#kisses through the decades with wanda and agatha

[aparticularbandit]

Westview Holidays

Summary: Wanda and Agatha exert a great deal of magic for a Westview celebration, and Wanda has an idea on how to cool down afterwards.

Part of The Thrall of Decades collection.

Rating: T.

AO3

“You’re such a baby.”

“Excuse you, hon, I lived through events you can’t even imagine—”

“—and you’re still a baby.”  Wanda looks over just long enough to catch Agatha’s expression – a moment of feigned hurt that pulls at her heart (unfortunately) before Agatha sticks her tongue out at her.

That was what she waiting for.

With a swipe of one hand, Wanda crafts a small metal pole out of thin air just where Agatha’s tongue ends.  Agatha tries to pull her tongue back in, but now, in the cold air, the pole sticks to her tongue and thwacks hard against her lips.

It’s a small thing – conjuring a metal pole – but it’s more complicated to craft it within the scope of their present world, to have it at the right properties related to the cold air around them to get it stuck to Agatha’s tongue in the first place instead of it being created in a more neutral state of being.  It’s tricky to do what Wanda’s just done, and Agatha’s eyes light with approval.  She clicks her tongue, making a sound much more like the snapping of her fingertips, and the pole vanishes.  “Good girl,” she purrs.

Wanda preens, smug.

“You can flirt when you’re done with the decorations,” Sarah calls from her perch near the front of the crowd, hands cupped around her mouth.  Her husband nudges her with one elbow, and she continues.  “No one wants to see that!”  When Agatha shoots her a look, Sarah gives her a lopsided grin.

It’s more progress than Wanda thought was possible when she chose to stay in Westview, not that she’d been quite thinking about that when she decided to stay, and it’s more care than she’d thought anyone who’d undergone her unintentional abuse of the little town might ever even consider giving her, let alone actually give.  To be forgiven and seen—

It’s a small miracle.

Agatha would call it magic.

~

Nearly a year has passed since Wanda returned to Westview for Agatha, since Agatha tested her little witch until she was convinced she was safe, since magic revealed to her the threads it used in tying them both together, threads Wanda hadn’t noticed (or, if she did, didn’t acknowledge) and Agatha hadn’t so much as attempted to untangle.  Lover of magic she may be and still is, but even she can’t undo what magic wants, when it’s adamant about it.  (It isn’t subtle, remember, and it is far more powerful than either witch alone, than even their powers combined, because all of that rests on the gift of magic in the first place.  It would laugh.)

In that year, Wanda allowed Agatha to put constraints on her powers – constraints she could, of course, easily undo without even the wave of her hand.  But Agatha said they were necessary.  Then, when Wanda raised an eyebrow at her words, admitted that, strictly speaking, they weren’t technically necessary but elaborated that the constraint on her power would force her to learn true witchcraft, just as other witches throughout the centuries had.  And while Wanda certainly didn’t need runes or incantations or anything as trivial as that, understanding the theory behind everything, the way magic felt within the hands of even the smallest user, would make her own, much more unwieldy crafting that much stronger.

And, more than strength, it would make it reliable.

Give her greater control.

For a witch who had struggled to understand and control her magic since she’d first gained it, even before she’d known it was magic in the truest sense of the word, Wanda yearned for that sense of control.  So she agreed to the constraints, trusting Agatha in a way she would never have trusted her before.

(Not never would have trusted anyone because she would have trusted Vision, if she truly believed he knew what he was doing.  Would have trusted her brother, if he’d thought she was more of a danger than she was a help.  Had trusted Vision, for a while, when he’d kept her in the complex, away from everything and everyone else.  But his form of constraint hadn’t taught her anything, had been purely reactive.

Agatha’s constraints were there to teach.)

For the past year, Agatha trained Wanda, teaching her the theory of magic, the subtle ways magic liked better than her blatant dinosaur clomping around, how to best protect herself when casting so that magic doesn’t become a drain on her, so that she ties it into something else as a source.  And as Wanda grew, Agatha modified the restraints, shifting them so that Wanda could expand, stretch her wings—

Not fly.  Not yet.  But maybe something close to it.

~

Of course, this wasn’t the only thing that happened in the past year.

Agatha took Wanda out.  In part to show the town that she wasn’t as dangerous as she once was and in part because she wanted to take her out.  For dates, for movies (which they only paid attention to half of the time), for walks around the town for her their mental health.  It was gentle.  Soft.  Nice.

They’d spent time with the new citizens who’d moved into Westview when those who wanted nothing to do with the city where they were so traumatized left, and while some of them were apprehensive of Wanda, most were pleased to meet a former Avenger.  (Former because Wanda refused to use the term; former because while her magic was restrained, she didn’t feel comfortable trying to take on more powerful foes.  Fortunately for them, no one came to call.  Not in that year.)  A few of the townspeople who’d originally decided to stay left once they realized Wanda, too, was staying; not all of them, which led to some dirty looks in the marketplace, even now, even a year out, but they know who they are, they know to stay away.

And, of course, they’d spent time with the handful who knew, who lived through it all, and who still cared about Wanda.  Eventually, even Sarah’s daughter, Emily, met Wanda.  They were friends now, or at least as close as they could be, considering.

Wanda hadn’t picked up a job, since she’d been focused entirely on her own studies, but Agatha continued to teach her kids and, on occasion, brought Wanda in to tell them stories.  At first, she’d been apprehensive and quiet and uneasy.  The first day she’d come in, all she did was sit and listen, and she’d been set to do so the second day, until one of the kids came up and asked for her help.  It’d taken the kids warming up to her to get her to talk at all.

That was the thing people found they loved about the witches most: not their power, but their stories.

Stories made them human, made others human: Agatha’s of the ancient past and people to whom history gave only a sanitized view and Wanda’s of the recent past and people to whom media gave only a superheroic view.  They took people down from their pedestal and made them real.

Westview thrived on that.

~

Now, though, today, with Wanda’s restraints half gone, the two witches are putting on a sort of public display for the whole town to enjoy.  Even though a select few of the townspeople groaned about it, and even though an even more select few refused to attend outright simply due to Wanda’s involvement, most of them are there, front and center, as the two craft holiday decorations.

They started with the tree – Wanda breaking apart the ground in the center of town so that Agatha could cause a tree to sprout from soil beneath.  (Symbolism.  They practiced this.)  Then Agatha covered the tree with small candles ignited with smaller, flickering flames, leaving them for a few moments before Wanda captured the flames in little glass bulbs and left them strung around the tree as its new lights.  As soon as she finishes, the streetlamps around the town flash and flicker before changing into the same fire encased in clear bulbs as the tinier lights on the tree, each with a bright ribbon tying itself out of the air in different colors – red, green, blue, white, yellow – one after another, spreading out from the town center where they wait.

It’s at this point that Wanda sticks Agatha with the metal pole, when Sarah shouts out at both of them, when Wanda glances down and sees Emily standing next to her, eyes lit with wonder.

And hears Agatha’s voice gentle in her mind, This is why we do this.  She lets that rest for a few moments before continuing with the barest hint of spite, But if you pull that shit again, hon, I will end this thing so fast—

Wanda ignores her.  More to the point, Wanda does not believe her because Agatha loves the children around them just as much as Wanda does.  Wanda would never take this from them, and so she knows that Agatha never would either.

It helps that she can already feel the strain.  She has to focus.  Deep breath in.  Deep breath out.

Don’t focus on how the cold has turned Agatha’s nose an adorable red.  Don’t focus on how the slight breeze pushes her curly, frizzy hair out behind her and exposes her very kissable neck.  Don’t focus on the soft purple glow magic cradles her in, or the way it lights up her eyes just as surely as Wanda’s own must be lighting with scarlet, or the purple covering the tips of her fingers turning the same red as her nose from the cold.

Don’t focus on all of these things and call her a baby again because she’s her baby.

Save that for later.

Later.

Wanda tears her eyes away from Agatha, licks her lips, tugs the bottom one between her teeth, and pretends that she doesn’t feel Agatha’s control of magic tangling with her own or the threads of magic her fingers are dipped into rippling against those Agatha’s are or the briefest of moments when their fingers brush against each other as they manipulate the same thread.  It’s an entirely different feel in magical space instead of in physical, and the thrill of it that shoots through her is different and indescribable and it is absolutely unfair how Agatha doesn’t react to it at all.

Stop. Looking. At. Agatha.

At least Sarah isn’t yelling about what she doesn’t notice.

Wanda takes a deep breath in.  She focuses.  Sets her menorah where she wants it, where it can – and will – be seen.  Smiles when she hears one of the children in the crowd gasp and comment and turns just enough to see them pointing at it with excitement.  Reaches out to entangle her mind with Agatha’s again, murmurs, This is why we do this, and lets her smug joy mix with Agatha’s.

Notes the bright and thriving neon blue coloring everything in Agatha’s mind and chuckles.

~

They don’t need to make any excuse to leave after their holiday extravaganza; Wanda is completely honest when she says that she is exhausted, although Agatha is less than honest when she says she needs to take care of her student.  Sarah shoots them a look for that, one brow raising, but Agatha just meets her gaze and raises both brows twice with a snide smirk lifting one corner of her lips.  Wanda pretends to ignore all of this, but she sees it.  Holds it with the smallest of warmths in the center of her chest.  And expects Agatha to wait only just long enough for Wanda to close the door before—

Well.

Wanda decides to take things into her own hands.  She pretends that her exhaustion is significantly more than it is, so that Agatha opens the door with the smallest of magic and shuts it with the same, only for Wanda to press her against the door and smother her with a kiss.  She feels Agatha sigh against her and takes that as encouragement to rest her hands on Agatha’s hips, on the small curves of her waist, and to pull her tighter to her.  It’s when she moves her lips and begins to kiss along Agatha’s jaw that she hears it—

Not a sigh of approval or requited longing, but of frustration and gentle disapproval.

Wanda ignores this and keeps kissing her anyway, brushing her nose against that sensitive spot on the curve of Agatha’s chin.  “Is something wrong?”

“Hon,” Agatha says with a third, more annoyed sigh, “you know I love when you do this, but—”  She cuts off with a sharp gasp as Wanda bites, hard, on that sensitive spot.  “Dear,” she lets out in a breathy hum, “you aren’t listening.”

“Mmm…no,” Wanda agrees and disagrees.  “You’re talking too much.”  She resumes her nibbling along Agatha’s neck.

Agatha snakes a hand through Wanda’s hair, wraps her fingers through far too many locks, and then grips tightly before tugging Wanda’s head up with a sharp shock of pain.  “We’ve talked about this, love.  Using so much magic all at once can give you a high, especially in tandem with a partner, especially with someone that you already—”

“Too much talking.”  Wanda presses her lips to Agatha’s again, takes her lower lip between her teeth and tugs in the way that she knows Agatha likes.

Wanda.  Agatha’s voice thrums loud in her mind in the same instant that she lets out an audible groan of pleasure.  You’re still not—

If you really wanted me to stop, you’d tell me to stop.  Wanda presses her against the door again, causing Agatha’s shirt to lift just enough for her to brush her fingers against her skin.  She rubs her thumbs in circles just above Agatha’s hip bones, lets the tip of her right thumbnail just sink into Agatha’s skin, grins at another audible groan as it releases into her mouth.  Clearly, you don’t want that.

It takes a moment for Agatha to get herself together enough to respond, and in that moment, she turns the tide, places her hand on Wanda’s throat, and pushes her back until she bumps against the nearest wall.  Wanda wants to melt into her, and half does.  But now Agatha has enough of an upper hand to pull her lips from Wanda’s and meet her eyes with a firm stare, broken only slightly in efficiency due to how wide her pupils have grown.  “I’m suffering from the same after-effects you are, hon,” she says, breath ragged between words.  “I—”  She cuts herself off, eyes falling to Wanda’s lips, and then forces herself to take a deep breath, drawing her eyes back up to meet Wanda’s instead of letting them fall farther.  “We need to rest before—”

“This is rest—”

“No, it’s physical exertion that leaves you even more exhausted than you already are.”  Agatha’s gaze drops again, lower, and traces its way up Wanda’s body in a way that makes Wanda shiver, especially when Agatha tugs her own swollen, split lower lip between her teeth.  Then she lets out another sigh.  “It’s a nice form of exhaustion, sure, love, but.”  She cups Wanda’s face and brushes her thumb along her cheek.  “We’re already exhausted.  You’re already exhausted.  And magic will take advantage of that.”  She leans across and gives Wanda a chaste kiss.  “Not right now.”

Wanda pouts.  “You’re just too old for this shit.”

Agatha chuckles.  “You want to learn from your mistakes, that’s all well and good, but don’t drag me down with you, hon.”  She wraps a lock of Wanda’s hair around her finger.  “Been there, done that.”

“So what,” Wanda says, pouting, “would you have me do instead?”

“I believe, in the business you want, it would be called aftercare.”

~

Which is how, not fifteen minutes later, the two witches end up in bed together, draped in their matching wicked witch oversized shirts, with a television turned on right across from them.  Wanda rests her head on Agatha’s shoulder, close enough to brush her nose against her partner’s neck.  “I get to pick the show,” she murmurs.  “If I don’t pick the show, I might—”

Agatha flattens Wanda’s hand where it has already started to move up her thigh.  “Whatever show you want, super star.”  She flicks through channels until Wanda places her other hand on hers.  Her brows raise.  “This one?”

“Mmmm.”  Wanda nuzzles against her neck, curls closer, and rests her head on Agatha’s chest.  “This one’s good.”  She settles against her partner with a hum of contentment.  It’s an episode she’s seen a million and one times before, which means technically she doesn’t have to pay any attention at all, if she doesn’t want that.  She leans up and kisses Agatha’s jaw.

“Be good, hon.”  Agatha strokes one finger along Wanda’s spine.  Up and down, up and down, like a spell she casts solely to soothe.

“I’m being good.”

“Of course, you are.”

Wanda leans up and meets Agatha’s eyes.  “I’m always being good.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow again.  “Is that so?”  She leans forward as though to give Wanda a kiss but instead reaches up and presses that kiss to her forehead instead.  “Maybe,” she whispers, running a finger along Wanda’s jaw, “if you are good enough, I’ll see fit to give you a reward.”

“A reward?” Wanda echoes, her eyes lighting up.  Her lips spread in a smug grin.  “What kind of reward?”

Agatha’s gaze flits away.  “Maybe tomorrow, if you aren’t too tired, we can play with magical after-effects.”  She meets Wanda’s eyes again.  “Nothing as strong as today, but enough testing that—”

“—that next time, I get what I want,” Wanda completes for her.

“What we both want,” Agatha corrects.  She runs her finger gently along Wanda’s jaw again and lets out another sigh – this one the sigh of yearning that Wanda most associates with her.  “It will be exhausting, hon.  But I’m sure you’ll be up for the challenge.”

Wanda leans forward, brushing her nose against Agatha’s.  “I’m sure I will.”

When Agatha kisses her this time, there’s just enough fire to it that Wanda thinks maybe – maybe – she’ll give in.  But then Agatha settles back against her pillow, turned to the television, and runs her fingers along Wanda’s back again.

Tomorrow, Wanda hears, clear, in her mind.  Tomorrow.

Even as that electric blue throbs all around them.

#bandit fic #december banditnanza 2023 fic #kisses through the decades with wanda and agatha #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu #wandavision #wagatha #wandagatha #harximoff #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness

[getlostsquidward]

hi, could i request some agatha x reader hurt/comfort??? if not it’s okay, it’s super chill. maybe like during their stay in the hex reader feels like agatha doesn’t love them / want anything to do with them anymore and agatha eventually finds out and reassures them that isn’t true?? ((maybe with smut at the end??? only if you’re comfortable with it tho!!!)) i love your writing btw 💕

afterglow

pairing: agatha harkness x reader

summary: ever since wanda had let her grief take over, everything had changed in westview and its people–yours and agatha's lives included.

warnings: a teeny tiny sexy time, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, ambiguous ending xd

You don’t know when it started–when Agatha barely comes home (granted it’s a fake one, but home, nonetheless.) Wherever you are, you consider home as long as you are with her, but right now, home feels like a faraway place, like it found a better person to give its shelter to.

Ever since Wanda had let her grief take over, everything had changed in Westview and its people–yours and Agatha's lives included.

Wanda, Wanda, Wanda–it’s all you can hear coming out of her mouth. You knew the older witch has an unquenchable thirst for power, and maybe you should’ve known that one day she’d prioritize terrorizing a grief-laden woman with immense power over her powerless, mortal girlfriend. That said, you would never want to be the reason she stops doing what she has been doing for decades, and this has been your setup whenever she has a mission. You would always wait for her at home, with Agatha always saying she didn't want you to get caught between the witchcraft and being the reason you get hurt. She'd always assure you that she'll be back safe and sound in no time, and she always delivered on her promises.

That's why this particular trip gave a different feel to it the minute you step foot in this fake world. 

Gone were the days of waking up with Agatha cocooning you in her warmth. There was only cold and empty space beside you, even her scent missing from the barely used pillows. When she comes home at night, you don't ask her where she has been, or who she has been with—not that you feel the need to. There was only one reason you were in this dreary town.

When she’s not out messing with Wanda, she’s holed up in the basement, and you’re stuck in your room, thankful for the companion of the little rabbit. If you get lucky, you get a kiss or two as she passes by you around the house. You're not sure how long it has been since you arrived here, and for what it's worth, you've never felt so close yet so far with the love of your life. You feel a bit further away from her as days pass by, as the decades change. It hurts but you don't want to give up, even though the feeling of you're just wasting each other's time feels a little stronger every day. 

Everything has changed, and you were scared you might be losing Agatha. 

//

Agatha is out shopping with Wanda first thing in the morning, buying baby clothes with the redhead while she couldn't even sit through breakfast with you.

The fastest pregnancy in history should amaze you in the least, but you couldn't find it in you to feel something…anything. The more Agatha leaves your side, the more she takes every piece of you with her, leaving you hollow and empty.

That night, she slides into the covers next to you, slipping an arm around your waist. She presses a kiss to your shoulder and pulls you close. “Why are you still awake, darling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Tell me about your day.”

You rolled your eyes, doubting if she genuinely wants to hear about it or if it was just to make small talk for old-time's sake. “There’s nothing to tell about it, it’s just the same old. Tell me about yours.”

As soon as she opened her mouth you regretted reciprocating the question. You should have known better than to hurt yourself hearing her talk about Wanda as if she'd rather be with her than in your presence.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see her again…” Agatha mumbled as she nuzzled your neck. That remark was the last nail in the coffin, the overwhelming jealousy and hurt provoking you and prompting you to turn and move on top of her. Her eyes went wide at the sudden movement, surprised. Agatha has never seen you with that fire in your eyes.

She was about to speak but you cut her off with a kiss. “Shh. Don't speak.” You felt her smirk against your lips. “Unless it's to scream my name.” I don't want to hear her name from your mouth.

Leaning down, you kissed Agatha feverishly, like a predator savoring its prey—teeth almost clashing, tongues shoved in each other's throat, bottom lips bruised as one suckled and nipped on the other like a hungry beast.

//

The way you took charge blew Agatha's mind, not stopping until you were sure she was limp and tired. She almost passed out right after, her eyes heavy with sleep. You didn't think you had it in you until tonight, but the intrusive thought that this might be your last night with her has won.

Agatha looks so peaceful in her sleep, her lashes fluttering ever so slightly. She had a small smile on her features, and her blissed-out look was one you could never forget. This is the first time that you even had time to properly look at her ever since her obsession with Wanda grew.

You didn't realize you were crying until you tasted salt on your lips. 

At that same moment, you slipped out of bed, taking one last look at her before completely disappearing from her life.

//

Making your way through Ellis street was unexpectedly easier than you thought it would be. The night, though, made it harder to see the barrier, not that it was visible to the naked eye. You continued to walk forward, finding for the telltale signs of something unusual, something magical. Soon enough, you found what you were looking for. The barrier crackled and buzzed in front of you, its appearance reminiscent of television static. 

You envied Wanda, wishing you also had the same abilities so Agatha won't have to chase another person to claim their power. She doesn't even have to ask, you know you'd willingly give her yours if you had them. 

You wished you had your own Westview and just live happily and in peace with Agatha.

Based on what you heard from her rambles, you knew that Wanda was able to blast Geraldine out of the barrier. You don't know if you would be able to get past it, but you have to try. 

Hovering your hand over the division, you tentatively let your fingertips push through. It felt like there was nothing sort of a barrier, as if the moment you laid your hands on it, it disappeared.

Was it letting you through?

With this newfound realization, you take a deep breath, getting ready to walk through it.

You watch as the barrier slowly sucks your hand, making a shiver run through your body. Halfway through your arm, a force pulls you away from the barrier—their gentle touch contrasting their strong grip on your waist.

She didn't let you fall to the ground, making her body catch you as you stumbled backward. Looking down at the black-stained hands on your stomach, you sighed in relief knowing it wasn't Wanda.

Now you feel like a complete fool—attempting to run away from Agatha only to feel comforted that she had prevented you from doing so.

The two of you stayed silent in the middle of the empty land, Agatha still holding you close to her. You could feel her heart rapidly beating—or maybe that was yours. You don't know anymore.

“Why are you up, Agatha? You should be sleeping.”

“I can't. Not without you.”

Scoffing, you wiggled out of her embrace to face her. “That's funny.” There was clear spite in your voice, but the tears that were starting to form in the corner of your eyes and the lump forming in your throat betrayed you.

Agatha reaches for your hand, holds it to her face, and presses a kiss on your palm. “I love you.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing that. I barely see you, you speak to me as if I'm just a wall to bounce your ideas off to. Everything's changed, and we're as close as strangers now, Agatha. I truly wish that this is all a nightmare, but I'm wide awake the whole time. I don't want to hold you back so I'm leaving—”

“Hold me back? You can never do that to me, darling. I can only find solace with you by my side. I asked you to come with me here because unlike all the other trips I've had, I'm unfamiliar with this– Wanda's source of power. You keep me grounded. When you're with me I feel…that everything's going to be fine.”

The witch comes home at night when you're already asleep. She makes her way under the covers to hold you close. She doesn't sleep, she just watches you as you rest–as creepy as it may sound. Agatha finds peace in listening to the steady beat of your heart. 

But she's so close to breaking in the redhead, so she lets go of her hold on you before you could wake up. She thought it would be easier when you don't see her leave. She thought it would be easier to leave when you don't stare with your lovely eyes.

Clearly, she thought wrong.

Agatha didn't mean to hurt you, let alone make you feel that she doesn't love you anymore. She wants Wanda's immense power, yes, but it doesn't mean she wants her.

She should've known that look you gave her earlier before masking it away. Her chest hurts as she thinks about the way you silently suffered, thinking about how you thought she didn't love you anymore—which the very idea is appalling to her. Agatha can never not love you.

“I didn't mean to hurt you, and I'm sorry. Don't leave me, darling, please…please don't walk away.”

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and the sight alone breaks your heart even more. Suddenly, the idea of leaving her seemed outrageous. You wiped her tears with your thumb, your own falling freely on your face. 

“I don't want to lose this with you. I don't want to lose you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

Her bright blue eyes lit up as they flickered to yours. “You're all I want, baby,” she says, cupping your cheeks. She steps closer, bringing your lips to hers. 

“And more power?” you breathed, lips still ghosting against hers. Agatha looked confused but chuckled at the sight of your playful smirk. “All I want is you, and more power.”

“Then let's go take power from the undeserving.”

Hand in hand, you walked back towards your house, the daybreak illuminating your path. You felt content, free of the heavy feeling you've been carrying, but there's a new gnawing thought that creeps up behind your head that you won’t get to bask in this afterglow for long.

—

tags: @midnight-lestrange @minszhuo @tr333sus @shayzulia @our-blood-is-our-ink @academiagaymess @ilovehotactresses @thenazwife @poetsdeadxo @p-nymph @wandakink @phattypoobutt @starrknessblog @gmtsu @inlovewithagathaharkness80

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x y/n #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness fluff #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #marvel imagine #kathryn hahn x reader

[multimilfs]

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: For Better or Worse

Summary: Agatha Harkness + 47 -- "I have no idea what you're talking about."

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: I love Agatha to the moon and back. Who else is excited for coven of chaos?!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @white--lillies @imtrashinflames @call-me-no-one

Warning(s): None

You think it’s the 2010s, but you can’t be sure. Maybe you’re still stuck in the 90s. 

Time is an illusion inside the Hex. Some days pass quicker than others; if Wanda gets bored, she can speed up the clock, and usher all of her little ‘side characters’ to bed. It can take a week between decades or sometimes Wanda flips between them. One day you wake up to jeans and a sweater, the next an obnoxious pair of yellow leg-warmers. The show she’s made you part of captures only minutes of the months you live. 

You’d give anything for time to be linear again. Unfortunately, that seems to be a luxury, and you’re not very high on the totem pole. 

The saving grace is you’re not alone. Agatha bears the weight with you, staring right down the barrel of the gun Wanda’s unknowingly loaded just to get an understanding. You thank the cosmos everyday for how powerful she is. Were she a lesser witch, your hair would be falling out from the anxiety. 

What Wanda lacks in time, she makes up for in characterization. You’re a background character, but a sweet, organized one; your adherence to a schedule is impressive. So she allows you a hell of a lot of freedom and some sense of normalcy. You could almost grow to like her for it. 

First thing in the morning, you make a pot of coffee for you and your Hex-husband—you can barely recall his name anymore—and check the mailbox. Among the typical bills there is always a folded sheet of paper, typically blank, but sometimes bearing the elegant scrawl you know and love. 

Unfolding the paper today, you smile down at the ink. 

Eleven. 

It’s cryptic and succinct and it warms you from your head to your toes. Finally, a bright spot. Agatha’s been too busy being followed by cameras to see you. Everytime you watch her pass, just barely making eye contact, you nearly lose it at the distance between you. 

You go through your routine normally all day until night rolls around. Making sure your Hex-husband is suitably knocked out, you wait by the door. 

Tap Tap, Knock Knock. 

In your eagerness, you practically rip the door from the hinges. Agatha pushes inside. 

“Miss me?” She teases. 

“More than anything,” You say genuinely, pulling her into a kiss, “I’m going crazy in this place.” 

Fingers scratch at your scalp and comb through your hair. She looks so damn kissable in her purple sweater, hair pulled up into a messy updo. 

“It’s not that bad, dear.” 

Your temper flares at her dismissal, energy crackling at your fingertips. She absorbs it. 

“Agatha, sweetheart,” You drawl, voice dripping with venomous sweetness, “If I have to take another pilates class, I’m going to kill the instructor.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

You push away from her, “I’m your wife, you’re supposed to love me. Instead, you’re letting me go mad here, because of some other witch. Should I be jealous?” 

“Against my better judgment, I do love you. We’re almost through here.” 

When you pushed away from her, you’d taken up pacing. It’s an awful habit that you didn’t develop until coming here. You’ve likely worn out the tread on your shoes from all the hours you spend walking back and forth, like a tiger trying to escape its cage. 

You pause. 

Turning and staring hard at your wife, you can see the moment she realizes her mistake. It’s only a twitch of her eye, but you’ve been with her for almost seventy years. She’s hiding something. Agatha has only told you she loved you three times; when she asked you to stay with her, when you married her, and that one time in Brazil that you almost died. 

“You’re stalling.” You accuse. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“What is it that you’re waiting for, Agatha? Maybe if you told me I’d be a little less inclined to blow the place up. If I know what I’m working for, I’ll play along.” 

Agatha takes your face in her hands, voice calm, “We’re almost done.” 

You hate her. 

You love her. 

Gods, she pisses you off. But she’s all you want. 

“Speed up the timeline, Agatha.” You say, “Or I will.” 

You’ve never been one to bluff. Back in the day, that’s what drew her to you; you always made good on your threats. It intrigued and worried her. So much power in the hands of a seemingly-unstable wielder almost got you killed, drained of all power in New Hampshire of all places. Instead, you ended up with a wife; you’re still not sure what changed her mind. 

Now, though, it’s a point of contention. Agatha is secretive and you’ve never pushed, but the Hex is driving you mad. You weren’t prepared for this. So either she moves up the timeline and ends this twisted daydream or you will, and she’ll be in the doghouse for the next decade. 

She sighs. 

“Fine.” 

You kiss her and she kisses back, reluctantly. Her body is taut with frustration. 

It isn’t your fault she’s hiding the truth from you. You’ve been together too long for it to bother you at this point, but things would be more straightforward if she didn’t insist on keeping everything locked in her mind. Sometimes you wonder if she does it to drive you up the wall. 

You forgive her many things; that’s what a wife does. Agatha, though… she has a different definition of what being a wife entails. Grudges are held frequently and for longer than necessary. But you love her and forgive her for it anyway. 

But loving and forgiving doesn’t mean you enjoy the separation. You hate the absence of her. Since your marriage—a quaint, quick thing in a courthouse in Massachusetts, made possible by an old contact of her’s—you’ve spent little time apart simply because you dislike the space. 

You feel the distance now and hate it. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” You say, though you’re not, really, you just want things to be okay again, “What do you need from me?”

“More time.” She says immediately, tone clipped. 

Trust your wife to ask for the one thing you can’t stand giving. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. I’ll go mad.” 

Agatha smirks, “You’re not already?” 

The fondness has returned to her eyes. You hate her for wanting more time—for needing it—but you love her, so you forgive her.

“How much time?” You ask softly. You can bear the weight of madness a little longer. 

“A few weeks.” 

You wince, but nod. Glee floods her eyes and you wonder how you could deny her in the first place. You hate how she holds your heart. You love her for making you feel. 

Agatha kisses you and there’s no reluctance. She’s all teeth, tongue, and desire. She’s darkness and anger and corruption. 

She’s yours—for better or worse. 

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #agatha harkness imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #dec2022 #multimilfswritings #multimilfsficmas2022

[ao3feed-scarletvision]

Kisses Through The Decades

by aparticularbandit

The world is full of various shades of grey – charcoal, smoke, silver, ash, pewter, steel, iron, and so on. For all the black and white, there is relatively little of that. Agnes’s hair trends as dark a grey as the world allows, but even it isn’t a pure black. The closest to that is the ribbon tied tight around her waist, accenting the narrowness of it, the hourglass shape of her. Wanda’s hands have found that waist far many times to count at this point, if only to usher her out of the kitchen when she’s stayed – not past her welcome, because that sounds rude, but…well, past her welcome.

Problem being, of course, that the more Wanda guides her by the waist out of the kitchen and through the back door, the more her hands find a proper place there.

Words: 1690, Chapters: 1/5, Language: English

Fandoms: WandaVision (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Agatha Harkness, Vision (Marvel)

Relationships: Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff/Vision

Additional Tags: Five Times Kissed Prompt, one per decade, (minus the seventies and fifties because those are both single day events)

from AO3 works tagged 'Wanda Maximoff/Vision' https://ift.tt/z6BTwaA via IFTTT

#scarlet vision #scarletvision #the vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #IFTTT

[wipethetape]

Her Magic

Agatha Harkness x Reader

A/N: idk how this turned out tbh it wasn't initially like this i just want an angst

Being Agatha's wife for a decade meant that fights are bound to happen because of her desire to learn and control more magic. They say it is a measure of a relationship between couples, as couples who don't fight are most likely to cut their ties earlier than most people. Let's say that it is, because you lasted a decade with her, and she's thankful for that.

When Agatha started mentoring Wanda about her powers and teaching her about her identity as the Scarlet Witch, she was slowly losing her time with you. At first, you were fine with it because you know it's for her plan, though you pity Wanda. She's a good friend to you, and also to Agatha—but she's never going to admit it. You always sleep and wake up without her by your side, but you never confront her for it. You were too tired to talk to her about it. You know she's going to reason out that it is necessary to learn about Wanda's power if the witch ever decides to exact revenge on her so you need to understand better.

One day, you just had enough. You were supposed to spend the whole day together as she promised. She said she feels that she's been neglecting you so when she asked you about it, it felt as if all the time your mind was telling you that you're all alone and Agatha doesn't want you anymore was washed away.

You excitedly agreed. She promised you a date after a long time, so you were incredibly prepared for it. The next day, she bailed on you. When she got home after her training with Wanda, she went straight to bed and did not even bother to greet you. So you just burst out, and she also did.

You were both levitating off the ground, throwing each other insults and remarks. It wasn't the best way to deal with your problem, but it has to stop.

“Wanting to feel wanted is the loneliest feeling ever. You know that too well, Aggs. You understand it enough that's why you shouldn't let other people-”

"That's it. I'm tired!" Agatha raised her voice and slowly landed her feet on the ground in frustration. "I am so tired of this useless banter we've been having. What do you want to hear from me? That you're nothing but an obligation for me? That you're ruining what I want? Is that it?"

Tears are threatening to fall from your eyes, but you need to suck it up. The last thing you want Agatha to see is you crying, not because of the pity that you will get, but because of her. It would break her to see you hurt, especially if she's the reason for it, but maybe you should have let those tears escape, so she would suffer the same way you do.

You stopped yourself from levitating to meet Agatha's level. She saw how your eyes drooped with what she said, and it hurt her.

"That came out from your mouth, Harkness. Your subconscious part has spoken for you."

"Honey, I didn't mean it that wa-,"

"All I wanted was for you to spare time for me. I'm not forcing you to abandon your goal to have Wanda's magic." You say, trying hard to sound calm despite the overwhelming emotions you feel. "But your magic," you pointed at her, "your desire for that thing, will always be the reason why you would lose everything. Your own magic, skills, and me."

Agatha let your head rest on her arms while you tugged her closer to embrace her tightly. She returned the hug and showered your face with small, gentle kisses. You're both resting on your shared bed after the fight.

Sleeping next to each other used to be warm, both literally and emotionally. You cannot sleep without her locking you into her arms, feeling her warmth, and vice versa. She particularly loves it when you bury your head onto her bosom, memorizing the rhythm of her respiration through the movements of her chest, and cherishing the sound of her heartbeat, making you feel safe and secure with her.

Agatha remembers the day when she asked you to be her wife. The two of you were laying down on the bed, holding hands, while you're staring at the ceiling. She remembers how she scanned your face, appreciating your beauty, from your eyes, down to the chin. She remembers the large upward curve formed in your lips that reached your eyes when you heard the question, accompanied by the giggles you let out because of extreme joy before saying the magical "yes".

She loves teasing you with her voice. During the first week of your marriage, she discovered that you like it when she whispers to your ear, saying literally anything. It will always lead to you being pinned on the bed, both of you indulged and taking time to explore new things. To your defense, her voice sounds soothing and sensual. She could talk to you like that all day, all year round and you wouldn't complain—you would actually oblige to anything she wishes right away.

She stopped going on the trips she usually does to discover herbs and spells for almost two months. She knew how much you were craving for her presence and how much you missed going out with her. She decided to make the most out of it by going on dates with you, and sometimes both of you just stay in bed doing nothing at all.

The contentment was not there for that long. The day Agatha told you about living in Westview came. She remembers the way you subtly brought your eyebrows together when you first heard it. She hates seeing you wrinkle your forehead. She hates the way you were hesitating to speak out your disagreement when you don't hesitate to start a debate with her if it's about magic. She knows asking you about joining her is a little bit demanding, but you still said yes.

The two of you are not under Wanda's mind control, but you need to act according to what she wants for her not to raise suspicions. She always expresses her irritation to Agnes, but you know she likes acting as the nosy neighbor. She likes it so much that she thinks it is more thrilling than those trips she did before.

She doesn't miss the way every time you look at her when she arrives home after the weary training with the little witch. She knows you want to say something to her, yet you don't voice it out. It made her think about reading your thoughts, but she respects you so much not to peek inside without your permission. She would be bothered by it every little while, but forget about it when you cup her cheeks and just gaze at her lovingly. The unspoken feelings and words were all conveyed through the pairs of eyes, and it makes everything better again.

Now, it feels different. You were there, still snuggling with her, but she can sense your doubts, the overflowing negative emotions you have always brought to your sleep because you tend to keep your concerns to yourself. You also felt cold.

Agatha stares at your sleeping form. She regrets everything. She's scared to ask if you still love her. She's scared to hear your response. She already realized that you were slowly drifting away from your relationship because of her. She knew she messed up everything, and you were right about her. She's the reason why she lost everything around her. She knows how much magic matters to her, but you are her top choice over anything, and she failed to make you feel that for the past months.

When she wakes up, she hopes everything will be fine. You would be there, acting as her loving wife, having your little moments, telling her to have a fun training session with Wanda. Everything should be fine by tomorrow. Just like how it used to be.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha harkness imagine #wandavision #mcu #marvel

[goddessofmischief]

Firstly congrats to 400❤❤

Secondly, could I request an Agatha x Reader where they are enemies and have been fighting each other for decades but they have to team up against a big bad and they realise the other isn't that bad and kiss in the end. Basically the typical enemies to lovers :)

Who’s Guarding Hades? - Agatha Harkness x Reader

"Agatha Harkness. I should’ve known.”

Agatha approached you, her jeans and cardigan fading into the purple gown you knew so well.

“Y/N L/N. Good to see you. But if you’re here...” her grin curled into a scowl. “Who’s guarding Hades?”

You chuckled.

“Oh, Agatha... I thought you’d still be crushed under a house in Munchkinland.”

“Enough of the pleasantries. It’ll be me who takes Wanda Maximoff’s powers for my own and becomes the Scarlet Witch... you can run along now.”

“Agatha, Agatha. I’m here to protect Wanda. I don’t want her powers...”

Your hands crackled with green magic.

“Why would I ever want hers, when mine are so, well... spectacular?”

She huffed.

“You’ve been like this for years, you know. So... insufferable. 

Insufferably good, as always.”

“You make good sound like a bad word, Harkness.”

“You make bad sound even better.”

Agatha’s eyes glowed. Your own hands sparkled.

The barrier crackled.

“What was that?” you shouted, jumping back.

She stood in front, as if to protect you.

“Hayward,” she stammered. “Hayward, and... and S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Well, damn it, Harkness, what are we gonna do?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“If they get through here, you know they’ll kill Wanda, right? And you, and me.”

“I know. I’m trying to think of something-”

An armored S.W.O.R.D. tank broke through the barrier.

“Think faster!”

“Okay, okay,” she said, flinging herself in front of you.

“Agatha, don’t, you’re gonna get-”

With her powers, she lifted the tank, throwing it into the barrier.

“...Crushed.”

Agatha turned back to you, breathing heavily.

“Agatha, that was amazing,” you admitted. “I had no idea you could do that.”

“Oh, darling,” she whispered, leaning down and kissing you gently, “...I’m just full of surprises.”

...

Credit to Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Agatha and Reader’s insults came from them. You can read those and many more here.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #wandavision #agnes wandavision #wandavision x reader #wandaviz #kathryn hahn x reader #kathryn hahn #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel studios #marvel comics

[galactic-magick]

Spell Practice: Agnes/Agatha Harkness x Reader

Request: Hihi!!! I love your agnes fics imagines!! Could u do one where female! reader and agatha harkness are just iconic witch girlfriends? That know each other so well and each other's secrets? And play with everyone else's mind? Basically villain wives sbskwnjnw and reader knew all along who she was because they've been like together for decades? Because agatha (in the comics) is centuries old lmao and Wanda is just like really lost but Reader always sticks with agatha and so does her? If that's okay!

Summary: You and Agatha cause some chaos in Westview with your magic.

Words:  600+

Warnings: a swear I think

Author’s Notes: While I was writing this I got the idea for a possible prequel to it explaining how you and Agatha first met, so that’ll probably be out sometime soon!

Taglist: @nyx-aira​ @midnight-lestrange​ @thestrangeundoing​

-

-

-

You exhale heavily, throwing the spell book on the floor, “I can’t get it Aggie. I’ll never be able to do all this as good as you,”

“Careful!! These books are sacred!” she picks it up, dusting it off and putting it back on the shelf. “You’re doing fine, darling, be patient. Remember, I have several centuries more practice than you,”

“I guess so,” you shrug, trying to release some of the frusteration. “At least I’m getting better at mind tricks,”

“See? You’re doing even better than you think,” she kisses your cheek. “Mind manipulation magic is incredibly difficult to master, so even the smallest things are impressive,”

You nod and relax in her arms. She’s right, you’ve definitely been improving. You’ve been practicing for decades since you met, of course, but that’s still nothing compared to how long she has. She’s taught you everything you know, and you’ve accomplished so much together.

“Say, how about we go out and get a little more practice out in town, huh?”

“Are you sure? Haven’t we made people suspicious enough?” you ask.

“Wanda still has no idea I’m behind anything, it’ll be fine, love,” she takes your hand and leads you out of the basement.

Once you arrive in town, it’s not hard to find your first victim. You start with simple things, like making random people say stupid things and creating drama wherever you can. Occasionally you wake one of them up just to watch them freak out for a few seconds and then put them back under, only to make their alternate lives even worse.

Eventually the little things escalate into some full on fights between people, some screaming up and down the streets and some of the buildings and lights glitching. Agatha laughs along with you as chaos ensues.

“Agnes! Y/N! What’s going on?!” you hear Wanda running up behind you, eyes wide.

“Not sure honey, someone hit someone and everyone just went nuts,” Agnes gestures to a couple people in the middle.

“This isn’t supposed to- oh shit, um,” she runs her hands through her hair. “I’ll take care of it, you guys go home,”

“Whatever you say, neighbor!” Agnes winks, taking your hand again and walking off.

“Do you think she can fix all that?”

“This? Oh yeah. We’re gonna make her reality crumble much more than that,” she cackles, leaving a puff of purple smoke behind her.

 -

 When you get back home, you spend some time rereading the spell book on the couch by the fire while Agatha messes with some things downstairs. She doesn’t want you to accidentally get hurt by any of the complex dangerous magic she’s doing, so you usually wait upstairs until she’s done for the day.

You find yourself staring at the flames, reminiscing all your time together. It’s been years, yet sometimes it feels like no time at all. You remember when she saved your life, how you fell in love so quickly, and how she saw your potential for magic. You have a bond that’s unbreakable, and you doubt anything will ever separate you. Besides, Agatha’s told you the secret to immortality, so your love will stand the test of time.

“Hey darling,” Agatha slides next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You smile, giving her a kiss and leaning into her, “Hey,”

“I gotta say, watching you wreak havoc on the place was pretty hot,”

“Oh, shush,” even after so long, your face still gets warm.

She kisses your forehead and pulls you in tight, “We’re so close, hun. Everything we’ve done here is gonna be worth it,”

You grin, looking into her eyes, “I know.”

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agnes #agnes x reader #wandavision #wandavision x reader #wandavision spoilers

[nebulousfishgills]

A Day for Just Us

Request by: @nyx-aira : When I saw you wrote for Agatha I had to request something so could you write an Agatha x reader where they just take a day for themselves, go on a walk, have a movie night. Basically just you and Agatha having a good time. Cuddles, kisses and fluff please.

Yes, I write for Agatha now. Let me simp in peace, internet.

You want Agatha, then Agatha you shall have!!💜

Also, since you and Agatha are in Westview, you both have your pseudonyms, hers being Agnes, and yours indicated by the (f/n) tag, standing for "fake name." (y/n), of course, stands for your real name.

Warnings: Fluff

ฯฯฯ

Life in Westview, New Jersey was largely calm. The people went about their days, enjoyed each other's company, and were just generally happy... Even after Wanda enveloped the whole town into her Hex. The people were happy, but were they really happy?

Well, you knew you were happy, at least. Being Wanda and Vision's neighbor to the right (your right, not theirs) made things... Interesting, to say the least. But it made things fun also. The boys were just the icing on the cake. Always asking their mom to go over to yours and Agatha's house. During a day when Wanda was feeling the 90s vibe, all four of you played tag in the yard for hours.

You and Agatha were immune to Wanda's chaos magic, but it was just so much fun to play along.

One particular day, Wanda and Vision wanted to take the boys out for some family activities. You noticed them leaving on bicycles when you were out in the front yard tending to Agatha's beloved azaleas. You gave them a pleasant wave before taking off your gardening gloves. Agatha came out of the house with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

"Azaleas look great, buttercup." She said happily as she passed you a glass.

"I have to say, while it's weird waking up in different decades based on Wanda's mood, it's nice that we never have to mow the lawn." You laughed, gesturing to the fresh cut grass with your lemonade.

"Yeah, exactly. Hey, since Wanda's gonna be out for the day, what say you to a nice day on the town? A whole day just for us? We're probably not gonna be on her broadcast for a bit." Agatha suggested with a smirk. She poked her finger into her drink so the mint leaves she had put in got trapped underneath the ice in the glass.

"Aw, sweetheart, that sound great. I'll just get cleaned up while you get the bikes from the garage." You said.

"Alright, just don't take too long." Agatha grinned as she booped your nose. She went for the garage while you went back inside your house. You tossed your gloves onto the table and grabbed a pair of sunglasses.

Emerging back outside into the bright sunlight, Agatha waved you over to the garage with both of your bikes in her hands, hers a light lavender color with a basket and yours a (f/c) one that had a matching basket. You both smiled at each other before kicking up your kickstands and pedaling down the street.

The town was a bustle of life as people enjoyed the day's pleasures. Children ran after the ice cream truck and played on the playground while the adults watched or had lovely outdoor picnics.

"What's on the marquee today?" You asked as you and Agatha passed by the movie theater.

"Looks like Jaws and Star Wars. Wanda's good, I'll give her credit for that, but she still meshes together her dates within the decades like a fruit salad in a whirlwind." Agatha said back as you rode by. You laughed as you both trailed down the path into the park. Opting to leave your bikes on the bike rack, you decided to take a lovely stroll down the paths talking about whatever came to mind.

"Howdy, neighbors!" A voice that matched Vision's called over. Looking in the direction of the voice, you saw Wanda with Vision and the boys having a picnic like several other families.

"Fancy meeting you here." Agatha said cheerily, the two of you walking over arm in arm.

"Enjoying a day on the town?" Wanda asked, picking up a strawberry from the bowl on her blanket.

"The weather's just too perfect to be inside all day. Seems like you all are having fun, too." You replied.

"Just a wonderful time. Your azaleas are looking beautiful as well, (f/n)."

"Well, they're really Agnes' azaleas, but I do have a green thumb for these things. Once they're fully grown, we'll put some in a vase for you."

"That's so sweet of you." Wanda beamed.

"Care to join us? There's plenty of food." Vision offered, holding up the paper plate holding the sandwich he hadn't taken any bites of to you both.

"Thanks, but we wouldn't want to spoil your family fun. Maybe next time, though." Agatha shrugged.

"Hm, well, alright." Wanda said.

"Aww, please, Agnes?" Billy asked, finally speaking up.

"Another time, kiddos. Tell ya what, we'll pull out the chalk in our garage and you can come over to draw on the sidewalk tomorrow. Maybe play a few rounds of hopscotch." Agatha said, putting her free arm on her hip and bending down slightly with a cheeky smile.

"Can we, Mom, can we?" Tommy asked excitedly.

"Yeah, can we?" Billy echoed.

"Oh, alright." Wanda laughed. The boys cheered excitedly.

"I've gotta warn you kids, I'm a champion hopscotch player, so bring your A-Game." Agatha bragged. Wanda chuckled as the boys nodded.

"Well, we'll see you then!" You said, waving.

"Bye!" The whole family chorused.

Continuing on your stroll, eventually you and Agatha made it back to your bikes. Taking another loop around the town, you did all the cliche things people did like share a milkshake at the diner (flicking whipped cream on each others' noses, of course) and buying some grains at the supermarket to feed the ducks at the local pond. You also bought some seed packets to hopefully add some roses and (favorite flowers) to your garden.

The day seemed to blow by and soon orange hues filled the sky as the sun started to set. Riding back to your house, you stored your bikes back in the garage and went back inside just as the stars started to poke out. You thought about stargazing on your roof with Agatha, but the shingles on your roof in the 70s setting made your back hurt. Instead, you both washed up and slid into your pyjamas. Extending the pullout sofa, you and Agatha curled up under a few blankets facing the television. You chose to open your selection of VCR tapes (sometimes they were DVDs, sometimes they didn't exist at all) and put "The Wizard of Oz" in.

Agatha said she disliked the movie for its depiction of witches, but you knew she secretly loved it.

"Hey, Agatha?" You asked midway through the movie.

"Yes, dearheart?" She asked in response.

"I wish every day could be like this."

"Me, too, angel. But, who knows, we could wake up tomorrow and it'll be 1955." Agatha laughed before kissing your cheek.

"Yes, but I mean in general. Wanda changes Westview all the time and this town has never been happier. I wish it could be like this forever." You clarified.

"Well, with any luck, it can be. But even if not, we've got each other, and every place is home when we have each other."

"Aww, you always know what to say." You curled closer to Agatha as she kissed the top of your head tenderly.

"You're too precious, dear." She replied.

ฯฯฯ

Hope you enjoyed this, nyx-aira!

As always, requests are open, so send them in!

#marvel #movies #avengers #disney plus #wandavision #agatha harkness #wandavision agnes #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #wandavision agnes x reader #writing #writing request #wandavision agatha x reader #wandavision agatha harkness #agatha harkness x fem!reader

[king-star]

The Hel in You

Warning: kissing Ig

Match: Agatha Harkness x Supernatural!reader

Genre: fluff and mild angst

A/N: Well then. I doubt this was at all what you were thinking anon but I got carried away. Also yes I realise it’s a day late but I didn’t start till 9 o’clock last night so it’s fine.

When S.W.O.R.D first came to your door you were adamant that you weren’t joining and that they leave you alone. They of course didn’t listen. One of their agents broke into your house one night and made you listen to her. They told you Wandas story and explained that you were the only person who was able to fight her mind control. After hearing such a heartbreaking story similar to your own you were in.

~

The first obstacle to endure when entering the Hex was your looks. You came from Hel itself and so your canines and ears are pointed. This wouldn’t fit in with Wandas sitcoms world and would immediately mark you to be throw out just like Captain Rambeau. You were given tight prosthetics to round of your ears and even out your teeth. You thought you looked stupid but it was all for the mission. The next obstacle was the ever changing time line. You would have to fit in with time periods. You had 24 hours to learn everything you could about the decades 80s and forward. Acting wasn’t something that came naturally to you and so faking the slang and changing your mind to be period appropriate was a challenge. A challenge you readily accepted and 24 hours later you stood staring into the red pulsating static border. It felt like when you got to close to a TV the hairs on your face pulled towards the border. “ you sure about this? You can still back out.” Agent Brand asked you. You laughed at her “ says the woman who recruited me for this. I owe it to myself to do this. Get that poor girl and everyone she’s trapped out safely. I’m the only damned creature on this Earth who can do it.” Your words were slurred slightly form the prosthetic teeth. Agent Brand nodded pointing two fingers they man next to you secured your helmet. Going through the border around Westview was one of the most, if not the worst, painful experiences you had ever endured. Which was saying a lot. You had been tortured and your arm had been severed then by the use of medical genius reattached to your body. It still hung limply at your side having only a quarter of the function of a normal arm. Going through the border felt as if every cell, every mitochondria, were ripped apart piece by piece and then placed back together in the wrong order. Every inch of your skin felt wrong when you finally surfaced. Only the memory of pain lingered but it felt as if your flesh had ants crawling under it and if your stomach was in knots. But you knew that you were the only person who could do this.

~

the town square was as you expected. Despite some obvious advertising and shop signs the town looked exactly as it did in the photographs at headquarters. You pulled out a map with the directions to Wanda’s house. It, along with everything else on you, had changed to fit the 80s time period. It took you about 10 minutes to finally find her house. You were walking along the pavement in front of the houses in Wanda’s neighbourhood messing with the straps on your suspenders. A voice from behind you filled your ears. It was full of life and joy and made you want to smile “ hiya there! You new to town? I haven’t ever see you around before.” You turned slowly afraid to do anything that would set off suspicion. S.W.O.R.D was still unsure exactly how Wandas Mind control worked. Wether she could see everything her victims could or not. “ yeah I’m new. My sister came through Westview a couple years back and said it was just a charming town. I was looking to stay for a couple weeks. Only issue is I haven’t a place to stay.” You feigned frustration making sure all your facial expressions where light hearted. The women in front of you had voluminous dark brown hair and a wide smile on her face. Not to mention she was incredibly pretty. You shamed yourself for thinking such things when you were in a missions “ oh well that’s just unfortunate. Hey I know we just met but my husband is out for the week. Maybe you could crash in our extra room.” She reached for hand in a sympathetic manner. You were nervous and wary of such an act of kindness from a total stranger but deciding that since she lived so close to Wanda they might be friends. It would be a good way to get into her life. “ oh I couldn’t intrude. I’m sure you guys have a motel or something.” The lady blew air through her lip and flicked her hand downwards. “Nonsense. A cutie like you I wouldn’t want you wandering around by yourself.” She tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and you felt shock at the sudden intimacy between this total stranger. Her hand grazed your ear slightly and you felt instant fear that she might realise the tip of your ear isn’t actual skin. Her face fell for half a second. You almost missed it. Then she smiled once again pulling you towards her house. “ I’m Agnes by the way.”

~

It turned out Agnes was actually Wanda’s direct neighbour. To the right. The two of you and her family spent lots of time together. You got to know Wanda and often times you would get back to your room in Agnes’ house and sob. Her story was horrible and you could see the sadness behind her eyes. You had just gone out for a walk with Agnes, Wanda, Tommy, and Billy. You watched on as Wanda looked lovingly at her twins. It broke you. Something was horribly wrong, and the nerves from being found out where sickening. You sat on your bed your stomach in knots. The time had changed to 90s over night and you pulled out your papers looking at the 90s slang you had on hand. Now that night had fallen you laid on your bed. The tears threatened your eyes. You pulled your mouth guard out and let your ears breath stripping away the plastic. Maybe working on getting ready for bed would help distract you. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked perfect. TV show perfect. Not a hair out of place. One of the pluses of being on a real life sitcom. So far you hadn’t found out much about Wanda’s control over Westview. You had picked up on that she was aware of what she was doing. Everyone at S.W.O.R.D called her a monster but you understood her. Every free moment you had was spent wandering the town looking for mistakes and clues or with Agnes. You tried not to let her work her way into your life. She was just another one of Wandas puppets but Monica Rambeau swore their personalities were similar to their repressed ones. You hoped to god so because day by day you were falling more and more in love with your friendly host. You shook out of your daydream state not wanting to continue your thoughts about your funny, beautiful, sexy friend. No Y/N stop! You stared yourself in the eye. Your unnaturally black pupils stared back at you. You opened your mouth and swirled your tongue over the pointed canines. After so many days being covered with a guard it felt foreign in your mouth.  You hear a quiet knock at your bed room door and jumped slightly. “ hiya love. I made some banana pudding do you want some?” You gagged at the thought of something so sweet. But the idea of watching Agnes eat the creamy dessert off a spoon had your chest fluttering. You pulled your hair tight over your ears and walked towards the door. “

None for me but I’d love to chat with you anyway. I’m not very tired.” Agnes smiled almost flirtatiously. “ well I’m glad.” She turned the other direction and you let your eyes wander. She had on matching purple pyjamas. The top was button down and long sleeve while the bottoms reached her mid thigh. It was kind of hot. You suddenly felt very under dressed I your tank top and loose pyjama booty shorts. You followed her shutting the door behind you. You were every thankful for Agnes letting you stay in her house. You had to admit the situation was sort of odd but you didn’t mind because you loved your talks with Agnes. The two of you grew very close. You never wandered staying to the living room, kitchen and your room. “ man I love banana pudding. Recipe my mom used to make. Other people use store bought pudding but I prefer to make my own.” You nodded along. You had never gotten used to earthen food, preferring to stick to stuff that was close to the food from Hel. This limited your diet to mostly vegetables and pomegranates. Anything too sugary made you sick to even think about eating. You made the mistake once and barfed your guts out for a week. Agatha plopped down in the living room, sitting on her huge couch with a bowl of banana coloured pudding. “ penny for your thoughts?” She asked dipping her spoon into the bowl. You watched her intently as she brought the spoon to her lips and licked the pudding and whipped cream off. “ nothing much. Just settling in here. It would be nice to move here permanently I think. It’s- well it’s better than anywhere else.” Agnes made a very thoughtful face and set her spoon down. “Well your always welcome here sweetie.” You nodded pondering how amazing it would be to live here forever with her. “ what about your husband. Ronald was his name?” Her features fell. “ Ralph...” you nodded. This was the oddest conversation you had had with her. Or anyone in Westview for that matter. Everyone seemed so sure of what was happening, the story perfectly written. “ well you see sweetheart. Ralph and me had some complications. We are currently in the process of getting divorced.” Your heart told you to apologise for bringing it up an try to make her feel better. But she seemed unperturbed. “ I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do.” She looked up when you said this. “ well actually there is something we could do to get my mind off of it.” She started to stand up. “ what would that be? I’d love to help.” You asked innocently. She walked closer to you and she sat down on the ottoman in front of you. It took her 30 seconds of silence just staring into your eyes for her to finally crash her lips on yours. She tasted like pudding. The kiss was sweet and somewhat teasing. Her lips played against yours. You let your hands find her neck pulling her closer. Your tongue met a sharp point and your every muscle tensed as you realised your mistake. Agnes felt the change in your body and pulled away. God she looked so pretty with her lips kiss swollen. “ is- is this ok?” She asked looking Seriosuly worried. “ no it’s fine. More than fine. Amazing actually it’s just...” you tried to think of an excuse that would let this continue and not raise suspicion. You let your tongue flick at the tooth in your mouth. Agnes reached up to put the hair behind your ear as she had done the first time she met you. When she did she gasped at your pointed ears. “

Oh my- your..” you started to speak mumbling over excuses. “ your from Hel” that you weren’t expecting. Your eyes shot up at the mention of your home dimension. “ yeah but how did you-“ she cut you off. She jumped at you kissing you intensely. She forced her tongue in your mouth.  The two of you kissed and pulled away for breath. Agnes began to place kisses down your neck nipping at the skin as she went. “ I always heard girls from Hel were hot but I couldn’t imagine anything like this.” You were shocked. No one really knew about Hel except Asgardians on Earth and of course the government. you gasped as she kissed your neck. “ oh sweetie. You think your the only one awake in here?” Your anxiety rose but then you realised she would have already told Wanda if she was planning on it. “ I-I guess I did.” She stopped. This was a conversation that needed to happen without.. distractions. “ Let’s just say, I have some background in magic.” The feeling of coven witch magic sparked your skin. “ your a coven witch.” She nodded. “ we worship you creature from Hel you know that? At least my coven did. The fact that I’m here doing this with you- well it’s the greatest honour. I hope you don’t mind I’m here trying to stop Wanda.” You shook your head. Maybe it was the Hel in you but you were fine with it. Maybe even made you like her more. “ well good. Because you are going to be in for a long night doll.”

(this is reposted from my old account )

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#Agatha harkness x reader #Wandavision #fluff #king-star #Marvel

[visions-indestructible-head]

incoherent post about Episode 5, "On A Very Special Episode..." so spoiler warming folx

the twins aging up seemingly at will. iconic.

the humor is back! Vision using pacifiers as ear plugs was a 10/10 joke

agnes is honestly getting increasingly conspicuous and im curious how long it'll take Vision to put two and two together. the entire "What did she say just now, taking it from the top?" scene was incredibly tense and i love it.

i feel like the "getting a dog and burying him in the same day" thing is a reference of Vision to the decades changing so quickly. it was said in an interview that there's meaning to everything and even in-universe, Darcy asked why they change episode to episode and that "couldn't purely be for [her] own enjoyment". i could bet it's connected to someone giving Wanda (or she giving herself) a seeming life time with Vision stretched over decades. its a working theory tho

the meta-ness of this episode is *chef's kiss*. Monica insisting Wanda could have taken down Thanos single-handedly? Jimmy interjection that Captain Marvel is equally as strong if not stronger? The entire bit about Wanda not having an alias as a jab at Marvel not using/being licensed to use the name Scarlet Witch?? impeccable writing, please never stop.

the team up Monica, Darcy, Jimmy. need i say more?

Monica knowing something is foul about the FBI dude pulling up this "previously top secret S.W.O.R.D." video material of Wanda allegedly stealing Vision's corpse against her wishes. she smelled it immediately and it's very clear by the look on her face.

everything about the scene of Wanda stepping out of the barrier, dragging the broken drone behind her and going "this is your only warning". and then proceeding to absolutely own the puny little man by mind controlling all of his men while turning her fucking back on him like the queen she is. ma'am, please step on me 😍

the Lagos commercial?? "for when you make a mess you didn't mean to". I stand by the theory that the commercials are by whoever decides to censor, cut and frame the broadcast and that they're aimed at Wanda for whatever reason. why? no idea but this one seems far more radical and personal than the previous ones.

the mini-standoff between Wanda and Vision. Vision's fear coming through

"Why are there no other children in Westview, Wanda?" and wanda dodging the question. she knows more than she lets on or at least she has an idea. he pointed out she probably didn't know at first but does now, like many of us suspected already. and im quite honestly really stoked to find out if Vision gets suspicious of his sons. the flair i got from today's episode was very comic-faithful of "Wanda created the children and Vision recognises them to not be real", but I'm not sure if they would actually go there. then again, they also confirmed Wanda is living with Vision's reanimated corpse that she stole only a few days prior and none of us really bat an eye so im not willing to bet on it.

PIETRO. FUCKING. MAXIMOFF. x-men pietro. i screeched. i didn't dare believe they would. but they foreshadowed. again and again. "mommy, do you have a brother?". "family is forever". "you can bring back the dead". and then evan peters just. THERE. on the mf screen. i still haven't processed tbh. (and if im brutally honest im head over heels for what this could mean for the possible spideypool shit. i just want andrew garfield back man)

it seems y'all were right btw, agnes is becoming so prominent that the Agatha Harkness theories are super realistic rn.

the time line of this show is crazy. it took Wanda 12 days from the end of Endgame to go steal Vision's corpse from S.W.O.R.D. and another 9 for us to get to the start of the show.

there's probably a lot more, i will edit this post but for now I'm done. please, as always, let me know your highlight by replying and/or reblogging, im excited to hear your thoughts!

#wandavision spoilers #wandavision #wanda maximoff #darcy lewis #vision #jimmy woo #monica rambeau #shane speaks #Holy fuck i am blown away by this show #it keeps getting better #and more house of M-esque

[aparticularbandit]

The Thrall of Magic XI - 2020's (V)

Chapter Summary: No, Wanda Maximoff, much like magic itself, isn’t very subtle.

But Agatha knows magic.  Wanda?  She’s still trying to figure her out.

Hopefully, it won’t take her another three hundred years to do so.

companion piece to Kisses Through The Decades

Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Chapter Rating: M for dark themes and brief sexual content Fic Rating: M for dark themes and sexual content

AO3

previous chapter

In the morning, they fight.

If it can even still be called morning anymore, given just how long Wanda tries to sleep away what Agatha knows is a hangover.  Agatha doesn’t have one herself, but she’d placed a glass of water and some aspirin next to the bed when she left in the hope that Wanda would take care of herself before coming downstairs.

(In the hope that maybe Wanda would remember something of the night before.)

But Wanda doesn’t remember anything, doesn’t even remember that she’d made her shirt mimic Agatha’s herself, and from her reactions, she certainly doesn’t remember that Agatha is, well, Agatha.

It’s disappointing, to say the least.  Even more disappointing is that after all that effort Agatha put into teaching Wanda to trust her again yesterday, it suddenly doesn’t matter.  She sighs, grits her teeth, and this time, when Wanda snipes at her, she says, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, “Wanda, dear, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now.”  She gestures to the shirt with one hand.  “That was the point of the shirt, hon.”

The revelation of her magic for something so simple and mundane as—

It doesn’t matter if Wanda doesn’t remember.

But Wanda doesn’t take her medicine, even though she goes upstairs, and Wanda won’t eat any of Agatha’s food, even though she’s clearly hungry and food will help with her hangover, because Wanda apparently thinks that the witch who hasn’t killed her yet would have more fun poisoning her food than actually trying to help her.  The gall of it sits deep in Agatha’s stomach, churns there the same way she once would have churned milk into butter, turning what might once have been anxieties into frustrations instead.  Annoyances.  Her unsubtle attempts to kill Wanda in a subtle attempt to get Wanda to put up the protection spells that every witch should know how to make have had more of an effect then every other time Agatha could have killed Wanda and didn’t, more than Agatha even trying to point that out.

“I don’t want to hurt you, love.  You might not trust me enough to believe that, but—”  Agatha cuts herself off because Wanda huffs and crosses her arms and acts very much like she won’t believe that and not only won’t believe it but feels annoyed with Agatha for even suggesting it.  “Fine.”  She shoves the bowl of oatmeal she had been eating from into Wanda’s lap.  “Just take mine, hon.  I obviously didn’t poison that one.”

“You really think I’m going to—”

Agatha shoots her a look.  “I’m not going to jeopardize my life just to kill you, dear.  What kind of idiot do you take me for?”  She pushes herself up off the couch and shoves her hands into her pockets.  “You’re the superhero here.  Not me.”

But when Agatha stalks off into the kitchen, half-feigning anger (lies are always at their strongest when they are half full of truth), all she does is conjure up a second bowl of oatmeal to match the first and stands just inside the doorframe to stare at Wanda.  Her eyes narrow as the great prophesied Scarlet Witch struggles to eat, first staring at the bowl in her lap before tentatively lifting the spoon to her lips, then gagging on the bite before forcing it down.

But she gets it down.  She takes another bite.

That’s…something.

Agatha starts to stick her fingers into the magic surrounding both of them and then hesitates.  Even without calling it to her for greater understanding, she feels it swirling around her, wanting to help her, wanting to….

To what?

Best not to look.  For once in her life, after months of trying to quit cold turkey, Agatha can resist the impulse.  Best not to look.

Agatha waits until she sees Wanda taking a third bite, waits until Wanda seems to have calmed enough to continue eating without seeming to think too terribly much about it, and then returns to the couch, sitting in her same place and propping her heels up on her coffee table.  The first bite from her new bowl isn’t as good – for all that magic is magic, there’s still a difference between magically conjured food and what she spends time and effort crafting, even if that difference is all in her mind.

(It isn’t all in her mind; she’d run double blind experiments with Cian over the years, and the magically conjured food always ranked lower.  With the exception of their first use of the Time Stone, but given what they’d seen….

Well, no food would have tasted good.

Or so Agatha assumes.  It isn’t as though they’d ever explicitly told her what they’d seen.  She’d just had to guess at it through subtle implications here and there – and then, well.  They died.  Half of the universe’s population disappeared.  She has a good idea of what they’d seen now.)

Wanda barely glances up as Agatha enters.  She pauses with the spoon halfway to her mouth, swallows hard.  When Agatha raises an eyebrow, she furrows her brows and stares down at her bowl of oatmeal.  “What?”

“You don’t have to stop eating on account of me, hon.”  Agatha lifts her spoon and gestures to Wanda’s bowl.  “I’m not poisoning it with just my presence.”

Wanda’s fingers clench tighter along her bowl.  “You poison everything with your presence,” she mutters under her breath.  Then she gives a little shake of her head and forces herself to eat another bite.

This time, Agatha doesn’t say anything.  That would be stooping to whatever level Wanda has decided to be on today, which would be fun at any other time, but not right now, when Wanda is determined to hate her.  To hurt her.  When anything and everything she says will probably be taken in exactly the wrong way because Wanda wants to be an internet troll to any and every fact she might be given.

About halfway through, Wanda admits, softer than anything, so soft she probably doesn’t even mean for Agatha to hear it, “This is really good.”

Agatha snorts.  “Of course, it is, sugar cube.  I’ve had centuries to perfect it.  Everything I cook is good.  You’re just lucky enough to taste it.”  Spinning subtleties – age as authority, marking herself as good (this is a lie, it’s a lie), calling Wanda lucky.  Little bits and pieces of words that can sink into her mind, things Wanda won’t catch or know that she needs to catch.  Things that probably won’t even stick.  She sighs.  “Thank you,” she murmurs, much softer, “for the compliment.”

“You deserve it.”

The breath catches in Agatha’s throat, and she nearly chokes.  She coughs twice, spluttering, and then shoots Wanda a look when the other witch doesn’t do anything about it.  “Little help here?”

Wanda shakes her head.  “Like I care if you die.”

“Ouch.”  Agatha places a hand over her heart and feigns being hurt.  “You wound me.  You’re so cruel!”

At her words, Wanda flinches.  “I’m not cruel, Agatha.  You’re the one who tried to kill me.  You are the one who lured me to a location where I couldn’t use my magic—”

“—and you are the one who cursed me to be a sitcom character for all of eternity.  I’d call that one overkill, hon.”  Agatha places her now empty bowl on the coffee table and then leans back comfortably against the back of the couch once more.  “You want to talk, dear?  Well, let’s talk.”  She spreads her hands out in front of her.  “I’m an open book.  What do you want to know?”

Wanda follows Agatha’s lead and sets her own, half-eaten bowl of oatmeal to the side.  “When did you break my spell?” she asks immediately, and not in the conversational sort of tone Agatha would like, but one that’s much more frustrated.  “How did you change back?”

“You really think I’m going to tell you that?”  Agatha lets out a cackle, loud and bright.  “I’m not stupid, babe.  You’d just curse me again, and then where would I be?  Not having any of this, I’ll tell you that.”

“You told me how the protection spell works.”

“Because that was something you needed to know.”  Agatha gives Wanda a firm look and waits until the littlest witch meets her eyes, waits even longer to see if her gaze drops with shame.  “Every witch – not even the ones worth their salt, like you and I are – every witch learns that spell first.”  She points to the runes carved into her walls.  “Each of those runes protects you from harm, from magic turning its back on you and having its way with you, and you were a fool to try and craft your entire Hex without having that up to keep it from killing you.”

Wanda scoffs.  “I wouldn’t have died—”

Agatha chuckles, dark.  “Wanda, hon, your brain was so overloaded with all the spells you were maintaining – foolish, again, any witch who knows anything knows not to tie their spells to themselves in perpetuity, you make concrete changes, and you—”  She cuts herself off, trembles with her own frustration, and gives a little shake of her head.  “You saw the way the Hex glitched after you expanded it, but you couldn’t see how you were glitching.  From the very beginning, Wanda, you were glitching, and I had to step in and fix things so you wouldn’t consume yourself with your foolish—”

“You could change things?” Wanda interrupts.  Her eyes widen imperceptibly, and her head tilts to one side as she considers Agatha, as she considers what she’s just heard.  “You told me spells, once cast, couldn’t be altered.”

“I also pretended to try and kill you, Wanda.  Keep with the program.”  Agatha waves one hand dismissively.  “That isn’t the point, hon—”

“I could have kept my family?” Wanda hisses out, glaring at her.  “You could change my spells, and you didn’t change things so they could have lived?”

Agatha stares at the fury of a witch who cannot harm her.  She stares, and she doesn’t say anything at first, just lets Wanda’s face grow more and more red with her anger, and then finally, finally says, “You would have died, love.  It would have killed you.”

Wanda’s eyes grow dark.  “Then you should have let me die.”

“If you died, hon, they would have died, too.  That’s what casting a spell in perpetuity means.  They weren’t permanent creations; they were tied to you.  Sucking your magic.  Your life.  And you would have died trying to keep them alive, and then they would have died, and no good would have come out of it at all.”  Agatha reaches out and hesitantly places a hand over Wanda’s.  ‘There was no way I or you or any other lesser witch could have fixed those spells to keep them alive.  I didn’t lie to you when I said your spells were broken, hon.  They were.  I did what I could to save you, and that was hard enough.”

Agatha almost continues, almost suggests that she wouldn’t have saved them even if she could.  The boys, perhaps, deserved more than the few days of life they were given – even if those days made them look like they’d been given years, there would always be those gaps in their memories, those dynamics of family life that would have come from the time they’d lived together through those years that got skipped entirely – but from the way Wanda acted in the Hex itself, the way she’d kept Vision from her while everything fell apart, the way she’d come to Agatha herself for comfort instead of—

She’s lived with a broken family.  She’s been a broken family.

….

It doesn’t matter.  She couldn’t have saved them anyway.

“Why did you save me?” Wanda asks, not looking up.  “I’m the Scarlet Witch.  I’m destined to destroy the world.  It would have been better if I died.  You could have let me die.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Agatha lifts one shoulder half-heartedly.  “You didn’t deserve that.  Not then, and not now.”  She catches the frozen look on Wanda’s face, the way Wanda starts to look at her the way she did after realizing she loved her, like looking at something and examining her, like looking for flaws, and she immediately backpedals, immediately says something else to cover her words.  “Besides, the sex was good.  Didn’t really feel like letting you die after that.”

That’s easier than saying she hadn’t expected Wanda to accept the title of Scarlet Witch – any witch who knows anything would have known better than to do that, but then Wanda hadn’t known the most basic of protection spells, so why she thought she would know about her.  It’s also easier than getting into the other prophesies regarding the Scarlet Witch: clarifications, specifications, elaborations on things mentioned in the Darkhold, which is not the greatest source to begin with, which anyone who knew anything would know.

Agatha’s frustration towards Wanda’s severe lack of knowledge only grows, and it isn’t calmed by the look of shock and disgust that Wanda shoots in her direction at her words.  She just rolls her eyes.  “Don’t look at me like that, lover girl.  The sex was good, and you know it was good, which is why you came back.”  Not so subtle change of subject, but subtle enough that Wanda will probably fall for it.  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?  You were all over me last night—”

“You started that.”

“—which is so much worse than it was before.”  Agatha doesn’t darken or harden.  She just pushes.  “At least in the Hex, you wouldn’t have used Agnes as your fuck puppet, but now that you’ve decided you don’t care about Agatha Harkness, it’s fine to use her to—”

“I didn’t.”  Wanda snaps, and she snaps the words out, and her fingertips dig into the cushions, scarlet magic swirling between her fingers.  She doesn’t even look up at Agatha, just tenses and stares out in front of her.  “I didn’t, and that’s not why I came, and I told you I didn’t, and I would never—”

“You almost did, hon.”

“But. I. didn’t.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, but she still can’t look up, and she still won’t look at Agatha, and she still refuses to meet her eyes.  She just stares out in front of her, unfocused, knuckles so tight they might as well be white, the magic threading between them looking for somewhere, anywhere to go, but unable to go after Agatha, even if they’re sent to her.  “You don’t….”  She starts to say it, swallows, and shakes her head.  “It doesn’t matter what you did, you don’t deserve that.”

“Means a lot coming from the woman who locked me in my own mind for daring to oppose her.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I know, hon.”  Agatha lets out a stifled bark of a laugh, just one sharp cough.  “You thought I tried to kill you, so you did the worst thing you could think to do to me.  Then you left me here.  Alone.”  She stares forward, away from Wanda, and lets herself speak.  “Did you even think of what people would do to me?  What they could do to me?  Did you think enough to put any protections on—”  She cuts herself off with another coughed laugh.  “Of course, you didn’t.  You didn’t even know what a protection spell was.”

“Stop,” Wanda whispers.  “Please, stop.”

Agatha stops.  Nods once.  Then asks again, “Why are you here, Wanda?  Why did you come back to Westview?”

I want—

“I don’t know,” Wanda says instead, the thought still ringing in the air between them.  “I don’t know what I thought I’d find, but this….”  She lets out a long breath and laughs, a harsh, cruel thing.  “This isn’t it.”  Then she pushes herself up from the couch, walks through the living room, and out the front door, letting it click softly shut behind her.

Agatha sits on the couch and waits.  She stares at the closed door, waiting for Wanda to storm back in the same way she stormed off.  A part of her starts to reach out her mind as though to brush against the younger witch’s, but she recoils from that.  That’s not what she wants.  And when Wanda doesn’t return, she lets out a sigh, gathers their bowls, and takes them to the kitchen to clean.

The thing of it is this: Agatha Harkness doesn’t believe in miracles, and expecting Wanda to return for her, to stay here with her, to trust her would, right now, be a pretty big miracle.  She knows enough to be grateful the little witch who could didn’t try to overcome her spell, didn’t do more than just walk out.  If she’d take it, that would be a miracle, but she won’t.

Magic curves about her wrists, about her ankles, about her neck.  Sometimes, it feels like a chain, holding her here, to a life she doesn’t think she deserves.  More times than not, if she’s honest with herself.  Right now, it’s softer than that, gentler, and she doesn’t stop herself before she says, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

It’s the truth.

She’s never known what magic wants from her, if it wants anything at all.

Magic runs through her veins the same way it runs through the veins of all witches, living or dead, but trying to determine which came first is a chicken and the egg discussion.  Did magic fill them first?  Or did witches notice magic and try to bring it under their control first?  Did they feel it thrumming within them and wonder what else it touched?  Who can say?  Perhaps the reason magic lashes out at those trying to corral it so often is that this was never its intent.  It gave gifts, and humans used those gifts to try and overcome the giver.

Very few witches actually love magic.  They see it as a tool to use for their own purposes.  Under the influence of the Darkhold, Agatha did as well, telling herself that she still loved it the same as she always did.  But at one point, she did, and now again, she does.

Wanda, on the other hand….

A witch who has never been trained cannot truly know what magic is.  She does not know its language and so cannot speak to it, cannot love it.  Not for what it is.  She doesn’t even see it as a tool.

She doesn’t see it at all.

~

“Well,” Agatha speaks into the emptiness of her house as she finishes cleaning the dishes, as she sets them just to one side to dry, “it’s just you and me again, isn’t it?”

Magic might listen to her, but it never really responds.  That’s fine.  She’s certain that it doesn’t feel lonely, not the way she does, given how easily it connects with everything else in the cosmos, but she sense that it doesn’t feel particularly happy with this outcome.  Or maybe that’s her own unease coloring the whole.  She can’t know.  For all that she’s loved and studied magic, there are still things about it that she cannot understand – and perhaps never will.

Then soft, cool hands find their place at the small of Agatha’s waist, and she relaxes into them with a purr.  “Wondered when you would come back, hon.”

“Hush.”

Agatha ignores that.  “Did you find what you wanted out there, Wanda?  Did you figure out why it is you came back?”  She turns in her arms and leans against the kitchen counter.  The way this presses against her back should make her uncomfortable, but this time, it doesn’t.  Then she reaches out and asks without words, Or are you too afraid to ask?

Do you love me? Wanda thinks at the same moment that she asks, “Was any of it real?”  The words she says are so much softer, so much more intimate than her thoughts, which yowl as a kitten demanding attention.

“Oh, my dear girl,” Agatha chuckles, reaching up just enough to brush her fingertips through Wanda’s hair.  “I already told you.  I always wanted….”  Her gaze drops to Wanda’s lips.  “Everything that happened in the Hex was real.  All of it.  Vision was real.”  As she speaks, she feels Wanda flinch away from her.  “Your boys were real.”  She places her hand on Wanda’s waist, holding her there as she trembles.  “And me?  Hon.  You could never have created someone like me.”  Her eyes lift, peer into those emerald orbs, and holds their gaze.  When she speaks, her words come soft, softer even than Wanda’s were before: “Do you trust me?”

At first, Wanda doesn’t say anything.  Her gaze drops.  She bites her lower lip, head tilting ever so slightly to one side as she seems to examine Agatha, what she knows of her, what she’s said.  Then her fingers begin to slowly sweep along the curve of Agatha’s waist, thumb brushing up and down while she holds her in place.  “Why did you come to Westview, Agatha?  You must have wanted something.  Did you find it?”

Magic brought me here, Agatha wants to say.  The ripples of Wanda’s mistaken casting reached out to her where she’d mourned in New York – which isn’t so far, given that Westview is only in New Jersey, but Agatha believes those ripples would have found her wherever she was – and that’s the thing of it, isn’t it?  Magic brought her here because magic let those Wanda’s casting send off so many of her inner alarms that Agatha couldn’t not come because magic knew that Wanda needed—

That AGATHA needed—

Agatha catches it then, the threads of magic binding them hopelessly together, as though her eyes have been opened to something so subtle that she would never have been able to notice if it hadn’t been revealed to her by something so cheeky as magic itself.

And all she can do is laugh.

Wanda flinches again, her eyes widening.  “What?” she asks.  “What’s so funny?  I don’t—”

The hilarity of it all captures Agatha, and she quivers with it, leans forward and rests her head just above Wanda’s chest, laughing so hard that tears spring to her eyes.  “I’ve been such a fool,” she mutters between breaths as she finally calms.  “Such. a fool.”  She reaches her fingers into magic itself, thrills when it wraps itself around her, brushes against her, gentle as she’s always tried to be with it, when she’s been in her right mind.

Perhaps magic does speak, if she’s inclined to listen.

You love me.

You want—

Agatha stills herself.  She leans back to see Wanda’s confused expression and tries her best not to laugh.  “You wouldn’t get it, hon.”  She pats Wanda’s cheek.  “It’s a secret, meant only for me.”  Then she stretches up, brushes her nose against Wanda’s, and asks with a hum, “Would you still like me to catch you, dear?  Now that you’re falling?”

Wanda’s brows shoot up.  “Am I?” she asks, confused, even as her hands tighten their hold on Agatha’s waist, fingers digging into her skin.  “Am I still falling?”

Too subtle.

“Mmhm,” Agatha purrs.  She angles herself closer to Wanda.  “You’re falling for me.”  Her mouth presses against the spot where Wanda’s jaw and neck just meet.  Then she runs her tongue along the sensitive skin there, tugs it between her lips, and sucks gently.

Wanda gasps.  “Agatha.”  The word slips through her lips like air escaping boiling water.  “You…you can’t just—”

Agatha bites down.

A startled squeak.  Then Wanda tilts her head ever so gently to the side, a silent request for Agatha to continue, and when she does, she lets out the gentles of groans.  “This isn’t fair, you know,” she mutters.

“What was it you said last night?” Agatha purrs between nibbling kisses.  “All’s fair in love and—”  Her voice cuts off as Wanda lifts her onto the counter, and when she meets Wanda’s eyes, their pupils dark and hungry, she hums with pleasure.  “You want me, don’t you, hon?”

“As badly as you want me,” Wanda growls softly.  She spreads Agatha’s legs just enough to slot herself between them and lets out another little sound of approval as Agatha wraps her legs tight around her waist.  She pauses just long enough to search Agatha’s eyes.  “You’ll catch me,” she asks, hesitant, “when I fall?”

Agatha doesn’t answer with words.  She captures Wanda’s chin with both hands, lifts her head, and parts her lips against Wanda’s, hungrily drinking her in.  It’s only when Wanda melts against her, when she finally lets herself fall and the magic created between them overpowers all else, that Agatha opens her mind to her with a gentle, Of course, I will, love.

It’s what I was made to do.

~

No, Wanda Maximoff, much like magic itself, isn’t very subtle.

But Agatha knows magic.  Wanda?  She’s still trying to figure her out.

Hopefully, it won’t take her another three hundred years to do so.

#bandit fic #december banditnanza 2023 fic #the thrall of magic with agatha and wanda #kisses through the decades with wanda and agatha #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu #wandavision #wagatha #wandagatha #harximoff #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness

[praphit]

WandaVision: When you can’t let go of that robo-lovin.

So, I just finished watching "WandaVision", and I must say, right off the bat 

- I LOVED IT!

Disney Plus is finally paying off. I'm in the group of peeps who got DP, not for the mouse, but for the ones whom the mouse is in bed with, and most recently on Mickey's playtime Marvel List - Wanda Maximoff and her robo-boy toy VISION... or is that “THE Vision”? - that seems kinda ostentatious, but whatever.

When I first heard that Wanda was getting a series, I said "Who cares?" I don't care bout no Wanda! What has she been other than a weird pest?

Let's review:

She tried to kill the Avengers, she accidentally injures and kills innocent people, she was getting in the way, so Tony Stark had to get his CPU (Vision) to babysit her, she falls in love with the CPU - can we talk about how strange this is? I didn't say wrong, just different, cuz honestly, we may be headed there soon. That movie "Her" might be a reality with how tech is going these days.

But, imagine I come to your home and fall in love with your laptop (which messes everything up for you with all your devices and your social media), THEN (as Wanda did with Vision), I run off on some romantic journey with all of your devices. Imagine how Tony would have felt, if he was still with us.

She had one job when it came to Thanos, and it ended up not mattering.

Then, went full rage on the wrong Thanos.

Idk if that’s a look (Thanos) pain, release, of he’s listening to his jam. Kinda looks like he’s saying “JESUS”. But, Wanda is pissed.

Wanda: "You took everything from me!"

Thanos: "Lady, I don't even know you!"

I didn't care about Wanda. But, damn, Marvel is so good that in one episode they made me care; one trailer, really.

If you had not seen the trailer for this series, you might be confused by the first episode. 

You might even ask yourself - "What the bleep is this nonsense?!" We want heroes vs villains. We want super-powered explosions. We want capes, ridiculously tight clothes, bulky armor, and anything else that makes no sense to fight in.

You're giving me "Bewitched"?

I DID see the trailer, so I knew going in that it would be a slow burn with some nostalgia, some quirks, and some eeriness; right up my alley.

The change in Tv decade styles btw *chef kiss*

I figured that they'd be trapped in some mysterious, magical world - which they are...

Unless you're super geeky with the funny books, there's no way you'll see what's coming in this mystery.

And it IS a mystery, not only to the audience, but for the characters involved in this show. Don't nobody know what the hell is going on.

But, LaWanda and Vishawn 

(sorry, I just wanted to use this pic - Ha! Y'all are crazy.)had help figuring things out:

Rambo

Yeah, it's actually Monica Rambeau, 

but... admit it, some of you kept thinking about Rambo too, right?? No offense to this actress, but I'd rather see old man Sly play Rambo, and HIM be in this mysterious WandaVision town. Let's get Disney a lil bloody. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

Marvel WILL BE venturing into multiple universes soon, so perhaps Rambo finds his way to team up with The Punisher? Huh?? YEAH!

But, no... Rambeau (meh No personality, but whatever).

Randall Park - 

He's that person we all know who has made us laugh so much in life, that they don't even need to say anything anymore; you look at them and laugh. I love this dude!

Kat Dennings - 

I remember liking her more in the Thor movies.  I found her annoying, this time around.   She joins the mystery to figure tech stuff out, and she's a doctor or something (don't you forget it!). She also asks the team she just meets to get her some coffee, and acts like they're disrespecting HER, by their lack of response. I know she's a doctor and all, but damn! Imagine some electrician comes to your place to serve YOU, they're condescending to you, and then  they ask you for some coffee. Get the hell outta here!

Oh, and there's a dude named “Director Dick”. That's my name for him, but the name fits.

The people in this town are acting out as if they've been scripted for some show. And all of these characters, AND US, get to figure it out together - through antics from different times in Tv culture. 

Times sure were different back in the day:

No social justice issues implanted or cursing or sex or drugs... now, I'm not saying it was a better time, just a different one :) A time when dad jokes ruled! Simple times! Ignorance was bliss. But, it kinda wasn't - not really.

It's like having an animal die on your property somewhere, and it starts to stink. You COULD find the truth of the stench... or light candles everywhere. Some really strong candles - maybe some of those Gwyneth Paltrow candles.

Though the stench might get covered up, the problem is still there. At some point, your kids could find the dead rotting animal... maybe start playing with it... you get the point.

In this show, the townspeople's minds have been taken over by someone or something, and it's torturous for them. So... bliss on the surface, but... not so much, going deeper. I tell you all of this, plus great production in each epi, a good slow-burn mystery, and fun with comic characters in a way we haven't seen before on screen, and hell yeah - Grade: A series.

Now... spoilers.

You might want to leave now.

People, Wanda is the villain here. I'm not sure if that's the message the writers are trying to convey or not, but I don't care; she is the clear villain here.

Here’s Wanda reading some Hell book, conjuring some dark spirits - nbd.

We are rooting for her throughout this show; even after we find out that she has been (even if not maliciously) controlling every one, we still root for her.

I'm not saying that's bad, but we can't forget about what she has done! Remember, I said that the mind control was torturous for the townspeople.

There's a very emotional moment at the end of this series between Wanda and Vision, and between them and their kids (yeah, they have kids... that's a whole other thing). This moment is well done and touching. There's even a bad ass fight between Wanda and the "true... villain"? - of this story. I'll get to her in a sec (There’s a badass Vision fight scene as well).

I loved all of that! But, at the end of the day...

I know Wanda is grieving and all, we all grieve, but we all don't, in our grief, take a whole town hostage, torture the people, all while playing house with our family. That's kinda sick, no??

Are we doing a girl-power thing? or a “witches are people too” thing? or “but she’s doing it all for her family” thing (yeah, they’re not actually real, but whatever)? I don’t know.

I'm not sure that we know what a villain is anymore. It used to be clear - the guy with the beard was the bad guy, or the guy wearing the black outfit was the bad guy, or the people who aren't Americans are the bad guys :)

But, movies like "Joker" and "Deadpool" and Harley's joint have confused some.

Who else would be the villain? There's a character, the villain (i guess), a witch named Agatha Harkness, played by Kathryn Hahn

Here she is saying “I’m the villain? Really? What about her?!!”

   - she's excellent btw; def the highlight of this show; her and Paul Bettany's hair game.

But, let's compare:

Agatha: 

betrays her coven back in the day, sure, but why you bringing up old shit? 

She allows Wanda to play out this fantasy for a while, and even played along. She could have just killed her when she was ignorant; that's what I would have done. She eventually shows Wanda the truth (granted, she then wants Wanda's power, but hey, everything has a price. And for all we know, she would have used all of that power to... cure the worlds diseases or something... though prob not:). Annnd maybe she killed an imaginary puppy. Convo for another time: if you kill something that's not real, does it matter??

That's it!

She didn't (like Wanda): abduct a town, torture its people, bring Vision back from the dead (kinda), endanger soldiers who were just doing their jobs, create weird fantasies (And did she have sexy time with previously dead, fake Vision? This thing gets even weirder if she did. But, let's not go down that path.) Oh, and she magically punted a black woman (Rambo) the length of a football field just for her asking Wanda some questions.

When the townspeople finally regain their minds (Lord knows how long it's been), they look at her with disdain, and I don't blame them.  And what does Wanda do?? - shrug, put on a hoodie, and fly off - to break into somebody's home and read some devil book.

Where’s cancel culture in this universe? 

I know she made us feel, but I ask again, who's the villain here?

Still Grade A stuff for me (again, I loved this!), but c'mon, people.

We get a glimpse of Captain Marvel 2 as well. My fingers are crossed. I actually liked the first movie. But, many others did not, and one of the reasons - Captain Marvel doesn't have much of a personality, and another - she's too powerful (no risk).

So, to answer the critics, we have Monica Rambeau - another ridiculously super-powered hero, with no personality. So, two unrelatable characters flying around in space, as Sam L Jackson tries not to curse. But, if Marvel can make me care about evil ass Wanda, I'll still hold out hope for Capt Marvel 2.

#wandavision #john praphit #praphitproductions.com #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #paul bettany #praphit #bewitched #disney #Marvel Comics #Movie Reviews #comicbooks #cancel culture #witchcraft #kathryn hahn #rambo #captain marvel 2 #action #mystery

[aion-rsa]

How WandaVision Captured the Secret Horror of The Sims

https://ift.tt/3c5APXV

This article contains spoilers for WANDAVISION.

WandaVision‘s stunning finale alters the landscape of the MCU by posing a series of questions that seemingly set-up Marvel Studios’ biggest post-Endgame plans. It’s could be years until we get definitive answers to all of those questions, but there’s little doubt that we’ll eventually look back on WandaVision as the bold experiment that laid the groundwork for whatever comes next.

Still, there’s a good chance that when people think back on WandaVision years from now, it won’t be the MCU elements of the show they remember most fondly. No, that honor will likely go to those weeks when WandaVision left us wondering “What is happening?” As we watched Wanda and Vision take refuge in their idealistic suburban nightmare, millions wondered how they got there and what it all meant. We were fascinated by the idea of this powerful creature somehow pulling the strings in a world which, on the surface, seemed to disown the very idea of harm. It’s an element of the series that rightfully helped WandaVision earn its reputation as one of the boldest and strangest series in recent years.

Yet, there is something familiar about the machinations of WandaVision‘s universe, and I’m not talking about the various sitcoms the series paid tribute to. No, I’m talking about the strange ways that best, most mysterious, and sometimes scariest elements of WandaVision reminded me of The Sims.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Grief and Loss: The Origins of WandaVision and The Sims

In the late ’80s and early ’90s, video game designer Will Wright started making waves in the video game industry through his brand of “sim” titles that included SimCity and SimEarth. Much like how WandaVision‘s earliest episodes went against the MCU grain by dialing back on the action and spectacle, Wright’s early games abandoned the action-heavy focus of many video games at the time in favor of something stranger and more intimate.

The story goes that Wright started working on a prototype known as “Dollhouse” sometime in the early ’90s. What little we know about this prototype suggested that it was essentially designed to be spiritually similar to SimCity but would instead focus on building a house (or perhaps a series of homes) rather than an entire city. It seems that the earliest versions of the project largely focused on more mechanical architectural concepts.

However, the nature of Dollhouse reportedly changed when Wright lost his home to a devastating fire. Legend has it that as he began slowly rebuilding his home and filling it with new things, he thought more about how the value of a home was really less about its structure and the things inside and more about the people in it. As such, he rethought the Dollhouse concept and shifted the direction of the project towards a game that was as much about the people in a home rather than the house itself.

It’s been suggested that The Sims is designed as a parody of consumerism based on how much the happiness and “progress” of The Sims is tied to the many things they can buy, but that only seems to be a part of the equation. Much of what The Sims is trying to accomplish is actually reportedly based on psychological principles that Wright used to help better understand the designs of his digital people and the relationships the player would form with them.

For instance, Wright was initially inspired by the 1977 book A Pattern Language which was largely about architecture, but more broadly suggested that certain patterns and routines could help enhance a living space by creating a sense of familiarity and security. Another of Wright’s known early inspirations was the 1993 book Understanding Comics which argued, among other things, that part of the reason why comics connected with so many people was due, in part, to their nonlinear stories, use of iconic imagery over pure realism, familiar characters, and use of abstraction. Combined, these concepts helped shaped the way that sims’ moods were shaped by their surroundings, sense of belonging, and stability.

In many ways, Wright’s inspirations feel like the playbook for Wanda’s own designs as well as Marvel Studio’s design of the WandaVision series.

Read more

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By Gavin Jasper

The Idealistic Patterns of Westview

It’s hard to ignore the ways that WandaVision parallels The Sims from both a meta and storytelling standpoint. Much like Will Wright, Wanda’s “inspirations” for the creation of Westview were her feelings of loss specifically triggered by the empty lot that should have been her home. In the same way that Wright eventually expanded his project to go beyond just the creation of structures, though, Wanda didn’t stop at crafting a house she and Vision could live in. Her experiences and her losses taught her that a home needed so much more than that.

When Wanda crafted the existence of at least her subconscious dreams, look at what she emphasized. She turned back to the iconic imagery of her own childhood and imagery instantly familiar to many who grew up on the idea of the idealistic suburban environment. It was partially a commentary on the absurdity of those concepts, but in that commentary was something very genuine about what those ideas and images mean to us on a much more profound level.

Like Wight’s architectural visions for his universe, Wanda’s also relied on patterns. The citizens of Westview were often relegated to routines that were sometimes as simple as endlessly hanging the laundry, but more often relied on maintaining the same basic role even as the decades seemingly went by. Even Wanda’s high-end furniture and other belongings remained largely the same even as the styles changed slightly over time.

In the sense that some of The Sims most “gamified” elements can be attributed to the idea of achieving certain live goals, there is a sense that Wanda felt, on some level, that she was offering the security, the familiarity, and the comforts that so many of us crave deep inside. Psychologically, she likely didn’t see it as torture or captivity so much as the chance to live somewhere where you could feel safe and welcome.

Much like Wight, Wanda is clearly fascinated with how those outside of Westview interact with her creations as well as how those within it interact with her and each other. In Wanda’s case, though, there is a sense that what she’s really striving for isn’t really an organic environment of social interactions but rather a form of controlled chaos. In the same way that Wight and what became The Sims‘ programming team struggled to constrain such dynamic A.I. (two female sims unintentionally kissed during an early preview video, which sparked a minor controversy at the time), Wanda’s attempts at adding and embracing more variables within Westview often proved that what she created couldn’t (and perhaps shouldn’t) be contained.

In the cases of Wanda, Agatha, and the average Sims player, though, it’s what happens when our psychology bleeds into the simulation that makes the whole thing so interesting and sometimes horrifying.

Pulling Ladders From Swimming Pools and Killing Sparky

In a study conducted by researchers from Lakehead University, Canada, it was discovered that Sims players with certain aggressive and even psychopathic traits would be more likely to behave more violently towards the sims their character interacted with. It’s believed that some of this behavior can be attributed to the belief that non-aggressiveness is somehow a sign of weakness.

It’s not just those with psychopathic tendencies who display such behavior, though. The internet is filled with stories of Sims players from all walks of life who have, at one point, tortured their creations. From stories of “painting goblins” whose sole job is to secretly supply the wealth of the family living above them to tales of starvation and electrocution, it seems many Sims players have, at one point, created chaos simply to see what happens.

It’s an idea best summarized by the classic idea of pulling the ladder out of a swimming pool. In the early versions of The Sims, you could get all of your characters in a swimming pool, delete the ladder in the pool, and watch as they slowly died due to a presumed total lack of upper body strength. It was a simple exploit many players discovered in their own ways, and, in the words of Sims producer Ryan Vaughan, it in some ways came to represent the greater idea of “giving players the ability to tell the stories they want to tell.” Indeed, many players will tell you that their interest in the idea of killing and torturing sims is more about their fascination to see what is possible and what will happen when you play outside of the “rules” of the game.

Few characters in WandaVision embody that idea as clearly as Agatha Harkness. As someone who willfully entered Westview from the outside, she’s long been interested in poking and prodding at the edges of this incredible scenario she can hardly believe. Some of it was part of her grand design, but some of her actions were seemingly done just to watch what happened next.

The killing of Sparky the dog is probably the “highlight” of both pursuits. On some level, Sparky’s death did further Agatha’s study of Wanda, but there’s also a very real sense that it was done to see how the environment would react to such an event. Was this a place that would simply reset such a tragedy, or would it be possible to introduce death and loss to such an idealistic world? If you pull the ladder out of the pool, can the sims in the water escape?

Yet, there is certainly something to be said for how Wanda’s own creations and actions embody the most horrific elements of The Sims not by trying to break patterns but by enforcing them.

Wanda and Sims Players: The Architects of Horror

Wanda modified the residents of Westview to conform to her vision. You can’t even bring in objects from the outside world without having them pass through a version of her filter. It’s eerily similar to the way that we create sims, homes, and entire neighborhoods in The Sims games.

In the rare situation when someone behaves outside of Wanda’s plans, she’ll exile them, correct them, or simply reset the scenario. As Vision observes during the show’s most horrifying moments, the spell that these people are under goes against their still very much alive nature to be free. Some can only silently cry as they go about their rigidly enforced routines.

While there is something undeniably cruel about torturing sims, perhaps there is another kind of cruelty in the idea that we can control them and make them rigid players in our own fantasies and visions. The Sims‘ advanced AI was designed to allow them a degree of freedom. Indeed, part of the fun of the experience should come from watching how they go about their lives when we’re not manipulating their every move.

Yet, Wanda was, at times, the kind of Sims player that has to make sure everyone is behaving correctly, optimally, and in-line with their idealistic escapism at all times. To that end, it’s hard to deny that part of the appeal of The Sims is the ability to answer the question “What if it was all in your control?” What if you could build the perfect house, get that dream job, and have control over the relationships in your life? While it was a game designed partially to showcase the value of life and how we balance human concepts against the motivations of consumerism, it’s difficult to say thatThe Sims was ever meant to be a game where every player was expected to “win” by creating the ideal and optimized life in the same way that SimCity would tangibly reward players in their pursuit of a Megalopolis.

If Will Wright could have exercised that kind of control over his own life, he would have almost certainly kept his house from burning down and we would have all benefited less from the grander ideas he came to be fascinated by as a result of that event. Wanda also couldn’t quite prevent the tragedies in her own life, but she did have the power to make everything at least appear “as it should be” rather than live with the pain of forging ahead in a world of chaos.

Though there is a kind of beauty and nobleness to her efforts, as we’ve seen throughout WandaVision and the history of The Sims, there is also a hidden horror in the idea that you have control over beings capable of playing out their own lives and that any deviation from that control is something that must somehow be corrected.

The post How WandaVision Captured the Secret Horror of The Sims appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3bggsYN

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[aparticularbandit]

The Thrall of Magic X - 2020's (IV)

Chapter Summary: Wanda looks up when she enters, drink carefully held between her hands.  She leans against the wall the way awkward kids do in all those horrible eighties high school movies, but when she looks up and her emerald eyes find Agatha’s, she smiles.  None of the others can see the change then – Agatha’s fairly certain that Wanda doesn’t even notice it – but in that moment, Wanda starts to glow.

That is magic.

(It isn’t very subtle.  Not really.)

And drawn to magic like a moth to the flame, Agatha moves to Wanda, takes her drink, sips it, and sets it to one side with a raised brow.  “I think,” she says, “this party needs a dance floor.  What do you think, hon?”

companion piece to Kisses Through The Decades

Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Chapter Rating: M for sexual content Fic Rating: M for dark themes and sexual content

AO3

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Most people don’t acknowledge that magic exists.

You may say that’s not true, but it is.  In everything, there’s a little bit of magic – how else could air pulled in through struggling lungs be turned into something that propels a huge body forward?  Food stripped down to pieces so small that it isn’t even really food anymore but becomes fuel.  You might call that science – most people might – but science is just a way of seeing magic and trying to logic through it.  Just because you understand the process of something doesn’t mean it isn’t magic.

If you ask Agatha Harkness, she would say that the way Wanda slowly opens up to the others over the course of a short party is nothing short of great magic, but of a sort that would be a true tragedy to try and force.  There’s something magical in the way that Wanda accepts Todd’s words with a quiet sort of nod, the way she chats with Harold over his cocktails, the way she sits next to Sharon but not so close that Sharon will bristle.  These are things Wanda does instinctively, navigating her own anxieties of being around these people and soothing their anxieties in so doing.  There’s nothing that the average person would call magic in that.

But Agatha sees it, and she knows it, and she calls it such.

Magic wraps itself around Wanda and fills her every movement, her every action, her every way of being.  Where Wanda steps, magic ripples around her and bends – not to her will, but to her, which is an entirely different thing – and Agatha sees it and doesn’t know not to thrum with an envious sort of approval.

An hour or so into the party, Sarah hooks her elbow through Agatha’s as though to lead her out onto the dance floor (that Agatha started, much to no one’s surprise) but instead drags her back to the bedroom.  She only releases her to shut the door behind them, and then turns to Agatha with narrowed eyes.  “Now—”

“Look, hon, if you wanted me all to yourself,” Agatha starts to say, then pauses just long enough to let her eyes sweep Sarah’s scrawny form, how appetizing she appears with her hair coiffed the way it is, with the pretty pink dress she’s wrapped herself in.

“Agnes.”  Sarah huffs and crosses her arms.

For all that it was a joke, Agatha offers her a smug grin.  “You look good, hon.  But I’m sure Harold has already told you that.”

Sarah’s gaze grows hard.  “I didn’t drag you back here to talk about me.  I want to know what was going on between you and Wanda.”

“Oh, well.”  Agatha turns toward the door.  “That’s really none of your business, dear, so if you don’t mind me.”  She places her hand on the doorknob, only for Sarah to grab her wrist, fingernails digging into her skin.  Her teeth grit together – she does not think of how her mother once punished her – and growls out, “I don’t think that was your best idea, hon.”

“Then quit trying to run from me.”

Agatha breathes in magic.  It fills her lungs, threads through her veins, sprouts sharp along her nails.  “Sarah Proctor,” she continues to growl, “I may not have seemed a witch to you, and I may have been gentler with you than Wanda was, but that does not mean I’m not still a witch, and if you do not let me go, hon, then I will be forced to—”

Sarah’s grip on her wrist tightens.  Odd, for someone who is so afraid of magic, to instinctively keep putting herself in its way.  “Agnes, she doesn’t know who you are.  She thinks you’re like we were.”

“And you know this,” Agatha says, finally turning to meet Sarah’s eyes with her own, knowing that there are spots of deep purple within them, “but haven’t pretended to ask her about me in the least, have you?”  She tears her wrist out of Sarah’s grip, feeling her skin tear, and pulls herself up to her full height.  “The entire town knows what she meant to do to me, knows that she left me as she once had you, but you wouldn’t fight her for me, would you?”

“Agnes, that’s not the same as—”

“Leave us be, Sarah Proctor.”  Agatha glares at her.  “We have danced this dance before, and Wanda cannot hurt me.”  She runs her fingers along her wrist, tucking into magic, and mutters under her breath as her skin stitches itself back together as whole and imperfect as it was before.

Sarah stares at Agatha’s wrist.  “What happened to you,” she says calmly, “in the Hex?”  Then she glances up and meets Agatha’s gaze, holding it with her own.  “Why can’t Wanda hurt you?”

And Sarah doesn’t say it, but Agatha hears it in her thoughts so loud that she doesn’t even need to reach far to find the words, And how can I get it for my daughter?

“Wanda did something else to me,” Agatha admits.  “Something she does not understand and which neither of us can give anyone else.”  This latter is not entirely true, but she considers it an essential lie.  Could Wanda make someone else impenetrable to her magic?  Yes.  Would she?  Not likely.  A child, perhaps, yes, but there is too much risk in that child growing up and seeking to harm her – with no way to protect herself, what would Wanda do then?  But then Wanda would never think of that.

(Wanda doesn’t even know what she did to Agatha, and she would hate herself if she did.  More than that, she would try to undo it.

But magic protects Agatha from Wanda now.  Not because it likes Agatha particularly.  But because that’s what Wanda’s spell did.)

Agatha is certain that if Wanda believed she could make everyone safe from herself, then she would, to her own detriment.  She would think that is something she could revoke at any time, cast a massive spell, and realize much later that all she has done is broken herself.  Someone would come to find her.  Someone would come to kill her.

And if she didn’t have any better reason to maintain her life, Wanda would let them.

No.  Best to tell Sarah that this is something that can’t be done again.  Better still to not let Wanda ever know that she did it in the first place.

Then Sarah takes Agatha’s hand in her own, gentle, and lifts it until her now healed wrist rests in the air between them.  “Could she hurt you the way I hurt you?”

“Of course, she can, super star, but only if I let her.”  Agatha gives Sarah a wink.  She nods to her wrist.  “Now, do you want to try that again, or am I free to go, hon?”

There’s an intentional underlying threat here.  If Sarah tries to keep her here, Agatha will not be the one hurting for it.  But she doesn’t want to say that out loud.  Sarah’s a nice gal.  She’s trying to have this conversation out of the goodness of her heart, which mostly makes her an even better gal.

But Sarah Proctor is in over her pretty little head.

Sarah steps forward and takes Agatha’s hand gently in her own.  “You are my friend, Agnes,” she says, firm, “and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Agatha snorts and takes her hand out from Sarah’s.  “Then don’t look.”  She turns and leaves the bedroom without another word.  When she returns to the living room, she scans the room and finds that their absence hasn’t entirely been noticed.  The others are still talking amongst themselves.  Harold seems to still be in the kitchen making cocktails, and Wanda….

Wanda looks up when she enters, drink carefully held between her hands.  She leans against the wall the way awkward kids do in all those horrible eighties high school movies, but when she looks up and her emerald eyes find Agatha’s, she smiles.  None of the others can see the change then – Agatha’s fairly certain that Wanda doesn’t even notice it – but in that moment, Wanda starts to glow.

That is magic.

(It isn’t very subtle.  Not really.)

And drawn to magic like a moth to the flame, Agatha moves to Wanda, takes her drink, sips it, and sets it to one side with a raised brow.  “I think,” she says, “this party needs a dance floor.  What do you think, hon?”

Wanda’s eyes widen.  “I don’t think that’s a good—”

But Agatha takes her hands in her own and tugs her out to the middle of the living room floor.  She places her hands at Wanda’s hips the way Wanda’s hands keep finding their way to hers and starts to sway.  “They’ll start the music when they’re ready to join us.”  As she’s speaking, someone starts an old crooner tune.  She leans forward and whispers in Wanda’s ear.  “See?  Told you.”

When she pulls back, Agatha catches the scarlet flush along Wanda’s cheeks hidden beneath that still gentle glow.  She glances over the side and catches Sarah staring at the both of them, her arms crossed, and she tilts her head to one side, gesturing for her to join them.

It takes a moment, but Sarah returns to the floor with her husband.  She nudges Agatha only once as they dance and gives her a look before Agatha can hear in her mind, clear as day, Be careful.  Don’t get yourself killed.

Agatha almost – almost – laughs.  Killed is the very least of her problems.

~

The thing Agatha learns very, very quickly is that her little Sokovian princess does not hold her liquor very well.  Honestly, she would have thought the opposite, given the little she knows of her upbringing, but now she suspects that Wanda didn’t drink much at all in Sokovia, or that when she did, she had her twin brother to keep an eye on her and make sure she would be safe.  (Agatha has a sneaky suspicion it’s that Wanda didn’t drink, that Wanda was the one who kept an eye on a twin brother who was much more likely to drink to excess.)  Or maybe that little terrorist organization they’d been part of hadn’t thought it a great idea to let their pet projects even potentially get drunk.

Whatever the case, Wanda Maximoff is a lightweight, and Agatha has had Harold give her cocktails with a wrong expectation of how well she would hold up, and when Sarah tells them it’s time to go, it has nothing to do with Agatha at all and everything to do with how absolutely sloppy Wanda is becoming.  She stumbles out of the front door, she stumbles down the sidewalk as they walk back to Agatha’s current house, and she stumbles up the stairs to Agatha’s front door.

Anyone else, any other time, Agatha would be much more likely to magic away the heels and replace them with something a little easier to walk in.  But even with Wanda as drunk as she is, she doesn’t want to take that chance.  If the littlest witch notices the change, her drunk reaction could be worse than her sober one.

Nuh-uh.  Bad idea.

So once they are inside, Agatha sits Wanda down on her couch, which is a much safer place than trying to get her upstairs to the spare bedroom.  She crouches down in front of her, places her hands on her knees, and meets Wanda’s dazed emerald eyes.  “Stay here while I get you some water, hon.”  Then she reaches out and just boops Wanda’s nose.  “Don’t try to follow me.”

Wanda breaks into giggles before batting at Agatha’s finger.  “Don’t tell me what to do, Harkness.”  Her giggling cuts off all at once, eyes wide, and she gasps.  “I…I mean Agnes.”  She says the name all in a hush, like it’s some sort of secret between them.

“I know what you mean, dear.”  Agatha brushes errant strands of Wanda’s hair back from her face and gently kisses her forehead as she stands.  “Stay here.”

Wanda nods and keeps nodding as Agatha leaves, but Agatha can hear the commotion she makes in the other room while she pours two glasses of water.  (She might not be drunk – she grew up in a time where beer was safer to drink than water and knows her limits well, which means she knows how to not pass them when she wants to make sure to keep an eye on her tongue, like she does now – but that doesn’t mean she won’t appreciate a glass for herself.)  Then there’s the sharp sound of glass shattering.

“Hon?” Agatha calls out.  “Everything okay in there?”

There’s no answer.

Agatha isn’t afraid for Wanda, for the Scarlet Witch herself.  Magic has chosen her for its own; it won’t let her be harmed too terribly by whatever glass she’s found in Agatha’s living room.  In fact, when Agatha returns, magic has changed her living room to mimic what Wanda imagined it would be – the antique cabinet from the Hex full of ancient teacups and new display on the other side of the fireplace, one that Wanda is standing in front of with a look of chagrin, one that is full of—

“I’m sorry, Nessie, I didn’t mean to—”

Nessie?

Agatha steps carefully across shards of a broken shot glass, sets the glasses of water on the fireplace mantle, but then hesitates before just touching Wanda’s hand.  “It’s fine, hon.  You’re a witch.  You can fix it, remember?”  Instead of looking at the display full of shot glasses (because apparently the new and improved Agnes also collects shot glasses), she looks at Wanda, at the look of embarrassment on her face.

“I’m a little….”  Wanda bites her lower lip.  “I’m a little drunk, Nessie.  I could hurt you.”  She doesn’t even pause before she says, voice low, “I already hurt you.”  Her gaze drops, and her fingers fidget together.  “I don’t want to hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Gently, gently, Agatha lifts Wanda’s chin.  “Look at me, love.”  She waits for Wanda to glance up then meets her eyes.  “You won’t hurt me.  You can’t.”

Wanda shakes her head.  “I already did.  You don’t know, and I already did.  You’re hurting now, and it’s all my fault, and it’s because you hurt me first, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”  Her gaze drops again, fixates on Agatha’s lips as she licks her own.  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she repeats, slower, leaning forward.

Before she can say anything else – before she can do anything else – Agatha interlaces their fingers.  “Here,” she says, “let me help you.  With the shot glass.”

Wanda jumps away from her.  “Right.  The shot glass.  Right.  I need to fix it, I need to fix everything, I need to—”  She reaches out with her free hand, and the shards of glass stitch themselves back together like so many woven threads.  Then she catches it and holds it out to her.  “Here.  I fixed it.  I fixed something.”

“Good girl.”  Agatha takes the shot glass in her free hand, runs a thumb over the India etched on it in orange, and sets it on the display without looking to see if it fits in place.  “You said you were hurting me, hon?”  She turns to the glasses of water, pretending not to look at Wanda as she asks, “Do you think you could fix me, too?”

Magic ripples around her, and Wanda grows white, ashen.  She turns away from her, returns to the couch, and collapses onto it without saying anything else.  Whatever glow it’d given her at Sarah’s party is long gone; if anything, she’s sunken in on herself.  Chatty, sure, but not in a good way.

Agatha follows her with the glasses of water.  “You need to drink something, dear.”  She hands her the glass.  “Here.  Drink this.  It’ll help you feel better.”

Wanda nods.  Takes the glass.  Sips at it.  Glances around the room.  “We should make a pillow fort,” she says into the silence between them.  “We could make a really good fort in here.  Pietro and I used to make forts all the time, and my mama and papa, they would curl up in them for our shows.”  She bites her lower lip.  “I should have made one with my boys, before….”  Her voice trails off into nothing.

Without a second thought, Agatha pulls the pillow from behind her and throws it at Wanda.

It barely misses her, and Wanda stares at her, open-mouthed.  “I was having a moment!” she finally splutters out.

“You were getting depressed, love, and I will not abide a depressed drunk.”  Agatha takes another sip of her water and sets it to one side.  “Now—”

The pillow hits her square in the face just as she’s sitting back up.

Agatha catches it as it falls into her lap and stares at Wanda, who looks nonchalantly around the rest of the room.  She raises an eyebrow.  “What happened to making a fort, hon?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You just threw this pillow at me.”

“You threw it first.”

“I didn’t hit you.”

“You could have!”  Wanda stares at Agatha, wide-eyed.  “I was holding a glass!  It could have broken!  I could have been hurt—”

Agatha throws the pillow at her again and hits her square in the face.  When it drops into Wanda’s lap, she glares at Agatha.  “That’s not fair,” she says with a pout, crossing her arms.  “I wasn’t ready.  You’re supposed to wait until I’m ready.”

But Agatha just gives her a shrug.  “All’s fair in love and war, super star.  I think you—”

Wanda throws the pillow at her again, but this time, Agatha is ready.  She dodges it neatly and starts to grin up at Wanda, only to notice that the littlest witch isn’t on the other side of the couch anymore but has moved towards her instead.  There’s no time to react before Wanda brushes her fingers along the inside of her knee.

She squirms.  “That’s not a pillow fight—”  Laughter catches in her throat as Wanda continues to tickle her.  “You changed the game, dear—”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Wanda echoes as she leans forward, running her fingers along the small of Agatha’s waist.

Agatha’s breath catches in her throat.  This isn’t just tickling – there’s that, too, obviously – but there’s magic poised at the tip of Wanda’s fingers unbidden, and with every touch along her skin, there’s a double punch, one from Wanda herself, the other the shock of magic, pure and unadulterated, brushing gentle and loving against her.  She curls into the one but recoils from the other, breathless, and doesn’t even notice she’s tried to get Wanda back until both of her wrists are pinned above her head with one of Wanda’s hands.

She should be afraid.

Wanda can’t hurt her.

She’s still afraid.

Wanda can’t hurt her.

“Stop,” Agatha makes out between breaths, soft in her fear and powerlessness.

“Say uncle.”  Wanda’s eyes gleam with drunken amusement, lips curling back in a grin.

Agatha shakes her head.  “No.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it!”

Agatha squirms.  She looks back and forth, trying to come to her senses, to get that sudden fear under control.  Wanda isn’t trying to hurt her.  She’s just drunk.  She’s just playing.  But pinned and under someone else’s control – under Wanda’s control – sends her senses on high alert.  Normally, she would call on magic to help her, would mutter something under her breath between shaking gasps, would curve her fingertips into the closest threads and set a spell that would set her free.  She won’t do that with Wanda where she is, she won’t do that when she’s already afraid of a witch who isn’t intent on harming her because the moment she does that will change, she won’t make herself more vulnerable by drawing power to herself.

It isn’t instinct, it’s a primal desire to protect self when Agatha breaches the distance between them and kisses Wanda.

Wanda loosens her hold on Agatha’s wrists.  Her tickling fingers settle.  She parts from Agatha, searches her eyes.  “You changed the game,” she accuses.

“Sure did, hon.”  Agatha smirks, heart pounding within her.  “What are you going to do about it?”

The pause lasts less than a second, but it feels longer as Wanda stares down at her, as her pupils widen with an unspoken desire.  “I…I can’t,” she mumbles, hold loosening even further.  “I’ll hurt you—”

She could leave it here.

She could.  Whatever hold the Darkhold might have over her, Wanda is clearly resisting.  Very vocally resisting.  But the question here is how long she can hold out.  Wanda’s magic overcomes her when she’s at her most emotional.  This is not her most emotional.  Not even close.

Agatha leans up again.  “Don’t you remember, hon?”  She brushes her nose against Wanda’s.  “I told you.”  She kisses the curve of her jaw.  “I always wanted—”

Wanda breaks.

When she kisses Agatha, there’s nothing calm or gentle about it, only a sinking, desperate need.  The hand at her waist moves to the edge of her shirt and pushes beneath it as magic unties the ribbon around her; her fingers dig into Agatha’s skin, nails scratching hard enough to prick blood.  She bites Agatha’s tongue, tugs on her bottom lip, and then smiles when Agatha lets out a startled gasp of pain.  “This?” she murmurs, brushing her nose along Agatha’s neck.  “This is…what you wanted?”  She bites hard enough to bruise on Agatha’s pulse point.

And in all of this, magic.  It thrums along Agatha’s skin, stitches each and every wound back together the moment Wanda crafts them, healing every spot of pain while continuing to steadily disrobe her, removing the ribbon about her waist, undoing the clasp of her jeans—

Wanda moves the hand pinning Agatha’s wrists to press against the skin of her waist as her other hand rakes nails higher up Agatha’s skin, and Agatha grabs fistfuls of Wanda’s hair, drags her away from her neck and back up.  She kisses her, bruising Wanda’s lips the way hers have been bruised, magic angry and soothing between them, before she asks, a thought that she makes certain Wanda can hear, Is this what you want?

The other witch doesn’t even hesitate.

I want YOU.

The words roar into Agatha’s mind, and in the same moment she relaxes into the thrall of Wanda’s desperate need, Wanda stops, crumbles against her.  “No,” she murmurs, and again, “No,” and again, “No, no, no, no, no.”  She presses her forehead into Agatha’s clavicle and shakes her head against her skin.  “I can’t.  I can’t—”

Agatha doesn’t move.

“You weren’t supposed to be like this, you said you would catch me, and then you attacked me, and this isn’t you, and I can’t do this to you again.”

Agatha pauses, listens, waits, and then says into the quiet between them, “Do you think maybe this is what I deserve?”

And then that even clearer response, unspoken, No.

Wanda shivers against her, and Agatha wraps her arms around her, running her fingers through Wanda’s hair.  She could say a lot of things in this moment – there are a lot of things to say – but right now, the one that leaves her lips first is, “Thank you,” a pause, and then, “for stopping.”  She can’t be sure if Wanda heard her or if she even understood what she said, but the words rest there between them anyway, a soft and quiet thing.

~

Later, after Agatha has carefully settled Wanda in the spare bedroom, she steps outside with a mug of hot tea, one that near burns her fingers and certainly burns her tongue when she takes the first near boiling drink, burns all the way down her throat.  She needs it, the burn, and she stares up at the cloudless sky, at stars she once knew so well, at what is hidden by artificial lights but not made lesser.  A part of her aches for those months, so early on, after everything with her coven, when the boy she’d loved hid her on his ship and then held her in the crow’s nest while they stared up at a universe that had seemed so large and incomprehensible.  She’d needed someone to stitch her back together then, and she’d needed Cian later to stitch her back from an even further brokenness, one that would have left her dead without their intervention.

Agatha Harkness doesn’t believe in miracles, but she does believe in magic, that when it cares enough it can bend and twist itself to protect those it loves.  She’s just never believed that it could love her.  But in calling her to stitch together this broken witch, doesn’t that mean that those others, too, had been called in to stitch her together?  That, at those points and many others beside, magic was working to heal her, too?

That, maybe, this is what it has been doing all along?

She stares up into the night sky and she speaks to the magic all around her, the magic within her, the magic that throbs in her veins, “Do you love me?”

The stars shine bright about her.  The cool and cooling breeze eases her burnt tongue.  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath of magic.  Breathes it out the same as she always does.

Then stretches her aching back and returns to her aching witch.

~

Wanda isn’t quite asleep when Agatha returns to her room with another glass of water.  She looks up, near groggy, as Agatha places the cup on her bedside table, and asks, bleary, “What are you….”  She rubs her eyes and tries again.  “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t let you sleep in that dress, love.”  Without a second thought, Agatha waves her hand and the soft sweater dress and tights Wanda is wearing shift into a plain, oversized white shirt.  “There,” she murmurs.  “That’s better.”

Wanda blinks twice.  Her brow furrows.  “You…magic.”  She looks at the shirt, shakes her head, and then wiggles her own fingers, turning it into an exact copy of the Wicked Witch shirt Agatha is still wearing.  “There,” she says with a sad smile.  “We match.” She runs her fingers along the shirt.  “We’re both wicked.”

Agatha sits on the mattress next to her.  “No, love.”  She brushes strands of hair back out of Wanda’s face.  “We’re both witches.”

It takes a second for what Agatha has said to sink in with what Agatha has done, and once it does, Wanda turns and looks up at her.  “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” Agatha says with the same sad smile Wanda wore only moments earlier.  “You could never hurt me.”  Then the expression fades.  “Now scoot.  You’re drunk, and I’m drunk, and you spent a lot of time earlier using me as your Kleenex, so I think I’m allowed.”

Wanda stares at her, confused, and then scoots back.  “You don’t want to hurt me.”

“Never did.”

Wanda’s brow furrows again as Agatha settles beneath the sheets next to her.  “You called me love.”

Agatha sighs.  “Yes, love, it’s a pet name, one of many—”

“Do you love me?”

She doesn’t even hesitate as she wraps Wanda in her arms again, letting them rest easy just at her waist.  They fit there just as easily as Wanda’s hands fit on hers.  “Of course, I do, hon.  Surprised it took you so long to notice.”

Wanda curls against Agatha’s chest.  She hesitates and then asks, her voice even softer, “You’re in love with me, aren’t you, Agatha?”  She says it like a revelation, like she’s held the jewel of their relationship up under the starlight and seen its different facets and known it for what it is, known it for something she’s never seen before.

Instead of saying anything, Agatha shifts away just enough to kiss Wanda’s forehead.  In the morning, a sober Wanda will feel very differently about all of this, but for now – for now – Agatha will take this.  Magic stirs at their touch, a yawning, desperate thing, and for a moment, just a moment, Agatha sees once more the glow that captured Wanda earlier, returning just where her lips brush her skin.  Then she glances further down and meets Wanda’s tired, tired eyes.  “We should get some sleep, dear.”

By the time she finishes saying it, Agatha is certain Wanda has already dozed off.  She’s not sure how much of this Wanda will remember in the morning, but she doesn’t have to worry about it until then, doesn’t want to worry about it until then.  For now, this is all she wants.  Just to lay here, with Wanda in her arms, with magic curled and crafted between them.

#bandit fic #december banditnanza 2023 fic #the thrall of magic with agatha and wanda #kisses through the decades with wanda and agatha #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu #wandavision #wagatha #wandagatha #harximoff #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness

[aparticularbandit]

The Thrall of Magic IX - 2020's (III)

Chapter Summary: When she was eighteen years older, much younger than Wanda is now, Agatha Harkness murdered her entire coven.  It might have been self-defense; it might have been unintentional.  These are things she’s told herself over the years to reassure herself, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened, doesn’t change the fact that her own mother thought her magic so horrendous that she would rather kill her than let her live.

Sometimes, Agatha wants to tell Wanda, magic does horrible things.  Sometimes we do horrible things with it.  Even now, after centuries of study, that has never proven itself to her more than it has now.  A single word out of place, a rune miswritten – magic. is. dangerous.  That’s why the first runes learned are protection spells, that’s why they’re learned under the protection spell of one who already knows how to craft it – because even protection spells, improperly done, can blow up in the caster’s face.

It is right to have a natural fear of magic, but not so much as to avoid—

“You won’t hurt me, hon,” Agatha says, reaching out and placing one hand over Wanda’s, stilling her itching fingers.  “I trust you.”

companion piece to Kisses Through The Decades

Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Chapter Rating: T Fic Rating: M for dark themes and sexual content

AO3

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The thing about parties – and the thing about Sarah Proctor – and the thing about Sarah Proctor’s parties is that there’s usually a certain standard of dress.  Agatha knows as she brings her that Wanda, in her certain attire, doesn’t meet that standard.  In fact, even more than that, she knows that Wanda probably did not expect to be seeing anyone other than Agnes in this outfit, because it’s not the sort of thing Wanda would leave the house in…or she would, perhaps, but it had been so long since—

The hoodie really isn’t that much of a problem.  It’s that stupid scarlet color that does her absolutely no favors – for all that Agatha intentionally does not pay attention to the superheroes of any age, she’s noticed how they all have their own unique color and tend to wear that exclusively, which really just makes them dang hard to hide in any situation, and it’s not like anyone thinks about whether those colors are appealing on them – and it’s a hoodie, but that could be played around with.  Lengthen it quite a few inches, and it becomes a hoodie dress, which is even better, particularly paired with leggings or heels or a few of the golden bracelets Agatha herself dangles about one wrist.

Really, it’s the sweatpants.  The ones that look like they haven’t been washed in days.  In fact, Agatha’s pretty sure that one of those stains is from milk, and she’s trying to pretend that there’s not a stench, but on top of all of that, Wanda’s hair is so greasy and dirty that she thinks maybe Wanda hasn’t been showering either.

Which, to be fair, Agatha has been there.  More than once.  Most recently when Cian died and she wasn’t there for it, but she’s not thinking about that.

(Sometimes, Agatha thinks she could have saved them.  It doesn’t matter how many times Cian said that she couldn’t, she still believes that she could have.  Most likely, she would have died, too, or be dragged out into more superhero shenanigans than she ever wanted part of, and really, this was Cian’s fault for knowing precisely how they would die and still going to the chopping block anyway.

But she isn’t thinking about any of that right now.)

No, Agatha’s thinking about the look Sarah gives her when she tells her to find something better for Wanda to wear, thinking about the scrunched upturn of her nose as she notes the same not great smell rising from a witch she knows to be so much more powerful than not showering, thinking about pulling Wanda aside to Sarah’s bedroom and—

Much kinder, gentler things than might be implied by that wording.

“Do you know magic?” Agatha asks in a feigned rushed sort of tone as she sits Wanda on Sarah’s white vanity’s accompanying white stool.  “You’re a witch, right?”  She meets Wanda’s emerald green eyes, searches them the way Agnes would, if she were as Wanda intended her to be.

Magic curls around Wanda as a shield as she refuses to repeat her truth, “Does that…does that matter?”

Agatha places her hands on Wanda’s knees, notes the way the girl flinches at her touch, and pretends that the smell isn’t worse crouching this close to her.  “You can do that clothes changing thing, right, hon?  I saw you do it – when you left.  At least, I…I thought I did….”  She lets her voice trail off, her gaze drop.

“I…I…yes, I can do that, but why does it—?”

“Can you read my mind?”

Wanda flinches.

Agatha gently squeezes Wanda’s knees, ignoring the slight crunch of the fabric beneath her hands.  She explains herself, slow, gentle, as Wanda’s eyes glaze over.  “For clothes, hon.  For something to wear.  You don’t have to go any further than that.  Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Wanda echoes.  Her eyes narrow, gaze hardening.  “Trust you?”

“Yes, hon.  Trust your best friend Agnes, who would never, ever do anything to hurt you.”  Agatha keeps her voice hushed, gentle, each word specific, enunciated.  Her instinct is to dip into magic, even the smallest bit, to reach out for Wanda’s mind to try and calm her thoughts, but she knows better.  No magic.  She lived without it for three months; she can handle this now.  (And still, she feels it around her, can see it thick and hard, conjured around Wanda as a living shield that she couldn’t penetrate even if she tried.)

Wanda hesitates.  Of course, she does; it’s only reasonable.  But she searches Agatha’s eyes, and as she does, she calms.  “I’ll…I’ll try, but Agnes, I can’t—”  She cuts herself off, voice fading.  “I can’t…,” she repeats, still without completing the sentence, lowering her head, gaze landing on her empty, fidgeting hands.

I can be good.

When she was eighteen years older, much younger than Wanda is now, Agatha Harkness murdered her entire coven.  It might have been self-defense; it might have been unintentional.  These are things she’s told herself over the years to reassure herself, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened, doesn’t change the fact that her own mother thought her magic so horrendous that she would rather kill her than let her live.

Sometimes, Agatha wants to tell Wanda, magic does horrible things.  Sometimes we do horrible things with it.  Even now, after centuries of study, that has never proven itself to her more than it has now.  A single word out of place, a rune miswritten – magic. is. dangerous.  That’s why the first runes learned are protection spells, that’s why they’re learned under the protection spell of one who already knows how to craft it – because even protection spells, improperly done, can blow up in the caster’s face.

It is right to have a natural fear of magic, but not so much as to avoid—

“You won’t hurt me, hon,” Agatha says, reaching out and placing one hand over Wanda’s, stilling her itching fingers.  “I trust you.”

Wanda doesn’t look up.  “You shouldn’t.”

Magic parts for her, just as it had before, as Agatha leans up closer, cups Wanda’s cheek, and lifts her head.  She brushes her thumb along her cheek and meets her eyes, noting how Wanda still tries to avoid her gaze.  “I do.”

It isn’t immediate, but Agatha catches it – the way Wanda’s gaze flicks to her lips, how it lingers before she leans forward, letting her head rest against Agatha’s.  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.  Then her mind reaches out, feeble at first, uncertain, tentative, until she seems to find her way.  The touch grows stronger.

I want you.

Agatha nearly flinches.  Instead, she shifts, breaking their connection, dropping her hands to Wanda’s ankles, conjuring the image in her mind.  “Can you see it, hon?”

Wanda nods.  “I think so.”

“Good girl,” Agatha purrs.  Then she offers Wanda the easiest smile she can muster, the one Agnes would wear if she were real, even though she can’t see it.  “Only don’t go too far!  There’s some nasty things in there you won’t want to see.”

Wanda lets out a near breathless chuckle.  “Trust me,��� she says without thinking, “I won’t.”

And true to her word, she doesn’t.  She doesn’t even try.

Agatha slowly runs her hands up Wanda’s legs, and as she does, Wanda, with her eyes closed, focused entirely on the image Agatha envisions, transforms her sweatpants into thinner caramel tights.  “Wow,” Agatha murmurs in just the tone an awe-struck Agnes would have.  “This is so cool.”  She lets out a low whistle.

Of course, as Wanda’s clothes shift and stretch and sketch themselves into something more in line with Agatha’s design, Agatha makes sure to scrub away any dirt or grime or odor that might linger along Wanda’s skin.  It’s one thing if Wanda doesn’t feel like bathing while she’s been wherever it is she’s been, but a simple change of clothes from something crusty and dirty to something fresh and clean isn’t going to cover everything else, too.  And with Wanda so focused on not delving too far into her mind and on maintaining the magic to make all of these changes, hopefully she won’t even notice.

For a moment, if she lets herself, Agatha notices the way magic plays beneath their combined fingertips, how it stretches as Wanda tugs it one way, how it soothes as she smooths it another.  She pauses, not even realizing that her hands rest a little too easy on Wanda’s waist, just to feel the sensation.  Magic comforts her, and she caresses it; this is less of the familial familiarity they’ve gained over the past three hundred years, less of the easy companionship she’d gained from it, and more the—

“Don’t stop,” Wanda hisses before Agatha can complete the thought.

“Yeah, yeah, right.”

But as she continues to run her fingers up Wanda’s body, as Wanda flinches beneath her, Agatha can’t stop thinking about it.  It’s like it’s on the tip of her tongue, what it was like, but she just can’t—

“There.”

Agatha realizes just how close she’s drawn to Wanda as the unflattering scarlet hoodie finishes shifting into the cream sweater dress she’d designed.  One corner of her lips curves upward.  “That’s finished, hon.  You can open your eyes.”

“Mmhm,” Wanda murmurs, but she doesn’t open her eyes.  Instead, she leans forward just the slightest bit so that her forehead rests against Agatha’s again.  She smiles, almost, and Agatha feels Wanda’s mind retreat, a great fog slowly pulling away from her own.  When she finally does look, her eyes don’t move to her new outfit.  Instead, she brushes strands of hair back from Agatha’s face, tucks them behind her ear, and lets her gaze linger on Agatha’s lips.

Agatha flinches back.

“Sorry,” Wanda starts immediately, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry about it, dear.  You’re fine.”  Agatha places her hands on Wanda’s knees and squeezes them gently again.  “Now, about your make-up—”

Wanda gives her a blank stare.  “I can do my own make-up, Agnes.”

“Of course you can, doll.”  Agatha meets her eyes with a mischievous grin.  “This is just more fun.”  Her brows raise.  “Do you trust me?”

There’s a flicker in Wanda’s eyes.  The same sort of hesitation on the tip of her tongue now as before.  Of course, there is.  It only makes sense.  Only a few seconds with Agnes giving her a great outfit – one she hasn’t even seen – can’t change that.

And yet.

“Yes,” Wanda says finally, voice soft, eyes falling to her hands as she tucks them beneath her sleeves.  “I…I trust you, Agnes.”  She glances up, hands spread out, palms open, and meets Agatha’s eyes.  “Do what you want with me.”

This time, when Agatha says, “Good girl,” she feels a shiver up her spine.

She blames it on magic.

~

It’s not as though Agatha hasn’t applied another person’s make-up before.  She’d grown up poor in Puritan Salem, where make-up was banned; the first time she’d even seen a woman wearing anything to change the natural look of her face, she’d been shocked, and the first time she’d seen it after leaving Salem, she’d been equally shocked, surprised that anyone but the sailors’ whores would wear something like that in the bright light of day.  When she admitted as much to her husband, he had the good grace not to laugh at her, but the smile about his lips showed his amusement.  She kissed it from him then, determined to ask one of the women in town to help her apply some of the stuff before his next return – as a joke, mostly, because they couldn’t afford her doing so more than the once, not with—

It hadn’t mattered.  The next time he returned, she wasn’t there waiting for him.

Cian finally taught Agatha the fine art of make-up, using their fingers to brush powders, rouges, everything along her face the way an artist painted a canvas.  She blushed profusely when she saw how beautiful they were able to make her look – not garish like the sailors’ whores had been, but in a way that only enhanced her natural beauty.  Now you can see yourself the way I see you, they’d said, and she’d blushed deeper.

She doesn’t blush now, painting Wanda’s face the same way that Cian once painted hers, using her fingers like a child with finger paint or like an artist trusting the touch of their skin over the unsteady bristles of a brush.

But Agatha Harkness has spent the past few months distancing herself from magic in a successful attempt to drag the Darkhold out of her, and fingers which were previously numbed and deadened have regained the full sensation they should have had the first time they touched the other witch’s skin.  As her fingertips brush along the slope of Wanda’s cheeks, gently setting various powders into place, they tingle with the same, now familiar breath of magic that she hadn’t felt since—

Well.

Stop it, Agatha thinks towards the magic that crawls along her spine.  She’s not supposed to know.  Stop it.

But even when magic pretends to listen to her, that doesn’t stop her from noticing how soft, how smooth, how cool Wanda’s skin is beneath her fingertips, doesn’t stop her from tugging her lower lip between her teeth to try and maintain her focus, doesn’t stop her eyes from wandering along the younger witch’s face for reasons that have nothing to do with the make-up she is applying.

And even then – magic doesn’t really listen because magic doesn’t cower before Agatha the way it cowers before Wanda.  It might refrain from sending sparks along her fingertips, the slightest of burning sensations (comforting in their familiarity) not quite like a livewire through her veins, but that doesn’t mean it leaves her entirely.  Magic curls about her boots, snakes up her legs, wraps itself around her waist as though to draw Wanda’s hands there, should she open her eyes before Agatha finishes, and then settles there, purring like a contented kitten.  If it were anyone – anything – else, Agatha could be convinced that it missed her.

But magic doesn’t miss anyone, and it certainly wouldn’t miss her.

When Agatha finishes, she pauses.  This would be the proper time to step back, to give Wanda one final look, to make sure that she looks just the way that she imagined her.  But instead, she notes the way Wanda’s lips are just slightly parted, the barest of shine drawing her eyes to them, and she leans forward to—

To what?

In this moment, what would Agnes do?

As if she knew what Agatha was thinking, Wanda says, very gently, “Agnes?”

Agatha swallows, brushes the pad of her thumb along Wanda’s lips one last time, and leans back.  “Keep your eyes closed, hon!  Here, hold onto me.”  She stands and helps Wanda to stand before leading her in front of Sarah’s tall mirror.  “Only you’ll have to do something with your hair, dear, because I…I couldn’t do anything about that.”

Not without you catching me out.

It’s the sharp intake of breath that gives Wanda away more than anything, the way her cheeks darken as she looks over herself, as she moves closer to the mirror, the breathless little way she murmurs, “Wow,” under her breath.  Her fingers run through her oily, stringy hair, cleansing it without a second thought, pulling it into much gentler waves.  She whispers it again, “Wow,” before turning to Agatha with wide emerald eyes.  “You made me beautiful.”

Now you see yourself the way I see you.

Agatha gives a little shake of her head.  “You’ve always been that, dear.  You just do a pretty good job of hiding it.”  She takes a deep breath, settling herself, and lets the moment fall just the slightest bit.  “Especially with all that red.  It’s nice, hon, but it does you no favors.”  When Wanda blushes that same scarlet, she chuckles and reaches up just to touch her cheeks.  “No favors, hon.”

This time, Wanda doesn’t flinch back.  Instead, she avoids Agatha’s eyes.  “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for fixing me, but I don’t think how I look will change how people feel about my being here.  I don’t want to ruin your party.”

“You aren’t going to ruin anything, hon.”  Agatha pats her cheek, and her expression softens as her hands move to still Wanda’s fidgeting fingers as they pull her sleeves down about her hands.  “We’re going to go out there and drink a lot and possibly get very drunk – and then Sarah will send us both back before we do ruin anything – but for once in your life, buttercup, you are going to have fun.”

Wanda nods slow once or twice.  Her lips press together, and her head tilts to the side in that familiar way it does as her hands move from Agatha’s to rest on either side of her waist, thumb brushing along the ribbon Agatha intentionally put there just for this occasion.  She wets her lips.  “We,” she whispers, correcting her, “are going to have fun.”

It’s a start.

Agatha reaches up, brushes her fingers light through Wanda’s hair, traces the shape of her face, and then lifts her chin so that their eyes meet.  “You got that right.”  Her gaze lowers—

She feels the sound outside, the rippling along magic of someone who isn’t casting, before she hears it, and she reaches out, brushing the mind of one of her new friends.  Sarah, intent on checking on them.  No harm, no foul.  But now is not the time for an interruption.

Wait.

Agatha sends the thought into Sarah’s mind just as Sarah raises her hand to the door.

Sarah stops, and there’s fear in her thoughts, sharp and cold and blinding, as she thinks, a few seconds past, Why?  What’s…what’s wrong?  Why are you talking to me like this, Agnes; I don’t like it.  Her tone tremors.

Nothing’s wrong, Agatha soothes.  We’ll be with you in a few moments, hon.  I’m almost done.

Of course, of course, but—

“Agnes?”

Agatha breaks her connection with Sarah as Wanda’s voice, however soft, breaks through, and her gaze lowers, focusing on Wanda’s lips.  “Hold on, hon, let me just fix something.” 

As her thumb brushes along Wanda’s lower lip, Wanda’s eyes just close.  Agatha leans up on her toes to brush the tip of her nose against Wanda’s and waits for her to flinch, for her to back away.  Wanda could be scared – scared that Agnes isn’t real, that Agatha has taken her rightful place as herself – but perhaps even more importantly, Wanda could be hesitant, not wanting to force a chained Agatha to live through whatever she might want to do with Agnes.  It’s not quite a test, but that doesn’t stop it from being one – from seeing what corruption the Darkhold has wrought in a young witch who previously had only mistakenly used an entire town to fulfill her desires.

Agatha isn’t sure why Wanda is here, why she came to her, but there’s a mixture within her of that doesn’t matter and it absolutely does.

Magic swirls within her, easy as her uneasy heart.

Wanda doesn’t flinch away.

Agatha crosses the distance between them and kisses her.

Magic sparks around her lips, floods her veins, hot along her skin.  It takes an unspoken second – one Agatha doesn’t even feel, though she notices it – before Wanda kisses her back, hands reflexively tightening on Agatha’s waist.  On instinct, Agatha shifts her hand through Wanda’s hair – magic is there, too, softer, but still humming along her fingertips, under her nails in a soothing manner.  She relaxes.

It’s easy.  It shouldn’t be.

Then Agatha steps back.  Brushes her nose against Wanda’s again.  “Sarah’s waiting for us downstairs, hon.”

“Let her wait.”  Wanda’s thumb presses into the ribbon about Agatha’s waist – gentle, but insistent.  “Or we could…we could leave.  We could go somewhere—”

“And miss the party?”  Agatha chuckles.  “No, no.  I’m not that easy.”  She steps back, out of Wanda’s hands, and reaches up just enough to boop the tip of Wanda’s nose.  “Party first, hon.  Then we can talk about—”

“You’re the one who kissed me—”

“And I’m saying we wait.”  Agatha runs a hand through Wanda’s hair again and smiles, soft up at her.  Then she catches a flash of color threaded through Wanda’s hair – a color that shouldn’t be there – and her eyes widen.  “Hold on, hon, I think I…I think I got some of your lipstick in your hair.  I guess I didn’t think that one through.”  She giggles – giggles like a little girl – and hates the sound of it.

Wanda turns to Sarah’s mirror, threads her hand through her hair, and notes the differences.  “I think you got a little on my nose, too.”  Then she snaps her fingers – just like that, once, a sharp crack of a sound, and they’re back the way they were just before Agatha kissed her, with Wanda’s hands on her waist and—

The door creaks open.

Wanda jumps back, away from Agatha, and hides her face under the swathes of fabric about her neck.

This doesn’t change the fact that the door shouldn’t be opening.  Agatha told Sarah they were almost done, she told her they would be down shortly, but here Sarah is, clearing her throat in a small, embarrassed sort of sound, eyes glaring daggers at Agatha.  She isn’t even supposed to be here.

How much did Wanda change?

Agatha tugs, harsh, on one of the threads of magic entangling her, and she almost hears it sniggering, the way it vibrates against her fingertips.  It isn’t funny, she thinks, wondering if it can hear her if she doesn’t speak aloud.  It isn’t funny at all.

When she clues back in, Sarah’s gaze has turned to Wanda and softened.  “Much better,” she murmurs.  Then she digs her fingers into Agatha’s shoulder – Ow, ow, ow – and drags her out of the room, crooking a finger towards Wanda.  “Come along.  The festivities will start any minute.”

Agatha barely catches Wanda squeaking out, “Festivities?” as Sarah continues to drag her away from the other witch.  She tries to wiggle her shoulder out from under Sarah’s grasp, almost succeeds when they make it to the living room, and finally does after Sarah drags her to a secluded corner.  “I don’t know what you think I did to deserve that, hon,” she starts to say, rubbing her shoulder and rotating it a bit to get the kinks out.

“Were you flirting with her?” Sarah hisses, eyes narrowing.

A normal person might quail under Sarah’s intense, angry gaze, but Agatha has lived through worse things than a suburban white mom’s anger.  Not many things, because those women can be fierce, but some things.  “Funny how you assume I was doing the flirting and not our dear, gentle—”

“Oh, hush, you flirted with her in the Hex, too; don’t lie to me.”

“Of course my flirting with Wanda is what got burned into your mind and not—”

“Quit trying to deflect, Agnes.”  Sarah doesn’t back down.  That’s admirable.  “What was going on in there—”

It doesn’t matter whatever Sarah is trying to say, because she’s cut off when Wanda runs.  By instinct, Agatha reaches out for magic, reaches out with her mind just enough to read the white hot panic filtering through her mind, but she doesn’t have time to make her way to her in an attempt to calm her before Todd Davis makes a stupid joke about Sarah having a witch problem, and then of course, Wanda is running, is out the door, and Sarah, instead of continuing to chide Agatha about something she doesn’t know anything about and wasn’t meant to see, decides to run after Wanda.

And Agatha lets her go.

Instead, Agatha makes her way over to Todd, whose face has grown ashen.  He’s taller than her – taller even than Cian was, though Agatha doesn’t need to think of them now – but she can still tell the difference between the way he hangs his head now and the way he might look down on her if he ever felt the need to do so.  Still, she ribs him just the same way he ribbed Wanda, “Nice joke you told there, hon.”

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” Todd says.  “She’s so powerful.  I never thought she would be afraid.”

Agatha snorts.  “Girl’s a bundle of rubber bands stretched too far.  Just because you can’t hurt her doesn’t mean you can’t hurt her.”  She glances out the window, to where Wanda has stopped, where chaos magic flicks about her fingers, drawn to her fear, and nods her head in her direction.  “Look.  You’re the least of her problems.”

Todd follows her gaze, and in that moment, Wanda glances up, catches them staring at her, and quickly looks away.  It’s possible he doesn’t even notice it, but Agatha does.  As she continues to stare down at her, he says, “I didn’t know she would be here.”

It sounds like an accusation.

“I didn’t know either.  She just showed up on my doorstep.”  Quite like a feral cat looking for a place to curl up and have its kittens, although Agatha won’t mention it that way.  “Sorry I didn’t warn you.”  She can’t keep the bite out of her voice, and maybe it’s because he made Wanda run, maybe it has to do with his reinforcing what Wanda was already afraid of: that everyone, everyone here hates her.  That Sarah’s only letting her join because Agatha – because Agnes – asked.

“You didn’t have to warn us.”  This a different voice – Harold, Sarah’s husband – standing just behind them.  Agatha doesn’t even look up.  He’s a thin waif of a guy with a moustache bigger than his entire frame.  “But you let Sarah go after her.  Alone.”

That sounds like an accusation, too.

A few months ago, Agatha would have responded with a threat.  Even now, she resists the urge to dig her fingers into magic and rip into him with her fingernails – without ever so much as physically lifting a finger against him.  That’s not a threat – that’s direct action that serves as a threat to everyone else around her.  But she lived with these people without magic, people who had every reason to be afraid of her as much as they were of Wanda, and instead, she says, gentle, “Wanda won’t hurt her, hon.”

“I saw that magic—”

Now Agatha looks up, sharp, and cuts him off without a word.  She’s a witch; he cowers beneath her gaze.  (She’s had time to perfect it, after all.)  “If you saw the magic,” she says anyway, tongue as sharp as her gaze, “then you also saw it leave.”  She turns back, staring at Wanda through the window.  The little witch has curled into herself as much as she can, keeps avoiding Sarah’s gaze, looks like the same cat searching for somewhere – anywhere – to run and hide.  “She won’t hurt anyone.”

Todd glances down on Agatha, but there’s no anger or spite in his gaze.  “Are you sure she won’t hurt you?”

Agatha smiles, a small thing, but doesn’t turn away from the window.  “Why would she hurt Agnes?  I’m her best friend, love.”

“Do you know why she’s here?” Sharon asks from where she sits on the couch, shrill voice not nearly as shrill when it’s quiet.  There’s a quiver in it, too; of their little grouping, she’s been the most hesitant to be here at all, to join them.  Cautious.  Uncertain.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Agatha lies, easy as anything, and easy as anything, they believe her.  She’s always been good at lying, and it’s always been easier when the lie is mixed with truth.  She knows that Wanda wants to talk to her.  She has a fairly good idea what Wanda wants to talk with her about.  But she strictly speaking doesn’t know what Wanda wants.

For all intents and purposes, Wanda could be here just to make sure that Agnes curse is still in place.  More to the point, she could be here for Agnes.  Not for Agatha, who isn’t even supposed to really exist as herself anymore, but for Agnes, the creation she thought she’d left in her place.  During the Hex, Wanda had been absolutely certain to make sure she wasn’t taking advantage of Agnes once she understood that she might be; here, now, in that bedroom upstairs, Wanda knew Agatha wasn’t in control and didn’t seem to care much about it in the slightest.

It’s concerning, to be sure.

“If you don’t know why she’s here,” Todd breaks through her thoughts, “then you don’t know she won’t hurt you.  Won’t hurt us.”  The last is tacked on, hurried as though to cover his bases, because Wanda is clearly too scared to intentionally hurt them.

But Agatha is still a threat, a loose end, a hole in her carefully crafted plot.

And she knows it.

Todd clasps her shoulder gingerly.  “You don’t have to say anything.  Just—”

“Be aware?”  Agatha looks up then with an easy smile.  “You don’t have to worry about me, hon.  I can take care of myself.”

When he steps away, Todd takes Harold with him, leaving Agatha to stare out through the window.  Maybe it would be more party conscious for Agatha to join them – or to join Sharon and pretend as though nothing weird is going on outside – or maybe it would be more comfortable for them if she went and joined Sarah, just as additional back-up, even though Wanda wouldn’t know to see it that way, even though Agatha wouldn’t throw herself onto the pyre just to save her new friends.  But she doesn’t do that, instead stares out as Sarah and Wanda’s conversation seems to end, as Wanda starts to follow Sarah back inside.

Wanda glances up, away from Sarah, and meets Agatha’s eyes.  She blushes when Agatha raises a hand and waggles a few fingers at her, and then she quickly looks away.  If it were anyone else, the lack of subtlety would be cute, but on a witch of Wanda’s scale?

It is nothing more than foolishness.

Good thing that Agatha Harkness knows a thing or two about fools.

#bandit fic #the thrall of magic with agatha and wanda #kisses through the decades with wanda and agatha #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu #wandavision #wagatha #wandagatha #harximoff #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness

[aparticularbandit]

The Thrall of Magic VI - 2000′s

Chapter Summary: Agatha hides the boys in the basement.

She hides the boys in the basement, and she goes into the room that has been her base of operations for the past several decade-days (it is hard to tell how many days there have actually been in comparison to the much faster pace of the days that Wanda has created for her sitcom episodes, which feel like days but are always actually much shorter, multiple days potentially shoved into one twenty-four hour period), and she glances up where she has carved the two most basic of runes, the first two runes any baby witch learns to craft under the protection of their teacher’s own carving of those two most basic runes, and she sees how large they are, bigger than stoplights, bigger than stop signs, as big as billboards, with absolutely no subtlety because Wanda will not remember them if she tries to be subtle, and she takes a deep breath in.

“Please,” Agatha whispers under her breath, “let this be enough.”

companion piece to Kisses Through The Decades

Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Chapter Rating: T Fic Rating: M for dark themes and sexual content

AO3

previous chapter / next chapter

Boys, I’ll be fine.  Just go with Agnes.

Agatha tries her best to keep her eyes wholly on Wanda, she does, but she catches it – the flickering in the background, the way the world that Wanda has created is shifting, fragmenting, breaking.  Perhaps if she hadn’t tried to expand the boundaries of her little world during the Halloween special, it might have lasted a little longer, but the broken spells aren’t meant to contain so much, and the threads Wanda used to twine things together are beginning to fray at the ends, the rubber band stretched near to the breaking—

When Agatha spent some time in the western states, as she does on occasion as she travels, she’d noticed the children – teenagers, mostly, but compared to her centuries, they’re children – with these spiffy little bracelets that they called VL bracelets.  Now, she didn’t much hold to their local traditions, but she did ask a few of the children where they’d come from, how they’d made them, and discovered, much to her surprise, that they were taking little plastic circles from inside the tops of plastic bottle caps, cutting around the inside rim, and then stretching them until they were big enough to slip onto their wrists, these tiny little circlets that barely fit over their fingers being stretched so carefully that they could fit over whole hands.  Of course, stretching the plastic in and of itself was hard, but even hard was cutting a near-perfect circle around the inner rim.  Any spot where the plastic was thinner was a breaking point, any spot that was off could snap so much more easily than the thicker spots next to it.

Wanda’s broken spells are full of breaking points, and the cording Agatha made many decade-days ago had at least kept them from overwhelming her and sending her into her own personal freeze again, but in expanding the boundaries of her world, she is stretching those already too thin points so much thinner that reality is trying to reassert itself, previous decades are trying to reassert themselves, and the whole is deteriorating much more rapidly than Agatha had hoped.

Wanda doesn’t need to look at any suspicious mole on Agatha’s back – she already knows quite intimately what her bare back looks like and hopefully knows that there is no mole – but it’s a reminder, small but certain, of what transpired between them, even if the boys can’t see it.

And an indicator, if Wanda will notice it, that—

Who is she kidding?  Wanda doesn’t notice subtleties because she doesn’t use subtleties.  Whatever indicator Agatha is trying to give her, she knows she won’t catch.  Not now, anyway.  She can’t be gentle with Wanda.  She has to be harsh.

Wanda only understands magic through pain.

~

It’s halfway through their sandwiches, while the odd cartoon plays in the background (Agatha has lived through every iteration of cartoon since the invention of the television, and this one – this one is weird), that she catches it happening again.  It isn’t a script; she hasn’t gotten one of those since Wanda sheltered her within her shield, although that’s a result of the shield itself or of Wanda no longer providing a script for her is up for debate; but it’s something similar, the slightest nudging of magic as the cameras turn to her.

(Earlier, she wondered if these fourth wall breaks let her speak directly to Wanda, wondered if these were moments where not just the world but Wanda herself was beginning to fray at the bits, wondered if she would get a moment to even check.  Then the camera turned on her at the house Maximoff, and she caught it – just caught it – that same frozen-eyed stare just out of sight. There are no feeds anymore – so there shouldn’t be cameras – but she’s caught it, in the occasional flicker of the world around them, in the taut of the strings that once were feeds, and gone to check.

This isn’t what you deserve, she’d murmured, brushing fingers along Wanda’s sweaty head as her emerald eyes shifted with no focus, as she shivered in place overwhelmed with spells.  This isn’t what you deserve.)

Magic tugs on her again, and without thinking, Agatha says it, staring directly into the camera, “But you try telling a ten-year-old that his mother is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” and she feels the reverberations, the flickering of something in the magic around her, something that tries to settle, tries to grab tighter.  But holding on tightly to a decaying spell doesn’t fix it.  There is no fixing it.

There’s only damage control…and collateral damage.

Agatha moves to return her pet to his cage and then pauses, places a hand on Billy’s shoulder, and gives him a little squeeze.  “Billy, dear,” she says, licking her dry lips once before continuing, “I’m quiet because I’m like you.”  Her brow furrows.  She kneels down in front of him, looks up at him, meets his wary eyes.  “You, and I, and your mom – we’re all very good at magic.” When he still looks scared, she reaches out, touches his mind, and thinks towards him, That means we’re witches.

Billy’s eyes widen.  Even me? he thinks at her, startled.  I thought only girls could be witches!

Oh, no, dear.  That’s not—  Agatha chuckles, and then everything around them flickers once. Both boys startle, and she reaches out to hold them steady.  “I’m telling you two this now,” she continues, gaze switching from Billy to Tommy and then back again, “because I need your help.  Your mom has been playing with some very strong magic, and it’s starting to hurt her.”

“So we have to stop it!” Tommy says, and Billy nods, clenching one hand into a fist.  “If it’s hurting Mom, then we have to stop it!”

Agatha nods slow.  “You know when you’re playing a game,” she says conspiratorially, leaning forward, voice a hush, “and you pretend to be hurt, but you’re not really hurt?”

Tommy nods eagerly, but Billy hesitates.  His brow furrows, finally, as he nods.

“Okay, good.”  Agatha searches their eyes.  “Let me tell you what I’m going to need you to do to help your mom, okay, kiddos?”

~

Agatha hides the boys in the basement.

She hides the boys in the basement, and she goes into the room that has been her base of operations for the past several decade-days (it is hard to tell how many days there have actually been in comparison to the much faster pace of the days that Wanda has created for her sitcom episodes, which feel like days but are always actually much shorter, multiple days potentially shoved into one twenty-four hour period), and she glances up where she has carved the two most basic of runes, the first two runes any baby witch learns to craft under the protection of their teacher’s own carving of those two most basic runes, and she sees how large they are, bigger than stoplights, bigger than stop signs, as big as billboards, with absolutely no subtlety because Wanda will not remember them if she tries to be subtle, and she takes a deep breath in.

“Please,” Agatha whispers under her breath, “let this be enough.”

~

Agatha directs Wanda into her house, one hand guiding gentle on the small of her back, and then stops just inside the entryway, letting the door click shut behind them.  She sees the spots of anger scarlet on Wanda’s cheeks, the attempt to release the tension by rolling her shoulders back and away, and notes this as the distraction it might be.  Wanda cannot focus on that agent – friend or not.  She has to focus on—

“Hon.”  Agatha takes Wanda’s wrists in her hands and brushes her thumbs over the pulse points found on each.  “Just breathe.  She’s not coming in here.  You’re safe. The boys are safe.  It’s—”

And then it happens again, just like it did before, Wanda’s eyes glazing over, pupils shifting back in forth in a scarlet haze, that glitching of a mind melting down from running too many things at once and not having the sheer energy to keep them all going any longer.

Agatha holds one hand to her forehead.  “Wanda, you have to wake up.”  There are no threads she can pull together or consolidate to help more than she already has. “You can’t stay like this.”  She grips her shoulders, shakes her.  “Wanda, hon.”

Nothing.

Agatha pulls on the threads, tries again to find whatever feed these cameras are directing into, but there’s nothing.  Nothing.  So she reaches directly into Wanda’s mind so that she can see whatever she is seeing—

Her eyes widen.  “Ah.” One corner of her lips curves upward. “You’re quite right, hon.  I don’t just bite children.”  Then she leans forward, parts her lips, and bites down, hard, on the side of Wanda’s neck.

For a moment, nothing happens.  Then Wanda’s heart beats rapidly under her tongue, and Agatha draws away just as Wanda takes in a sharp breath, picking up just where she left out.

“—okay, you’re going to be okay.”

“You bit me,” Wanda says, placing a hand on her neck, pulling it away, and staring at it.  “Just now. We were in your armchair, and you…you bit me.”

Agatha feigns confusion.  She blinks a few times, glances over to her armchair, licks her lips, and then turns back again.  “Wanda, dear, I don’t think that I—”  She pauses, licks her lips again, and then frowns.  “Funny.  It does taste like I just bit someone.”  She crosses her arms.  “Why did I bite you?”

“I don’t know!”  Wanda throws her hands up and breaks into a broken giggling.  “You were talking, and then all of a sudden we were in the chair, and you were kissing me again, and you bit me, and it was….”  She sighs.  “It was really nice, actually.  I didn’t really mind it all that much—”

“Good, good,” Agatha interrupts, a little more hasty than she should be, but her broken bird is shattering her own wings in front of her, and they only have so much time before she’s busted beyond repair, “I will keep that in mind for next time, bite Wanda more because she likes that sort of thing.”  She makes as though to write it down on her palm with an invisible pencil.  Then she raises her brows.  “Do continue.”

Wanda just glares at her.  “I’m serious, Agnes.  Look.”  She steps towards her, tilting her head to one side so that her neck is exposed.  “Do you see teeth marks?  Or a bruise maybe?”

Agatha sighs.  She pretends to examine Wanda’s neck because she knows that’s what Wanda wants, and then her gaze flicks to meet Wanda’s eyes as she places her hands on her hips. “Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Mrs. Robinson,” Wanda mouths before glaring at her again, somehow much more intense this time.  “No, I’m not trying to seduce you,” she hisses.  “I think we had enough of that already, and my boys are—”

“Your boys are just fine.”  Agatha takes a deep breath in to calm herself because that’s only half-true; the boys are as safe as Wanda herself is, which is to say not at all, but they’re safe as far as Wanda’s concerned in this moment.  She reaches over and places a hand, gentle, on Wanda’s shoulder.  “You’re fine.  It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

It’s so much easier to lie when she knows that neither of them will believe it.

“Everything is not fine—”  Wanda clenches her hand into a fist and cuts herself off.  She glances out the nearby window, and Agatha follows her gaze, unable to see anything through the blur of the glass.  Then Wanda turns with a heavy sigh, leans forward, and rests her head on Agatha’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Agnes.  I’m sorry. It’s been a day and a half, and I just….”  She sighs again.  “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” she finally admits.  “I’m so tired, all the time, and….”  Her voice trails off.

Agatha rubs a hand gentle along Wanda’s back, considering the current stakes. If Wanda had admitted this before leaving earlier, before the flickering started to run through the entire world and not just through her own mind, before waking to strings held taut for too long, then maybe…maybe it could have been salvaged.  But not now.  It’s too far gone.  She’ll just—

“If it’s all falling apart, hon, then let it.”  Agatha breathes the words out, hopes that they’re blunt enough that Wanda will listen.  “You were powerful enough to make it the first time, you can just remake it.  Stronger.  Better.”  She kisses the top of Wanda’s head, lingers, then brushes torn strands back and away. “Then you won’t have to worry about it breaking again, and if you do, then you just—”

“Try again,” Wanda finishes for her, voice soft.  “Until I get it right.  Until I get it perfect.”

Agatha nods, slow, and the endless curiosity in her rears its ugly head.  “You can do that, can’t you, doll?  It wouldn’t be too hard.”

Wanda shakes her head against Agatha’s chest.  “I don’t know how I did it the first time, so I don’t know how to do it again.”  She bites her lip, silent for a longer stretch than is comfortable, and then says, finally, “Vision would die again.  And my boys…my boys would die.”

“And then you would bring them back.  Just the same as they are,” Agatha continues, refusing to say that the boys are already a lost cause because that will do no one any good in this exact moment, speaking these words as a comfort for when they are gone.  “But in a better world.”

Wanda steps back, glances up, and meets Agatha’s eyes, searches them.  “Do you…do you want that, Agnes?”

“I just want what’s best for you, hon,” Agatha lies.  But as she pushes forward, her words become truth, “If it’s hurting you to keep all of this going, then you should stop.  Rest.”  She notes the tears in Wanda’s eyes, grows more determined.  “And when you’re ready…try again.”  She cups her cheek and brushes the tears away.  “You could even stay here, with me, so you don’t have to be alone.”

Wanda gazes away from Agatha, glancing over her shoulder, and seems to look for something that she doesn’t see.  Then she nods, and her gaze falls.  “What if I didn’t remake it?” she asks, voice so soft Agatha can barely hear it.  “I can’t keep it up.  I want to – I have to, or my family dies – but it will fall.  It will fall.  It’s all going to fall, and when it does, whenever that is, maybe….”  She hesitates.  Pauses. Sniffs once and rubs her nose with the back of her hand.  “I’m not making any sense.”

“You’re giving up?” Agatha asks, clarifying, needing to hear Wanda say it. “You’re the most powerful young woman I’ve ever met, and you’re giving up?”

Wanda shakes her head.  “No.” Her lips creep into a mirthless half-smile that drops as soon as it appears.  “I’m not giving up.  I’m…. I’m just tired.  And being able to rest….”  She shakes her head again and glances up, meeting Agatha’s eyes.  “If you would let me, I would….”  Her voice trails off, and her gaze drops again.  “Even if I knew how to remake it, I don’t know that I could.  It would…it would hurt too much.”  Her head tilts to one side, and she studies Agatha’s face.  “Does that make any sense, or do I sound crazy?”

Agatha brushes her thumb along the sharp of Wanda’s cheekbone.  That’s her answer, then.  That’s fine.  She can accept that.  Her lips press together, and she gives a little nod.  “No.  That sounds….”  She smiles fondly, sadly.  “That sounds wonderful, angel, if that’s what you want.”  Then she skims her hand gentle along Wanda’s skin to the nape of her neck, crosses the space between them, and kisses her.

It is, perhaps, the gentlest kiss they’ve ever had, made all the more harsher by what Agatha knows she is about to do.

Then Agatha pulls back, lets out a huff of a breath, and forces her smile to return, bright and cheery as she knows Wanda needs.  “My house is your house, dear.  You know that.”  She heads into the house, then pauses.  “Oh, here. Would you like a cup of tea, hon?”

~

After, when all is done, when Wanda is as she needs to be and the runes are in place where they need to be and Agatha lands, crumpled, on the ground with the weight of her necessary betrayal curled like a kitten, purring like magic, just in the center of her chest, she pushes her hair back out of her face, looks up, meets Wanda’s deep green eyes, and murmurs, clear as day, “Good girl.”

Then, as before, she waits.

#bandit fic #the thrall of magic with agatha and wanda #kisses through the decades with wanda and agatha #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #billy kaplan #tommy shepherd #mcu #wandavision #wagatha #wandagatha #harximoff #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness