest ones, knowing ryuunosuke’s appetite. she finds a cute pink-and-white card, and doesn’t forget to sign it with her name. and finally, after reading an article about it in her latest magazine perusal, a framed photo of the two of them on their wedding day… except… the photo printer she’d used at the convenience store had some type of cosmetic editing filter applied, and their eyes have been blown up to inhuman proportions to look “cute.” but it’s funny, so she keeps it, and thinks he’ll find it amusing, too.

three  years  (  of  marriage  !  )  is  long  enough  for  tanaka  to  decide  that  they  are  establishing  an  always.  tanaka  always  threatens  to  surprise  kiyoko  for  valentine’s,  &  he  always  ends  up  pleasantly  indulging  her  instead.  kiyoko  always  promises  to  think  of  him,  &  even  if  he  trusts  her  —

he  always  makes  his  ‘  fish  face  ‘  when  he  decides  on  surprise  whenever  she  presents  him  with  her  itemized  list  of  surprises  &  prizes.

signed  store-brought  stationary  :  tanaka  receives  it  with  a  press  of  his  fingertips  to  his  lips,  to  the  air.  a  salute  to  her  thought.

a  framed  wedding  day  photo,  goofy  &  fun  &  everything  that  tanaka  likes:  tanaka  props  it  up  immediately  against  the  mirror  of  their  bedroom  dresser.  maybe  it’ll  move,  but  it’s  something  be  kept.

so  it’s  fish  face  joy,  &  tanaka  is  always  loud  in  his  appreciation.  he’s  the  sling  of  arms  (  sideways  )  in  an  awkwardly  angled  embrace,  a  smack  of  a  kiss  against  the  cheek.

three  years  (  of  marriage  !  )  &  hark  -  he  wants  a  fourth  year.

so  it’s  fish  face  joy,  &  the  return  of  good  gifts.

ryuunosuke  appreciates  the  cliche,  so  he  offers  her  flowers  &  chocolates  that  he  did  not  make.

ryuunosuke  appreciates  the  experience,  so  he  gives  her  a  candle  (  girls  like  candles,  right  ?  )  &

an  itemized  list,  handwritten  in  messy  scrawl  —

i  got  my  brother  to  cover  tomorrow’s  shift!  shared  lunch  break

next  movie  ticket  is  on  me  >  :  )

i’ll  let  you  win  in  our  next  race.  after  that,  picnic  date,  my  lady!

you’re  the  prettiest  wife  lady  :  )

got  you  a  day  off  next  week.  the  candle  makes  sense  now  !

[renaissanceclassics]

A Tale of Two Cities - Book 2: Part 28

In 45 parts.

The Sea Still Rises

CHAPTER XXII. The Sea Still Rises

Haggard Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when Madame Defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Madame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of Spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saint’s mercies. The lamps across his streets had a portentously elastic swing with them.

Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: “I know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?” Every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. The fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; the image had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.

Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.

“Hark!” said The Vengeance. “Listen, then! Who comes?”

As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of Saint Antoine Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along.

“It is Defarge,” said madame. “Silence, patriots!”

Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked around him! “Listen, everywhere!” said madame again. “Listen to him!” Defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had sprung to their feet.

“Say then, my husband. What is it?”

“News from the other world!”

“How, then?” cried madame, contemptuously. “The other world?”

“Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?”

“Everybody!” from all throats.

“The news is of him. He is among us!”

“Among us!” from the universal throat again. “And dead?”

“Not dead! He feared us so much—and with reason—that he caused himself to be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have found him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. I have seen him but now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, a prisoner. I have said that he had reason to fear us. Say all! Had he reason?”

Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he could have heard the answering cry.

A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife looked steadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.

“Patriots!” said Defarge, in a determined voice, “are we ready?”

Instantly Madame Defarge’s knife was in her girdle; the drum was beating in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by magic; and The Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing the women.

Original

The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they looked from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pouring down into the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. From such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, from their children, from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and actions. Villain Foulon taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! Miscreant Foulon taken, my daughter! Then, a score of others ran into the midst of these, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and screaming, Foulon alive! Foulon who told the starving people they might eat grass! Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had no bread to give him! Foulon who told my baby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with want! O mother of God, this Foulon! O Heaven our suffering! Hear me, my dead baby and my withered father: I swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on Foulon! Husbands, and brothers, and young men, Give us the blood of Foulon, Give us the head of Foulon, Give us the heart of Foulon, Give us the body and soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own friends until they dropped into a passionate swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from being trampled under foot.

Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This Foulon was at the Hotel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armed men and women flocked out of the Quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with such a force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in Saint Antoine’s bosom but a few old crones and the wailing children.

No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination where this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent open space and streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from him in the Hall.

“See!” cried madame, pointing with her knife. “See the old villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his back. Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!” Madame put her knife under her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.

The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining to others, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with the clapping of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of drawl, and the winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame Defarge’s frequent expressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, at a distance: the more readily, because certain men who had by some wonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architecture to look in from the windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her and the crowd outside the building.

At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or protection, directly down upon the old prisoner’s head. The favour was too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got him!

It was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. Defarge had but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable wretch in a deadly embrace—Madame Defarge had but followed and turned her hand in one of the ropes with which he was tied—The Vengeance and Jacques Three were not yet up with them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped into the Hall, like birds of prey from their high perches—when the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, “Bring him out! Bring him to the lamp!”

Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his face by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go—as a cat might have done to a mouse—and silently and composedly looked at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women passionately screeching at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out to have him killed with grass in his mouth. Once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him, and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of.

Nor was this the end of the day’s bad work, for Saint Antoine so shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people’s enemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under a guard five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on flaring sheets of paper, seized him—would have torn him out of the breast of an army to bear Foulon company—set his head and heart on pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession through the streets.

Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the children, wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakers’ shops were beset by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by embracing one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them again in gossip. Gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and slender fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards supping at their doors.

Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused some nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of cheerfulness out of them. Fathers and mothers who had had their full share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped.

It was almost morning, when Defarge’s wine-shop parted with its last knot of customers, and Monsieur Defarge said to madame his wife, in husky tones, while fastening the door:

“At last it is come, my dear!”

“Eh well!” returned madame. “Almost.”

Saint Antoine slept, the Defarges slept: even The Vengeance slept with her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. The drum’s was the only voice in Saint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The Vengeance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had the same speech out of him as before the Bastille fell, or old Foulon was seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in Saint Antoine’s bosom.

[nickgerlich]

Feed Me!

The thought of dining at an animated restaurant is not exactly a new one. The idea has had a big revival in recent years, as labor costs and unreliability have soared. I have written about this phenomenon more than once in the last two or three years, and it often elicits howls of disapproval from my students. The thought of machine-crafted food just doesn’t sound all that appetizing.

But when you consider that many restaurants are already using machines to some degree to aid in the production of meals, it really shouldn’t raise eyebrows.



It all harks back to the Automat and its variants dating to the beginning of the 20th century. I’m talking about vending machines that sometimes presented an amazing array of prepared foods that could be ordered simply by dropping some coins into what amounted to a massive vending machine. These were not at all uncommon in bus stations, hospital cafeterias, and similar places where often transient groups of people needed to be fed. The only humans needed were those to replenish the food in the machines.

Yeah. I know what you’re thinking. Food sitting in a vending machine? What could possibly go wrong? Cue the rodents and bugs and all things nasty.

We don’t order much food out of vending machines today except for snacks and sodas, probably because the notion of a meal served as such really did turn our stomachs.

Skip forward to the present, and we have far more sophisticated efforts being tested, from Chippy the Robot at Chipotle, Carl’s Jr’s plans for an automated restaurant, and Mezli, a fully-autonomous food trailer in California. There are many more; these are just the ones I have written about.

And then there’s the new Sweetgreen automated restaurant, known as the Infinite Kitchen, now in concept and soon to be duplicated in large numbers. Basically, it is a salad-and-bowl-themed restaurant. There is still a human presence, lest customers be completely turned off, and to at least have some semblance of fresh and all that. Still, from the appearance of the interior, this looks like a very high-tech production line in which humans may be more optional than they let on.

It all starts with the tablets on the counter, essentially ordering stations. If that doesn’t suit you, then use the app on your phone. Otherwise, if you can’t handle this level of technology, you best be heading to Denny’s or Waffle House, where a waitress can call you “Sweetheart” or “Hon.”

I get that a lot these days. I guess I remind the young servers of their Grandpa. A very youngish and fit version of their Grandpa. Alas, I have veered off into the weeds.

Meanwhile back at Sweetgreen, the bank of vertical clear tubes with all the ingredients, from which customer salads and bowls are expertly constructed, will amaze you. If you’re going to use robotics to make meals, I suppose it pays to at least make the processes somewhat visible and accessible to patrons, who may be wondering what is going on inside the Black Box of this establishment. And it is impressive, to say the least.

While there is a skeleton crew of humans, the food prep area is completely hands-off, unless something runs out and has to be added in after-the-fact. Otherwise, the machinery is so impressive that it can rotate the bowl while ingredients are being added, so that everything is spread about evenly.

Better yet, Sweetgreen has figured out how to be a salad bar without being a salad bar, a problem during Covid that crushed Sweet Tomatoes. Eeewwwww! Grubby germ-oozing hands all over those serving spoons, sneeze guards ripe with the effluent of hordes of sick people. Nope, nope, nope. Salad bars and buffets are now off-limits, thank you much. I mean, unless it is eat there or starve. PB&J from the back of my van is more inviting.

I like what Sweetgreen is doing. It addresses all the labor problems we have discussed before, as well as food safety issues that previous formats could never resolve without a pandemic putting them out of business. I would try this in a heartbeat.

That said, I’m glad we have evolved from the vending machine era of food service. I want nothing to do with a sandwich, or even a microwaveable entree, that came out of a machine. I know. Both the old and new methods are rather soulless, but restaurants have to do something to overcome modern problems, and Sweetgreen is on to something.

Which is another way of saying I bet we see a lot more of this in the future. Take my money, please. I’d like some Cuban black beans and rice, and make it snappy.

Dr “But Do I Need To Tip The Machine?” Gerlich

Audio Blog