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blueiskewl · 2 years

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Silver Coin Featuring Famous Viking King Discovered in Hungary

A metal detectorist in Hungary has unearthed a tiny silver coin marked with the name of a famous Viking king that was lost almost 1,000 years ago.

A metal detectorist has discovered a small silver coin marked with the name of a famous Viking king. However, it was unearthed not in Scandinavia, but in southern Hungary, where it was lost almost 1,000 years ago.

The find has baffled archaeologists, who have struggled to explain how the coin might have ended up there — it's even possible that it arrived with the traveling court of a medieval Hungarian king.

The early Norwegian coin, denominated as a "penning," was not especially valuable at the time, even though it's made from silver, and was worth the equivalent of around $20 in today's money.

"This penning was equivalent to the denar used in Hungary at the time," Máté Varga, an archaeologist at the Rippl-Rónai Museum in the southern Hungarian city of Kaposvár and a doctoral student at Hungary's University of Szeged, told Live Science in an email. "It was not worth much — perhaps enough to feed a family for a day."

Metal detectorist Zoltán Csikós found the silver coin earlier this year at an archaeological site on the outskirts of the village of Várdomb, and handed it over to archaeologist András Németh at the Wosinsky Mór County Museum in the nearby city of Szekszárd.

The Várdomb site holds the remains of the medieval settlement of Kesztölc, one of the most important trading towns in the region at that time. Archaeologists have made hundreds of finds there, including dress ornaments and coins, Varga said.

There is considerable evidence of contact between medieval Hungary and Scandinavia, including Scandinavian artifacts found in Hungary and Hungarian artifacts found in Scandinavia that could have been brought there by trade or traveling craftsmen, Varga said.

But this is the first time a Scandinavian coin has been found in Hungary, he said.

Who was Harald Hardrada?

The coin found at the Várdomb site is in poor condition, but it's recognizable as a Norwegian penning minted between 1046 and 1066 for King Harald Sigurdsson III — also known as Harald Hardrada — at Nidarnes or Nidaros (opens in new tab), a medieval mint at Trondheim in central Norway.

The description of a similar coin (opens in new tab) notes that the front features the name of the king "HARALD REX NO" — meaning Harald, king of Norway — and is decorated with a "triquetra," a three-sided symbol representing Christianity's Holy Trinity.

The other side is marked with a Christian cross in double lines, two ornamental sets of dots, and another inscription naming the master of the mint at Nidarnes.

Harald Hardrada ("Hardrada" translates as "hard ruler" in Norwegian) was the son of a Norwegian chief and half-brother to the Norwegian king Olaf II, according to Britannica (opens in new tab). He lived at the end of the Viking Age, and is sometimes considered the last of the great Viking warrior-kings.

Traditional stories record that Harald fought alongside his half-brother at the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030, where Olaf was defeated and killed by the forces of an alliance between Norwegian rebels and the Danish; Harald fled in exile after that, first to Russia and then to the Byzantine Empire, where he became a prominent military leader.

He returned to Norway in 1045 and became its joint king with his nephew, Magnus I Olafsson; and he became the sole king when Magnus died in battle against Denmark in 1047.

Harald then spent many years trying to obtain the Danish throne, and in 1066 he attempted to conquer England by allying with the rebel forces of Tostig Godwinson, who was trying to take the kingdom from his brother, King Harold Godwinson.

But both Harald and Tostig were killed by Harold Godwinson's forces at the Battle of Stamford Bridge in northern England in 1066; whereupon the victor and his armies had to cross the country in just a few weeks before the Battle of Hastings against William of Normandy — which Harold Godwinson lost, and with it the kingdom of England.

Medieval travels

The penning found at Várdomb could have been lost more than 100 years after it was minted, but it's more likely that it was in circulation for between 10 and 20 years, Varga and Németh said.

That dating gives rise to a possible connection with a medieval Hungarian king named Solomon, who ruled from 1063 to 1087.

According to a medieval Hungarian illuminated manuscript known as the "Képes Krónika" (or "Chronicon Pictum" in Latin), Solomon and his retinue (a group of advisors and important people) encamped in 1074 "above the place called Kesztölc" — and so the archaeologists think one of Solomon's courtiers at that time may have carried, and then lost, the exotic coin.

"The king's court could have included people from all over the world, whether diplomatic or military leaders, who could have had such coins," Varga and Németh said in a statement.

Another possibility is that the silver coin was brought to medieval Kesztölc by a common traveler: the trading town "was crossed by a major road with international traffic, the predecessor of which was a road built in Roman times along the Danube," the researchers said in the statement.

"This road was used not only by kings, but also by merchants, pilgrims, and soldiers from far away, any of whom could have lost the rare silver coin," they wrote.

Further research could clarify the origins of the coin and its connection with the site; while no excavations are planned, Varga said, field surveys and further metal detection will be carried out at the site in the future.

By Tom Metcalfe.

#Silver Coin Featuring Famous Viking King Discovered in Hungary #King Harald Sigurdsson III #Harald Hardrada #archeology #archeolgst #metal detector #coin #silver #silver coin #ancient artifacts #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #penning #viking history #viking culture

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aparticularbandit · 6 months

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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

previous chapter / next chapter

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.)

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

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residentdormouse · 1 year

Note

"Invite me" for the ask game! :)

💖 Thank you for the Ask!! 💖

Alright, so trying to stick with canon only interactions for another one. Going with Teddy and Harold for this. Also posted on Ao3 if its preferred for reading:

Playing the Long Game

Fandom: The Stand

Characters: Harold Lauder and Teddy Weizak

Words: 859

(Drabble Prompts - Original Post)

"Hawk! Hey!”

Harold stopped mid step, but hesitated turning around. Unexpected interactions always threw him for a loop, and Teddy was no exception. Despite his playful nature, Harold was sure the man had to have something going on behind it all. He had to. They all did. Humanity. Nasty little tendencies behind the veneer. Some just took longer to reveal themselves.

Footsteps could be heard behind him. One last attempt was made to fix his expression, adjust his mask as it were, but he had already spent too much time in his head. Before he could turn, he felt the grip on his back. The light shake that rippled through his body. The laughing echoing in his ear as Teddy’s arm rested across his shoulders in a half hug. Little choice was left in the matter, and Harold reluctantly followed in step as Teddy continued to walk forward, oblivious to any resistance.

"Couple of us are going down to the dorms. Use the generator to set up a movie night. Whaddya say?"

"Oh, that's… I'm not sure—"

"C'mon, everybody needs a little break here and there!"

But that’s what Teddy failed to realize; this wasn't a break. Not to him. What Teddy was proposing was entering a social battle that required constant vigilance. Anticipate the moves, blend into the background when possible, and strike only with a sure bet. Practiced movements and rehearsed repertoire. Break? Exhausting is what it was, and Harold certainly didn't have the energy to put up a front for that long. Not after a full day of cleanup.

The thought of the daily activities only ushered in a wave of fresh memories. Sensory recall he wished he could will away. Smells that would threaten to upheave anything he managed to put down. Decomposition. It lingered in his nostrils and he could almost taste it. That’s all that was there for him. Death. Disgust…

All things he would put up with to position himself where he needed to. A place to get the most leverage when the time came.

But now… This?

"I don't know, Teddy. After today, I think I just need some time to clear my head."

"And what better way to do that than a little mindless entertainment, yeah? Shut down your brain and enjoy."

"Not sure that's the movie doing that."

Along with the comment, a slight incline of his head was made towards the joint tucked behind Teddy's ear to highlight his implication. As far as vices go, he could think of worse, but it served as perfect ammunition for a shot or two when needed. To break the tension. As a diversion.

Teddy, however, was undeterred. In fact, the jab only served to spur him on more. A twinkle picked up in his eyes as his head cocked to the side, smile bursting from ear to ear. Joy continued to course through him, reaching his limbs as he pointed Harold’s way.

"Ah, got me there!”

Another flash of enjoyment waved across his features before he fell back into his pitch. “When in Rome, am I right? But seriously, you’re tellin’ me you just want to go back to a dark house in the quiet and…”

Trying to think of the possibilities had already stumped him, and his face crinkled as he contemplated the right option. But while his thoughts had stalled, Harold found the pause began to slowly kill him inside. Building up until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“What? There’s plenty of things. Read. Write.”

“That’s clearing your head? Sounds like fuckin’ work, man.”

“Some of us enjoy that type of thing. You know, the ones that didn’t smoke away our brain cells.”

As the words came out, Harold stiffened. That had been too far. Too familiar. Was retaliation to follow?

But once again, his poking was answered with a goofy smile and a pleasant laugh. One that Harold could find himself adopting. One that now seemed to come naturally. A genuine smile. And a genuine laugh.

For once, interaction wasn’t forced. It had no agenda and it flowed freely.

It was accepted.

“Yeah, yeah. Duly noted. But even those types can still sit back and appreciate the wonder that is Keanu Reeves' career. How’d he get there? Did he know? Mysteries of the universe that can only be answered with another viewing of John Wick. Are you in?”

Before he even knew what he was doing, his head began to nod. Did he just agree to this? What was he doing?

“Yes! Knew I could count on you! I’m swinging by the station to get a few snacks, wanna help haul?”

And as he followed Teddy around the bend, the first turn straying from his path home, he contemplated his choice. Doing the hard tasks, the dirty work, that was a part of the long game, but he still needed visibility. If he chose the right moves, things like this could provide opportunities to do just that.

The ad hoc had their time now, but people were going to know Harold Lauder. Every dog would have his day.

Maybe there were worse ways to pass the time.

#Mouse is back on her nonsense #the stand 2020 #harold lauder #teddy weizak #thank you again for the ask!!

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real-total-drama-takes · 1 year

Note

the weird thing about rewatching the premier of tdi is just. Ezekiel being there. and not in a "remember when he was human" way nah. because even when he's there in the tdwt premier I feel nothing.

but when he's there with the other 21 campers? something just feels off. his design doesn't feel like a first boot, and he doesn't say much beyond the sexist comments.

I just feel like I could forget he's there in tdi. I feel similar about harold in tdwt, and Gwen and Trent in tda to lesser degrees. I can't explain it. when you remember Ezekiel was on a milk cartoon saying "missing" in Basic Straining, there becomes a bit of mystery to him too. it feels almost like foreshadowing as to what happens in tdwt onwards and how it basically comes full circle in the tdrr finale with missing posters of Ezekiel all around New York City.

one final thing I'd like to say is one that's been mentioned many many times but it's the fact that he was in one of the most important bonfire ceremonies ever. if Courtney went over Ezekiel, Ezekiel might've been the next boot or he might've went all the way. His only apparent flaw back then was the sexism which he learnt from by TDDDDI at the latest. If he ironed that out sooner rather than later well, who knows? But the big impact would've been Courtney not being there in the rest of tdi. Without her, there's no Duncney, there's no eventual love triangle. Without her she wouldn't have any grounds for a lawsuit really and mightn't have returned in tda. and that would've caused a ripple effect within itself. love her or hate her Courtney was instrumental to basically a big plot of each season (duncney tdi, antag tda second half, love triangle tdwt and then scourtney and love triangle part 2 in tdas) and the seasons would've looked very very different without her. like you could replace beth with Cody if you rly wanted for tda and there wouldn't be a difference. but Courtney can't be replaced

#total drama #total drama island #tdi #tdwt #total drama world tour #tda #total drama action #td gwen #td courtney #td Ezekiel #td Trent #duncney #gwent

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infini-tree · 1 year

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thinking about the harold counterpart of this george scene in sticky notes (ie. where they have to actually confront that krupp as a person and not just this nebulous embodiment of the worst the school system has to offer which he is mechanically in the books, but ssh) but also realizing that krupp would just Not Talk About This To A Child, no matter how angry or out-of-touch he is with what’s appropriate to talk to a child about in the first place. so here’s an old analysis/ramble that’s been rattling around my head for a good... year now? because frankly i like the concept and i don’t want it to languish in my discord messages

the connection derived from their missing fathers would honestly be extremely surface level in this au. sure, they lost their dads, but its in two different contexts: one left, the other passed away. harold's dad wasn't the best person and left-- not even bothering to visit post-divorce, and krupp's dad is... a decent person (given what limited information he has and also the rose-tinted glasses that comes with only really knowing your dad for 10 years as a kid).

the much more interesting parallel/bit is if you have them have a moment based on the parental figures that did them. wrong? for lack of better phrasing. once again, harold's dad is just out of his life, but his lack of a presence left ripple effects. bernice, on the other hand, is still very much there with more active effects

#mells thinking out loud on her blog again #sticky notes au

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gwydionmisha · 1 year

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Man Carrying Bale - Harold Monro

The tough hand closes gently on the load; Out of the mind, a voice Calls 'Lift!' and the arms, remembering well their work, Lengthen and pause for help. Then a slow ripple flows from head to foot While all the muscles call to one another: 'Lift! 'and the bulging bale Floats like a butterfly in June. So moved the earliest carrier of bales, And the same watchful sun Glowed through his body feeding it with light. So will the last one move, And halt, and dip his head, and lay his load Down, and the muscles will relax and tremble. Earth, you designed your man Beautiful both in labour and repose.

#Man Carrying Bale #Harold Monro #Poem #Poetry

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whump-or-whatever · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 21

Prompts: Famous last words - coughing up blood | “you’re safe now” | take me instead

Fandom: Person of Interest

Context: Dakota Walker is an OC of mine in the POI universe who was rescued from a human trafficking organization by John, and then became part of the crew. They were tortured and conditioned pretty badly during their captivity.

Summary: Dakota wakes up from a nightmare forgetting where they are. John and Harold help them back to the present.

• • •

“Dakota,” a voice called out as the dream faded.

Instinctively, they slid off the side of the cot they were lying on and knelt down, eyes downcast.

“Dakota, are you alright?”

Their brow furrowed in confusion. “Yes, sir.” They spoke quietly.

“Sir?” Harold spoke in confusion. “Do you know where we are?”

He had entered the room to find Dakota on the cot breathing fast, muscles tense. Clearly it was a nightmare, so he had called out to them to wake them. Their response was far from ideal, however.

Dakota responded confusedly, “no, sir.”

“Oh dear,” Harold muttered. “Mr Reese,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, Finch,” John said as he entered the room, before freezing when he caught sight of Dakota. “Shit.”

John walked slowly over to where they knelt, standing in front of them. He could see the tension rippling through their shoulders.

Sighing, John spoke authoritatively. “Stand up.”

Dakota did so, eyes still locked on the floor. Their hands were clasped anxiously at their sides.

“Sit down on the cot here,” John instructed.

Dakota did not move an inch. “I’m not allowed on the furniture, sir.”

Harold and John shared a look of dread before Harold asked, “why aren’t you allowed on the furniture?”

Dakota’s face contorted in confusion. “You taught me better, sir.”

“What will happen if you go on the furniture?” John asked, fearing the answer.

“50 lashes, sir. So I will learn to be better.”

Both men felt their blood run cold.

“Dakota, we will never hurt you, remember?” Harold said desperately.

“No, sir. You don’t hurt me, you help me. Teach me to be better.” Dakota responded robotically.

“I want you to look at me,” John said firmly.

Finally, Dakota looked up through their lashes at the man in front of them. They didn’t really see his face, though. Their entire mind was pinpoint focused on making sure they followed every instruction precisely, said the right things, held their body the right way. They had learned how to be good for sir and as long as they were good for him he’d be good to them. They were also acutely aware now that they had been lying on the cot behind them when sir had come in, and they were unsure of whether they should try to apologize or wait for him to mention it.

“Dakota, it’s John and Harold. We are in the library. You are not in the other place anymore. None of those men can hurt you.” John explained.

Dakota stood still and silent. There were no questions or commands in what sir had said, so they were merely to listen.

John ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “How can I help you?” he asked after a few moments.

Ahh, there it was, thought Dakota. “You can help me learn not to go on the furniture, sir.”

“What?” John’s brows furrowed.

“I was on the furniture, sir. 50 lashes will help me learn not to do that again.” Dakota spoke detachedly.

“No, Dakota, I mean how can I help- never mind. I’m not going to hit you.” John said firmly.

Dakota waited, expecting that sir would suggest a different sort of punishment. Perhaps kneeling for several hours, maybe hanging from the hook. Maybe he wouldn’t let them eat for a few days. This happened sometimes when sir’s arm got sore or he was too tired to bother with the switch.

“Tell me about leaving the warehouse,” Harold said, trying a different approach.

Dakota took a moment to remember what had happened, not wanting to get it wrong. “A man came and knocked out all the other men. He took me outside to a car. Took me away.”

Harold nodded. “And did you ever get taken back to the warehouse?”

“No, sir,” they responded.

Harold stepped closer and spoke in a softer voice. “So that must mean you are not in the… other place any more, right?”

Dakota looked confused, eyes flicking back and forth. “No, I’m not. We went to… the library.”

“Right, good, that’s good.” Harold cooed.

“So where are we now?” John asked.

“The library,” Dakota responded, gaining a little confidence.

“Yes, and who am I?” John asked.

Dakota looked at the man and finally saw him. “John,” they choked out.

He reached out to put a hand on their cheek, wiping away a tear. “Very good, Dakota. You remember, you’ve been here with Harold and I for several months now. And we never hurt you. You remember?”

They nodded.

“You were having a bad dream, probably some sort of flashback given your response when I woke you,” Harold explained.

With realization flooding over them, Dakota sat down gingerly on the cot. “I’m sorry, I just- it was so real, like I was there again, and I couldn’t-”

Their hands gripped the edge of the cot with white knuckles, their shoulders shaking with the force of it.

John sat down beside them, opening his arms. “Hey, it’s alright, come here.”

They leaned over into him and he wrapped them in a tight embrace. Sobs wracked their body, and John shushed them as he rubbed their back soothingly.

• • •

Fin

#whumptober2022 #no.21 #you’re safe now #person of interest #fic #nightmares #nightmare whump #flashbacks #whump #whump writing #conditioned whumpee #emotional whump #pet whump #if you wanna read it like that

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nicklloydnow · 1 year

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“”You saw those balloons," Gardener said.

Don Hagarty slowly held his hands up in front of his face. "I saw them as clearly as I can see my own fingers at this moment. Thousands of them. You couldn't even see the underside of the bridge - there were too many of them. They were rippling a little, and sort of bouncing up and down. There was a sound. A funny low squealing noise. That was their sides rubbing together. And strings. There was a forest of white strings hanging down. They looked like white strands of spiderweb. The clown took Ade under there. I could see its suit brushing through those strings. Ade was making awful choking sounds. I started after him . . . and the clown looked back. I saw its eyes, and all at once I understood who it was."

"Who was it, Don?" Harold Gardener asked softly.

"It was Derry," Don Hagarty said. "It was this town."

"And what did you do then?" It was Reeves.

"I ran, you dumb shit," Hagarty said, and burst into tears.” (page 36)

“Can an entire city be haunted?

Haunted as some houses are supposed to be haunted?

Not just a single building in that city, or the corner of a single street, or a single basketball court in a single pocket-park, the netless basket jutting out at sunset like some obscure and bloody instrument of torture, not just one area - but everything. The whole works.

Can that be?” (page 145)

#stephen king #it #derry #maine #welcome to derry #pennywise #cemetery dance

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skippyv20 · 1 year

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Slip sliding away...

Great job Skippy!!! So much to keep up with now as their ship sinks.

1. Do you think CBS/60 Minutes/Anderson Cooper are thinking this will increase viewers for their Just Harold interview?

2. Where is the real ghost writer aka ex-royal duchass herself? Missing in action since the Kennedy sham awards…so where is that sack of s__t these days? Hiding out in her fancy San Ysidro Ranch cottage (owned by billionaire Ty Warner where much of their filming has been done) typing away 24/7 on her book deadline? After all they have 4 books to produce.

3. What happened to the famous ghost writer Moehringer? Surely his award winning, airtight accuracy of bringing out the subjects honest, personal story does NOT match Ms Harkle’s rom-com, low-brow, twisted feminine descriptions and tawdry subject matter! Do ghost writers have rights?

4. If a man has frost bite on his private parts does that impede his ….ya know…ability to procreate? Info says it can happen if all parts were involved and this is more common than we know from sports like running, cycling and skiing. Cosmetic cream as cure…hmmm.

5. Of course Pa aka KCIII was extremely worried about his new (definitely used) daughter-in-law slimming his family’s reputation as well as the entire country’s global standing….dah Harold!

6. Where are all those Harkle supporters now? Kennedy’s Ripple of Hope, the UN, all those fawning magazines and newspapers, that Women’s Fund in Indianapolis, the President’s Award from the NAACP, Invictus participants and sponsors, the entire Netflix filming team and producers? “Come out come out wherever you are…” Pilgrim

Much to ponder dear Pilgrim….😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

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sundove88 · 2 years

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Captain DededePants: The First Epic Movie (Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie Parody) Casting

Riley and Haoyu are two overly imaginative pranksters who spend hours in a treehouse creating comic books. When their mean principal threatens to separate them into different classes, the mischievous boys accidentally hypnotize him into thinking that he's a ridiculously enthusiastic, incredibly dimwitted superhero named Captain DededePants.

Riley as George Beard (The Boondocks)

Haoyu Chang as Harold Hutchins (Balan Wonderworld)

Weevil Underwood as Melvin Sneedly (Yugioh)

Lysandre as Professor Poopypants (Pokemon)

King Dedede as Mr. Krupp and Captain Underpants (Kirby)

The Cake Witch as The Turbo Toilet 2000 (Cookie Run)

Cake Monsters as The Talking Toilets (Cookie Run)

Big Mom as Miss Tara Ribble (One Piece)

Dr. Gero as Mr. Rected (Dragon Ball Z)

Kaguya Otsutsuki as Miss Anthrope (Naruto)

Aizen as Mr. Meaner (Bleach)

Koro-Sensei as Mr. Morty Fyde (Assassination Classroom)

Aizawa and Present Mic as Themselves/George and Harold’s Friendly Teachers (My Hero Academia)

Queen Ripple as Edith (Kirby)

Various Characters as The Students

Various Customers as The Citizens of Piqua (Flipline Studios)

Just like always, here’s your hint for the next Crossover Casting (It’s Tim Burton)

👰‍♀️💀🥀

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sporadically-writing · 2 years

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Ripley Hargreeves Character Bio

Basics

Full Name: Ripley Hargreeves

Nicknames: Rip, Rips, Ripples, Number Seven (Vanya is Eight), Seven, Cog

Age: 29 during The Umbrella Academy, Season 1

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Appearance

Skin Tone: Fair

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Honey blonde

Hairstyle: Wavy, cut short to about halfway down her neck, occasionally worn in a short, bouncy ponytail

Makeup: Pretty much just mascara to make her eyes pop

Build: Short and seemingly unimposing. Her muscles are slight but she is in shape enough for her purposes (i.e. self-defense)

Height: 5'5"

Style: She loves vests so much. The most sleeves she'll wear these days are short sleeve shirts. She has plenty of plaid shirts and other jackets that she has cut the sleeves off of. She uses the leftover fabric for rags/towels. Her favorite colors are green, black and shades of red and orange. She also really likes spiked bracelets and small hoop earrings.

Personality

General Personality Traits: Sarcastic, Inventive, Humorous

Strengths: Intelligent, Loyal, Perceptive

Flaws: Easily angered, Tired, Risk-prone

Habits and Mannerisms: She is always fidgeting with something; She closes her eyes to rest them a lot; She has a very irregular sleep schedule

Secrets: When she left the academy, she actually tried to find her birth mother. She was unsuccessful; She will never tell her siblings how much she missed them after she left, at least not fully

Regrets: She does regret leaving when some of her siblings were still in the house

Skills/Talents: Her specific power comes in the form of tinkering/mechanical mastery. She is very good with machines and can put gadgets and other things together from seemingly nothing; She is not terribly brilliant at it but sometimes she paints, it helps her relax

Likes: The night sky, painting, her ferret Gizmo, Alcohol (especially Whiskey)

Dislikes: Her own insomnia, Being called weak, Timers/Alarms

Sense of Humor: Snarky comments, anything ridiculous her siblings do

Guilty Pleasure: Nights spent staring at the stars from the old telescope

Defining Moment: Leaving The Academy after a fairly heated argument with her father

Relationships

Friends: She doesn't really have that many

Family: Sir Reginald Hargreeves (adoptive father), Unknown Biological Mother, Grace Hargreeves (adoptive mother), Pogo (uncle?), Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Five, Ben, Vanya/Viktor

Enemies: (Technically Reginald counts), The Commission, Hazel and Cha-Cha, Harold Jenkins/Leonard Peabody

Lovers: [I'm going to give her one eventually I just haven't figured it out yet]

Relationship Status: [Also haven't figured out whether she starts in a relationship or not]

Reputation: She's weird but smart, abrasive but very friendly once you get to know her

Miscellaneous

Current Residence: The Academy

Collections: Various tools and pieces of random scrap, puzzles, paints and small canvases, blankets

Accent: American

Voice: Full, confident, almost constantly teasing

Signature Quote: "Let's roll out freaks."

Song: This is Me Trying - Taylor Swift (there are so many other songs that remind me of her and I'll take about them sometime but this one really describes her trauma)

Backstory

Born to an unsuspecting, not previously pregnant woman in Australia, on October 1st 1989, the young girl is quickly swept up by a strange man and brought back to America. The seventh of eight. Ripley, eventually named by Grace, grew up with her other adopted siblings for a handful of shared birthdays until suddenly, Luther got really strong, Five started teleporting and everyone else (except maybe Vanya? Ripley isn't sure) started getting superpowers.

Ripley's manifested strangely. One day, Ripley escaped the house momentarily, deciding to explore the alley to the side of the city residence. She found some interesting objects that had fallen out of the dumpster and had an idea. She cobbled the device together, creating a Newton’s Cradle of sorts. She was super excited and was showing her siblings what she made when their father came in and saw. Training began then. She would be given a bin full of various objects and the name of a mechanism. The goal was to create the mechanism before the timer was done. Eager to please her father, Ripley diligently worked to complete the task. She always did, but with every success, the next time the timer would be shorter and shorter. The objects she was required to build continued to get more and more complex as well. Stress was a commonality in Ripley’s day to day life.

Her powers proved useful in Umbrella Academy scenarios as well. Ripley possessed a surprising understanding of machines, even ones she had never interacted with before. She just had a powerful and innate understanding of how things worked. She could help her siblings in and out of locked spaces, she knew how to disable traps and power grids when she needed to. She also had a large arsenal of weapons and gadgets that she had been cobbling together and improving over the years, those certainly helped.

But, as with most cases in the Hargreeves household, Ripley’s father and the way he interacted with her and her siblings, weighed heavily on the girl. She was anxious constantly that she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t strong enough. And her father never really made an effort to assuage that insecurity. That insecurity also came with quite a bit of resentment for the man and eventually it came to shouts.

There wasn’t really any other choice for Ripley but to leave. Screw him. She’d find her own way in the world. She did alright for herself all things considered. Could it have been better? Absolutely. But so could her childhood, right? She’d be fine…

She did miss her siblings terribly though. She’ll never tell them, but she did. She watched all of Allison’s movies, even the bad ones.

Then, Vanya released a book, and as much as she missed her distant sister, the words written within that book hurt.

Eventually she would have to face her family sooner rather than later because one day, when she was fixing up someone’s car, she heard some news over the radio.

Oh shit. Dad’s dead.

#ripley hargreeves #tua oc #the umbrella academy oc #hargreeves sibling oc #hargreeves siblings #hargreeves oc #tua #the umbrella academy #my oc stuff #oc bio sheet #oc #tua x sibling!reader #the umbrella academy x sibling!reader #tua x sibling!oc #the umbrella academy x sibling!oc

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