rita-repulsa-ke

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Tenacity and brains

If you want to see someone badly enough, you can do anything. Claw your way to shore, drag yourself out of the Thames, stagger along with her name and someone’s brains in your mouth as motivation.

She’s not hard to find. Everyone runs, but she’s the only one running towards you

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Love Languages

“I’m only asking. If, purely hypothetically, you did something that went against the natural order, disrupted the sacred balance, et cetera, what would happen?”

“Something bad.”

“Sure. But to you specifically or—“

“I don’t think I understand the question. Disrupting the balance is bad for everyone.”

“I’m asking, are there personal consequences?”

“Oh. I mean—no? Not in the sense you’re talking about. Not like there are consequences when you annoy me enough, if that’s what you mean.”

“See, that’s a good example, those are generally very direct consequences. Then why don’t you?”

“….”

“Don’t give me that look, I’m only curious.”

“Sometimes, Agatha, beloved, things are bad, not because of how they affect you personally, but because of how they affect everything else.”

“Hmm. Nope, don’t get it.”

“…No, you wouldn’t, would you.”

“I’d do it for you, you know. Tear apart the balance, the sacred mysteries, all the rules of the universe if you needed me to.”

“…I think you’re trying to be romantic right now?”

“Is it working?”

“It is very sweet, for you. But you do know I am a guardian of all of those things you just said you would tear apart, right?”

“Only if you needed me to! …I bet I could though. If I put my mind to it.”

“…Yes, Ags, I bet you could too.”

“Uh. Rio. You’re doing the whole—you know. No-nose thing. I mean, gorgeous as always, I’m a big fan, but just in case you’d failed to notice.”

“Agatha? All that stuff you said before, about tearing apart the balance?”

“Yes, love?”

“Don’t.”

“…well, I thought it was romantic.”

[rita-repulsa-ke]

What if it’s a really really good apology?

So you’ve just shot Eve. Whoops!

It is okay! You can fix this. You only need to apologize!

Eve, you will say, I am very sorry I shot you, even though you did deserve it a little, for being so mean.

That will fix this whole thing! Everyone knows a good enough apology can bring back the dead.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

You know, I hadn't even meant it as innuendo, though it totally works that way! It's just the kind of nonsense Agatha would say, like everyone knows there's a time before which it is gauche to draw a knife on someone.

Therefore, I totally accept that they have an established knife time, which Rio is violating here.

Healthy Communication

“Agatha, I want to do brooms.”

“Sure, we all want things. I want a pony—whoa, hey, why are we doing knives?! It’s too early in the morning for knives!”

“I didn’t like the way you spoke to me.”

“…O…k. Can I make a small suggestion?”

“Go ahead.”

“Maybe try expressing that with words?”

“I did express it with words. The knife is for emphasis. So you’ll take me seriously.”

“It is very emphatic. But I always take you serio—hey, ow! Wow, you are in a bad mood today. But you know, we haven’t done brooms in while, that seems like a fantastic idea. Really nostalgic.”

“Mmhmm. This is why I use a knife.”

“Okay, but can you please put the knife down now and we can actually talk about this?”

“I like the knife. Our conversations go better when I have the knife.”

“You mean you get what you want.”

“Sure. But if you didn’t insist on being mean when I made suggestions, I wouldn’t have to use a knife.”

“…right. It’s only…”

“…That you’re mean?”

“That I am, upon occasion, mean.”

“Maybe if I stab you every time you do it, you’ll stop? Like how they train horses.”

“Rio, my heart, that is not how they train horses.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“Sometimes you like when I’m mean!”

“To other people. Rarely to me.”

“Could you at least try asking me to stop first? Before we go straight to the stabbing?”

“That’s never worked before.”

“Oh, it won’t work. But it gives me time to prepare a defense.”

“….Agatha…”

“Wow, you’re fast with that thing—it’s kind of sexy, honestly.”

“…Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Very, very sexy.”

“I do know what you’re doing.”

“Is it working?”

“…yes…”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Mmhmm.”

“…Any chance you could put the knife down first?”

“Nope.”

Want to read some more witch fics? Try Death in Second or A Sudden Proposal

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Agent Vidal

"Wow," Rio told the man with the impressive mustache. "And she's like this all the time? Poor thing." They stood in Agatha's house, watching Agatha bent over her desk, feverishly studying an upside-down magazine with her brow furrowed, caught in the fantasy she was solving a murder investigation.

It was genuinely pitiful to watch, in a way Rio found she didn't like at all. She'd expected to gloat, at least a little. Agatha had spent years using the Darkhold to hide from her, so many years that just seeing her now made Rio's throat tighten with some emotion she wasn't ready to name. But now Agatha had lost the Book and gotten caught in some mad witch's spell besides, a positively Shakespearean tragedy, and what Rio should have been thinking was 'serves her right'.

What Rio was actually thinking was 'I'll tear apart whoever did this to her. I'll destroy them so utterly even their name will be forgotten'.

Agatha got up, paced in a circle, went and grabbed a donut from a box on her counter, went through a whole bantering exchange of buying it with no one at all. "Ah," the man said. "She's on her way to work."

"And you all just...go along with this?" Rio asked.

He shrugged. "...We feel sorry for her. It's the least we can do. No one knows how to fix what Wanda did to her. And whoever she really is, she broke Wanda's spell, at least temporarily. Let us be ourselves for a few minutes and maybe helped bring the whole thing crashing down." He glanced at Rio and there was a deep well of sorrow and horror in his eyes. "You weren't there. You can't know how much that meant to us."

She couldn't. But looking at Agatha, pretending to drive her fake car to work, she had some idea.

"You're a friend of hers, right?" he continued. "Sorry you have to see her like this."

"At least I get to see her," Rio murmured. "Introduce me, Chief. Agent Vidal. From the feds. Maybe I can help shake her out of it."

He glanced at her with a small, sad smile. "We've all tried. No one has had any luck so far. But sure, Agent Vidal. I'd be glad to introduce you to Westview's finest detective."

If you liked this, try Death and the Scarlet Witch

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Healthy Communication

“Agatha, I want to do brooms.”

“Sure, we all want things. I want a pony��whoa, hey, why are we doing knives?! It’s too early in the morning for knives!”

“I didn’t like the way you spoke to me.”

“…O…k. Can I make a small suggestion?”

“Go ahead.”

“Maybe try expressing that with words?”

“I did express it with words. The knife is for emphasis. So you’ll take me seriously.”

“It is very emphatic. But I always take you serio—hey, ow! Wow, you are in a bad mood today. But you know, we haven’t done brooms in while, that seems like a fantastic idea. Really nostalgic.”

“Mmhmm. This is why I use a knife.”

“Okay, but can you please put the knife down now and we can actually talk about this?”

“I like the knife. Our conversations go better when I have the knife.”

“You mean you get what you want.”

“Sure. But if you didn’t insist on being mean when I made suggestions, I wouldn’t have to use a knife.”

“…right. It’s only…”

“…That you’re mean?”

“That I am, upon occasion, mean.”

“Maybe if I stab you every time you do it, you’ll stop? Like how they train horses.”

“Rio, my heart, that is not how they train horses.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“Sometimes you like when I’m mean!”

“To other people. Rarely to me.”

“Could you at least try asking me to stop first? Before we go straight to the stabbing?”

“That’s never worked before.”

“Oh, it won’t work. But it gives me time to prepare a defense.”

“….Agatha…”

“Wow, you’re fast with that thing—it’s kind of sexy, honestly.”

“…Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Very, very sexy.”

“I do know what you’re doing.”

“Is it working?”

“…yes…”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Mmhmm.”

“…Any chance you could put the knife down first?”

“Nope.”

Want to read some more witch fics? Try Death in Second or A Sudden Proposal

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Rio is a bad liar

"Hey, Rio, I want to check something. Lie to me."

"Uh. About what?"

"I don't know. Just tell me something blatantly untrue."

"You're ugly?"

"Sure, that works. But try harder. Commit to it.

"…Okay, Agatha. You're ugly. You're hideous. How's that?"

"Confirms my theory! You're a terrible liar."

"…Why are you so excited about that?"

"Well, it makes it easier for me. I don't have to worry about whether you're lying to me, because you're really, really, really bad at it."

"Riiight. Hey, Agatha?"

"Yeah?"

"Do normal people worry this much about their lovers lying to them?"

"How should I know what normal people do?"

"...It's just…Ags, you wouldn't ever lie to me, would you?"

"No, of course not."

"…I see what you mean. About having to worry about it."

"Oh come on, Rio, you know I would never tell a lie!"

"Agatha, you lie constantly. To everyone we meet."

"Okay, that is true. But! I wouldn't ever lie to you."

"…It's only, when you say that, I don't have any way to know if you're lying."

"I'm not. Promise. Cross my heart."

"You try it. Lie to me about something."

"Can do. Let's see…you're hideous. Absolutely terrible to look at."

"…Okay, I can tell you're lying there."

"Really? Hmm, I'll have to work harder. Let's see. You're positively revolting. I can't stand the sight of you."

"...stop laughing."

"Sorry, it's just—your face…but hey, you're laughing too!"

"...Maybe. Agatha? Stop lying to me."

"You're insanely gorgeous. I love looking at you."

"Hmm. That does sound correct. But I don't know, you're a pretty good liar. You're going to have to work harder to be convincing."

"Luckily, I am very, very good at being convincing."

"Come and show me?"

"With pleasure."

[rita-repulsa-ke]

What did she say to the Ghost anyway?

"Look, there is a very annoying woman outside, you have probably met her? Eve Polastri? She has great hair?"

"I know who you are."

"Yes, great, listen, I am trying to make a point here—wait, you do?"

"Dalgyal Guishin. The Egg Ghost."

"That is, wow, that is a terrible name. I do not look like an egg. Do not call me that. Anyway...what was I saying?"

"...Something about Eve Polastri."

"Do not say her name. But yes, her! She is very annoying, she hired me to kill her, can you believe that? And then I show up and she says to me, Villanelle, you have to help me, I need you to come and interrogate someone for me in the middle of the woods a million miles away. I mean, who does that?! That is so weird, right?"

"...Right."

"Right? I could have killed her. ...Maybe I should have?"

"She asked about you. When she was questioning me."

"She did?!"

"Aren't you supposed to be interrogating me?"

"Who cares about that. I want to know what Eve said."

"She said she was madly in love with you."

"..."

"..."

"Noooo, she did not. Honestly, that is very mean of you to say."

"But you are, aren't you? You're in love with that strange, angry woman."

"Heh. Strange and angry. That is a good description of Eve."

"Mm.”

"Okay, fine, now I am interrogating you. You have children, yes?"

"..."

"Two of them?"

"..."

"So, you tell me everything, I will kill none of them. If you don't tell me everything or I find out you are lying, I will kill one, then I will come back and we will do this again, until you are out of children. Easy, right?"

"You're working for—"

"Who am I working for? MI6? Eve Polastri? Look at me. You know, right? You know I will do it. But if you need proof, tell me which of your children you like less."

"Fine! Fine, I'll tell you."

"Good. ...Then tell me how Eve looked when she asked about me. Was she smiling at all?"

[rita-repulsa-ke]

what day is it

“Eve, do you know what day it is?”

“…No?”

“It is our anniversary! The time we met in a bathroom, then I killed the woman you were trying to protect.”

“Oh. Right. That’s our anniversary?”

“Did you get me anything?”

“Uh.”

“Eve.”

“What if I just…put my hair down and we had sex?”

“…Okay. But do better next year.”

“Any chance we could pick a different anniversary?”

“Do not be silly, Eve. That is not how anniversaries work.”

[rita-repulsa-ke]

The Anniversary

“Agatha, do you know what day it is?”

“Uh. Is this a trick question?”

“It had better not be.”

“It’s the first day of the fire phase, does that help?”

“Aaaagatha.”

“Let’s see-halfway through spring, early days of fall, on the roman calendar it would be the Nones of Quintilis…what could it be….”

“Please tell me you’re just being a jerk and you haven’t actually forgotten.”

“Okay, okay, put the knife down, I know it’s our anniversary.”

“Oh. Good. I really would have stabbed you.”

“I know. I remember the year I forgot.”

“…It hurt my feelings.”

“Well, no feelings hurt this year and no stabbing needed. I remembered!”

“Did you get me anything?”

“….Uh.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Did you get me anything?”

“Of course.”

“….is this first edition? How did you—?”

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Um. Rio.”

“…Really?”

“I was going to! But it kind of snuck up on me—oh come, don’t sulk, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you…”

“You never remember—“

“Ah, excuse me? I don’t mean to interrupt, but we heard there were witches in these woods and my friends and I have just formed a coven…”

“….Thank the Goddess. Welcome, sisters! Be not afraid, I am Agatha Harkness and I am indeed a witch of great power, willing to show you the craft (there, see, I got you something!).”

“…”

“Pretty good, huh?”

“I know you didn’t plan this. But fine, Agatha. Show off for me.”

“Watch me, darling. Now come, sisters! I’ll show a simple spell even a child could master.”

“…it is a nice gift anyway. I do like watching her work.”

Want to read something else? Try a sudden proposal.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Agatha Sleeps

Agatha was so tired. "Please," she begged Nicky. "Please, please go to sleep."

The baby in her arms stared at her with wide, restless eyes, scanning their small cottage, then threw back his head and howled. "Ssh, ssh, my heart, my love," Agatha murmured, huddled on the bed, rocking him back and forth. She got up and paced with him, back and forth, then settled in the chair closest to the fireplace. Her limbs felt heavy, her chest ached, but her eyes were the worst, each lid seeming to weigh as much as the rest of her body combined, trying desperately to pull themselves shut.

A little longer, she thought, rocking and cooing to the baby. Please, please just stay awake a little longer...

Rio looked down at Agatha, asleep in the chair, the baby making strange, uninterruptible mewling noises in her arms. "I don't know what that means," Rio murmured to him, lifting him carefully from Agatha, who even asleep grasped after him but didn't wake, a sign of how truly exhausted she must be.

"I don't know much about living babies. But you like to be rocked, right?" she murmured as she put him against her shoulder, patted his back, made a face at the result and then walked in small circles, rocking him in her arms.

"Listen," she told him. "You must go to sleep now, your mother needs her rest. It's hard enough for her to do this alone. Of course, she can. She can do anything, if she puts her mind to it, she's amazing like that. But you've got to help out at least a little."

The baby had stopped crying, at least, regarding her with a surprisingly thoughtful gaze. She pressed a kiss to his head. "Go to sleep, little Nicholas."

It took some hours, but he did sleep in her arms and then she lowered him with great care into the small crib Agatha had made for him, then watched him sleep for some time after that, thinking her own thoughts. Only when she heard her beloved stir did she disappear, popping out of existence.

Agatha jolted awake and her heart almost stopped, terror drenching her in sweat. Nicky, where was—she stumbled to her feet and stared into the crib.

For whole minutes, she only watched, seeing the rise and fall of his chest, reassuring herself that he was alive.

Then she saw the flower next to him in the crib and burst into silent, furious tears.

For more sad Nicky stuff, read Nicky. Or to read Rio and Agatha meeting, try The Reveal

[rita-repulsa-ke]

A Sudden Proposal

"How about it, little lady?"

Rio looked down from where she was sitting on a tree branch, barefoot, swinging her legs in time with the breeze, waiting for Agatha to finish acquiring supplies so they could move on to wherever they were headed this time. Destinations were Agatha's business. Rio was here for the journey.

Now she looked down to see a man standing there, broad, wearing a hat of some kind, clothed, most likely to die of a heart attack, but not any time soon, making him blatantly uninteresting. "Yes?" she asked.

"Wondering if you wanted to come down from there and have a drink with me," the stranger asked.

She slid backwards, dangled upside down. She preferred masculine traveling clothes for the road, cinched green shirts and trousers, easier than Agatha's dresses, and less liable to blind her when she was upside down, which happened more often to her than it seemed to happen to most people. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Your husband?"

She grinned. "If only." She'd get Agatha that way eventually, though. She could picture the expression on her lover's face at the suggestion that they do something as romantic as speaking sentimental vows to each other and it was delicious.

Ugh, Agatha would say. Sappy, Agatha would say.

But she'd do it. She always did the things Rio wanted most, though it took some prodding.

"Well, then I don't see how he has any claim on you," the hatted man below her continued

"Who doesn't have any claim on you?" Agatha, hiking up toward her with supplies, sweating, complaining, perfect. "You could have come and help me carry things."

"You complain I do things in town. Talk to people. Exist too loudly," Rio said, sitting up and jumping down in a single motion. "Hi, Ags. This gentleman was inquiring after my husband."

"Haven't seen him," Agatha said, glancing at the man and coming to the same conclusion as Rio. Since the man was neither a witch she could kill for power or an ancient tome, he had nothing to interest Agatha Harkness. "I have never complained that you 'exist too loudly'."

Rio giggled, high and sharp. "You might someday, though. It's the general category of thing you would complain about."

"You can't just make up complaints. I complain about enough real things, just use one of those," Agatha complained.

The stranger cleared his throat. "If neither of you are married, I have a brother..."

Agatha's eyes slid over to him, then skidded off with disinterest. "I don't really see what your sibling has to do with our marital status."

"I think he wants you to marry his brother, Ags."

"...Yes, Rio, I did actually understand that," Agatha said and Rio had to admit that Agatha looking at her like that, all narrowed eyes and compressed lips, was very pretty. "But thank you so much for clarifying."

And now it was time for the stranger to go away, so Rio could turn her attention to kissing her pretty, easily annoyed lover. She gave Agatha a slightly plaintive look, signalling with her eyes, 'make him go away, Ags'. She could do it herself, of course, she always had a knife somewhere, but it was more fun to watch Agatha.

Agatha gave her a showy, wicked smile, and turned her attention to the stranger. "Do you and your brother own land?" she asked the man.

"We do, as a matter of fact," the man said, sounding grateful to be included in the conversation. "Got a decent parcel out to the left of town, been looking for some wives to go with it."

"Hmm," Agatha pursed her lips, considering and Rio spun her fingers to make the wind pick up faster around both of them, a subtle spur to keep Agatha from dragging this out longer than it needed to be. She couldn't tell if the other woman noticed. "Any horses?"

"Two."

"Sheep?"

"No, we were thinking of getting some."

"What do you grow on your land?"

"Sorghum, mostly. Some corn." The stranger sounded flummoxed, but he kept gamely answering Agatha's questions.

"Agatha," Rio drawled. "We've got somewhere important to be, don't we?" She assumed they did. Agatha always had somewhere important to be.

Agatha glanced at her with wide eyes. "Come on, Rio, we're being considered for marriage. Offers like these don't come often for women like us."

Rio slumped, now it was her turn to be annoyed. Agatha was having too much fun, playing with her food or possibly playing with Rio.

"Women like you?" the man asked.

"Oh, you know. Harridans. Spinsters," Agatha said. "I assume we would be expected to bear you children?"

"Uh. Well. It's preferable?"

Agatha nodded thoughtfully. "Two apiece, say?"

"Agatha..." Rio growled and Agatha finally cracked, burst into snorting laughter. She pivoted and grabbed Rio, pulled her into a rough kiss that Rio returned with even more force, teeth scraping Agatha's lip, making Agatha's hand tighten on the back of her neck with what Rio knew to be excitement.

When they broke, the man was staring at both of them. "Uh."

Agatha shrugged, and locked her fingers through Rio's. "I'm afraid we're both already taken. Good luck with your hunt. Maybe try better avenues than propositioning random women in trees."

They both walked away together and got a fair ways down the road before Agatha burst into laughter again. "That was barely even mean," Rio said.

"Oh shucks, sorry, did you want me to be meaner?" Agatha said, still snickering. "We can go back and find him and I can make another attempt, I promise I can be very mean."

"Nooo," Rio said, sliding her arms around Agatha's waist, tugging her closer. "I wanted you to kiss me. And now I want you to kiss me again."

"You think I should have asked how many acres? I mean, with sheep and sorghum, we could have turned a tidy profit..."

Rio stared at Agatha. "Sometimes I barely understand you," she muttered.

"Good," Agatha said, her smile so bright it eclipsed the sun. "I need some mystery. You might get bored of me otherwise."

Rio opened her mouth to point out that she would never, ever get bored of Agatha, but then Agatha was kissing her and that took precedence, Agatha's mouth against hers, warm and sweet in the sun on a road that stretched ever onward, to the next town and the next adventure, a journey that would never end.

Want some more witch adventures? Try the wedding for Rio almost getting Agatha to the altar or the many husbands of Agatha Harkness for Agatha playing with her food once more.

Or check out the Ritual of the Rose on AO3, the fic I should be writing instead of endless drabbles.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

who is she anyway

“Who do you want me to be?” she asks Eve in bed.

“Yourself?” Eve suggests, barely paying attention, in the midst of moral panic about the copious amounts of adultery she is about to commit. 

Herself, huh. She rolls her eyes, sulks a little. Trust Eve to make this hard

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Agatha and illness

Sequel to Death Gets Sick

“Go away. I hate you. This is what I get for taking care of you while you were sick.”

“But I really liked that you did.”

“Great, that’s a big comfort. I feel like I’m dying.”

“You aren’t. I mean, any more than usual.”

“Can you actually tell?”

“Yes, Agatha, of course I can tell. Sometimes I think you forget what I am.”

“Well you were pitifully huddled on me a few days ago, so forgive me for not treating you like an all-powerful incarnation of Death at the moment. …Honestly, I still don’t understand how you got sick.”

“…didn’t have to.”

“…Hey, what was that?”

“…don’t be upset.”

“Hey, Rio…”

“I maybe wanted to see what you would do if I—Agatha, don’t use magic when you’re sick, it drains your life-force!”

“…it does?”

“Only a little. But you need to fight the illness.”

“How do you know?”

“I can see it.”

“…wait, get me my journal. I want to write this down.”

“You’re supposed to rest…right, right, okay, one magical journal coming up.”

“Help me sit up. Ugh, I feel awful. Okay, now. Tell me everything.”

”At least drink some tea first.”

“Fine…Goddess! What is in that?”

“Willowbark! It’s the same thing you made me when I was sick.”

“It’s a little…strong. …Rio, my darling, is it possible you grew a tree to make this?”

“…Ah.”

“That’s fine, I don’t need to taste anything for a while. …But you know, it is helping with the headache. We could make money selling this to a potions witch.”

“You’re scheming. You must feel better.”

“Marginally. Come here and tell me about magic and life-force. And Rio?”

“Mm?”

“No getting sick again.”

“…I did like it, though. The fussing, anyway. Not the rest.”

“I didn’t. Being untouchable is one of your finer features.”

“Oh. You were worried, huh?”

“No. …Maybe. A little. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“Yes, Agatha.”

Want more agatha content? Try Death in Second or The Reveal

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Death gets sick

”Okay, Rio, I know I tease you about sleeping in, but what is this? It’s mid-afternoon.”

“…Don’t feel good.”

“…You don’t feel good?”

“Mmhmm. Hot n’ cold, sweaty, head hurts.”

“Rio…”

“Mm.”

“Surely you aren’t sick. You can’t get sick! You’re an immortal incarnation of the balance.”

“…Feel sick, though.”

“Right. Okay. Just—just stay right there.”

“Can do.”

“Here. Drink.”

“What is’t?”

“Willowbark tea. It’ll help with the headache and the fever, which you definitely have, you’re burning up.”

“…tastes terrible.”

“That’s how you know it’s working. I got you some broth, too, drink, it’ll get rid of the taste and you need fluids. …Well, regular people need fluids. I’ll assume you do as well. I’ve got some other medicines steeping.”

“…you’re fussing. It’s nice.”

”Only because you’re extremely pitiful right now. It hurts to look at you.”

“…still nice. Will you sing to me?”

“You want me to?”

“Please.”

“Sure. …You know, my mother used to sing to me when I was sick.”

“The one who tried to kill you?”

“Well. Before she tried to kill me.”

“Certainly not after.”

“Heh. Certainly not. Come here, put your head in my lap.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“Ssh. Rest, love.”

“…you just don’t want me to say anything sentimental.”

“And you don’t want me to move. Shush and we’ll both get what we want.”

“…Ags, you’re really good at singing.”

“You just have low standards.”

“No. Maybe skewed ones. It is you.”

“Hey, Rio?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t like this. You sick. Get better soon.”

“…Okay, Agatha. Just for you.”

“Good. Do you want me to keep singing?”

“Yes, please.”

Read the sequel Agatha and illness

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Death in Second

But she leans her weight into yours, her head briefly on your shoulder and you don't actually need her to say it, it's in everything she does, the way she grabs your hand or tells you about her latest spell or asks what's for dinner. You do know that Agatha loves you as much as you love her. She just can't make it easy.

POV: You are Death and your girlfriend is really annoying (but sometimes, so are you).

You put up with a lot. The impatience, always being dragged from place to place in pursuit of some piece of magical knowledge or esoteric technique, never allowed to sit still. The way she complains about everything, the way she demands things always go her way, takes without ever thinking of anyone but herself.

Honestly, though? You don't really mind. It's cute. It's charming. It's Agatha and your favorite thing in the world is Agatha. You could listen to her complain about your habit of oversleeping forever. Maybe sometimes you even do it for the pleasure of listening to her rant. It isn't like you actually need to sleep, though you do like to.

She has other habits, though, that are far less charming. The way she gets cruel about your relationship, needles you with her inability to admit how much she loves you. You do try to be patient with it, because you understand. You stood, unseen, at the edge of a circle of witches as they slung spells at her and she drained their life force to save herself, as well to feed her insatiable hunger for power. She didn't know it then, but she left you a lovely gift of the confused dead.

Watching her on that stake, you felt a kinship you'd never felt with a mortal before. You, too, are insatiably hungry.

So you found her, met her, kissed her, and revealed your true form and she didn't flinch away. Instead, she leaned closer.

"You're beautiful," she whispered.

So is she, arrogant, prickly, manipulative and perfect. You learned a new hunger from her, a hunger for sweet, romantic things, her fingers in your hair, her hand twined through yours, her voice telling you how much she loves you, and sometimes you worry it's a hunger made worse by deprivation, because Agatha Harkness and romance do not go hand-in-hand.

It takes you some time to understand that she's afraid. Every person you've ever really known trying to kill you leaves a scar, even if you're as heartless as Agatha. She throws up walls, lashes out at anything or anyone who might make her feel something she can't control, grasps at power because it makes her feel safe, scintillating purple magic but also her power over you. She pushes you away, seduces you into forgiveness and then does it all over again, all to try and convince herself that she's in control, because Agatha's biggest fear is anything that might make her feel vulnerable.

So you try to be patient. You have practice, despite the hunger. Even when you'd like things to go faster, when you'd prefer more bodies hitting the floor, you know everything will come to you eventually.

Sometimes, though, Agatha can try the patience of even an endless, immortal piece of nature.

"Tell me you love me," you prompt, knowing she does, knowing she loves you so much it terrifies her, but you really like to hear it. It makes you feel good, sated like a pile of bodies, and it isn't too much to ask, you do what she wants most of the time, it shouldn't be this hard to get the woman you love to tell you she loves you back.

"Ugh," she says, looking up from reading some tome in your shared bed, and you're caught by her as always, the firelight painting patterns in her hair, the intensity in her gaze, the way her lips curve up in an almost apologetic smile, even she knows she's about to be annoying, she just can't help herself. Agatha has to make everything a struggle. "I don't want to."

"Ags," you complain, a nickname that sprung to your lips one day, and she made such a face at it that now it's stuck forever.

"Whyyyy," she groans, but she's still smiling, flopping onto her side with her head pillowed on her arm and your concept of beauty is probably not equivalent to whatever mortals see, you're too aware of people as a collection of hearts and lungs, blood and brains, all the meat-parts whose failure will eventually lead to you. Even so, Agatha takes your breath away every time.

Which is fine, you don't actually need it for anything.

"Because you love me and you would like to do something that would make me happy?" you suggest, sprawled near the fire, letting the heat suffuse your skin against the cold outside with genuine pleasure. Hedonist, Agatha calls you, and she's not wrong. One of the joys of having a body is using it to feel good things.

"I'd love to do several things you would like. Can I make suggestions?" Agatha, wielding sex as a weapon like she always does. It's an effective one because unfortunately, she is extraordinary at it.

You're not letting her get out of it this time, though. She loves you, she should say it. "Agaaaatha," you let her name drawl out of your mouth and you will threaten her if you have to, with knives or vines or magic. You shouldn't have to, but Agatha has a chronic resistance to taking anything seriously. She likes to tease and really, you like it too, but sometimes you want something else.

"Demanding," she complains and now you have to decide between finding that funny and finding it annoying, because in this relationship, you have never been the demanding one.

"Beloved, you do try my patience," you point out, hoping she gets the hint soon, because you're comfortable next to the fire and you'll probably be forced to move to settle this.

"You know I," she starts, catches your expression or maybe the way you're starting to slowly pull your magic to you, black and green tendrils winding around your fingers. "Okay, okay, I love you, all right? Very much." She's watching the magic. "Absolutely adore you." Figuring out where the line is to sate you so you'll stop asking, and that does sting.

"Why do I have to threaten you into saying it?" you protest and yes, you're genuinely frustrated and hurt, because even though you do know Agatha better than you've ever known anyone, it would still be nice if sometimes she made this easier.

Her eyes flick to your face, puzzling over it like she might study an interesting tome and then she groans, slips off the bed and wraps her body haphazardly around yours, her nose against your cheek. "Rio, come on," she murmurs against your ear. "You know I adore you, you know I like you more than anyone else I have ever met, you know you're the person I love and want and think about constantly, right?"

There it is. Agatha always finds the right words eventually, around when you're starting to really get tired of this game, and now you are trying to pretend you haven't already forgiven her, but her lips are brushing over your skin and bodies are good for this, too, all the pleasant sensations of pressure and warmth and the fluttery thing in the pit of your stomach that is Agatha pouring sweet nothings in your ear. "Stop making this so hard," you protest, but it's petulant, plaintive, and you know she hears it too and knows she's won this round.

She wins most of them.

You expect her to be smug with victory now, to tease or simply shrug it off with a 'you know what I'm like', but she's still examining you, brushing her lips against your forehead, fussing with your hair. "…Ugh, now I've hurt your feelings," she murmurs, mostly to herself. "Do you want me to say I'm sorry?"

"…Sure," you decide, mostly because it's a rare offer.

"I'm sorry."

"More specific," you decide and she scrunches her nose, so you're well on your way past annoyed and into deciding that sex against a wall next to a fireplace is the order of the day. But you want to see if she can do it first.

"I'm sorry I never tell you I love you, I know it hurts your feelings and makes you think I don't care what you want."

Pretty good! You're proud of her. "That's because you don't care what I want, Ags. You only ever care what you want," you point out.

You catch the little flash of hurt in her eyes, the way she lowers her head to nuzzle at your jaw so she doesn't have to look at you and you're honestly surprised by it. You weren't trying to be mean on purpose this time. Simple truth. Agatha only ever cares about herself. You barely mind, most of the time. No one has ever accused you of caring about other people either.

"True," she agrees, abrasive and arrogant and adorable as always, but you're sure of what you saw.

"…Agatha. Did I hurt your feelings?"

She snorts. "No."

"I did!" You probably should be less delighted, but this is rare, Agatha works so hard not to have feelings that it's easier to hurt her flesh to get what you want (though never badly, just enough blood to have a little taste).

She pulls back and gives you an unimpressed look. "Did not," she mutters, but she's sullen about it, Agatha isn't actually that good at hiding what she's really feeling, especially when annoyed and she's easily annoyed.

"Should I say I'm sorry?" you say and maybe that was too far, maybe that came out more mocking than you intended, because her eyes flash with a surprising amount of fury, Agatha's substitution for pain, and now she's stalking out of the cottage altogether, barefoot in a house dress, and you're pleased that you won a round but also, you don't really like to see Agatha that upset. Also, it makes sex against the wall much less likely and in fact, sex at all is going to take some work.

So up, away from the warm fire and out into the cold, and it is cold, winter setting in, to find Agatha Harkness crouched on the ground outside, drawing runes with a sharpened stick.

"What's it for?" you ask, ritual magic never your strong point. Agatha calls what you do intuitive magic, which means you think of what you want and it happens. You can do it her way, of course, but yours is so much easier. Plus it makes her mad, which is funny.

"Fiddling," she answers, voice tight, not looking and she is going to drag this out, Agatha hurt is mean and sharp and cold as the biting wind, which is very biting. You redirect it without much thought, turn it aside so it flows around you. If your beloved notices, she fails to comment.

"Ags, don't be upset," you coax.

"No, you're right. I'm selfish and unkind and utterly terrible at all the ridiculous gooey romance you love so much." She shrugs. "But you already know that, so maybe complain about it less." That's Agatha, too, trying to pick a fight when her feelings are hurt.

"…You were trying to be nice for once, and I ruined it," you admit, crouching next to her. You do know that, too, that it is never a good idea to poke Agatha when she's vulnerable. Unfortunately, you get excited when you see a moment of softness beneath that hard outer shell and that leads to a tendency to overreact.

Also, maybe it's possible that you, the incarnation of Death, aren't always the nicest person?

"For once, huh," Agatha says.

"Even you know you aren't nice very often."

She jabs the ground too hard, breaks the point off her stick and hands it to you without a glance. "I'm nice to you," she protests.

You convince the stick that it wants to come to a point, shed bark like dead cells until it's sharp enough to draw with and hand it back to her. "You are not. You hurt my feelings on purpose, because it makes you feel powerful."

"…not all the time," she mutters, then snickers. "Sometimes I do it because I'm bored."

Look, she's like this. She never gives in, not really. The best you'll ever get is concessions, small admissions of how much she cares. But she's crouched here with frozen feet, cheeks red from the cold, half her attention on whatever she's doing with the runes and you wouldn't trade this moment for any other.

"I love you, Agatha Harkness," you sigh and she glances over, her attention pulled away from the magic for a brief moment and you can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the briefest hint of what's behind all of that very real arrogance.

She's never sure why you love her. And you could try to explain, but you don't have words for it and anyway, she would only laugh at you, uncomfortable with honest feeling as always.

But she leans her weight into yours, her head briefly on your shoulder and you don't actually need her to say it, it's in everything she does, the way she grabs your hand or tells you about her latest spell or asks what's for dinner. You do know that Agatha loves you as much as you love her. She just can't make it easy.

"Love you," she murmurs, for once without a fight, then flashes you a knowing smile you would slaughter a continent for.

Of course, if you could do that, you would be doing it regardless. But that's beside the point.

"Can we go inside? It's freezing out here," you say and she pulls away with a shake of her head.

"Let me finish this, I think I understand what the tome was trying to describe…"

"Should you be doing magic you only think you understand?"

Now there's a real Agatha smile, curled at the edges, slightly mad, ready to conquer or destroy the world. "Of course not. Do something if this goes wrong."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something helpful?"

"No. I'm going to let whatever demon or fireball or deadly hailstorm you're about to summon take you. It hardly makes a difference to me."

She looks over her shoulder, and the affection in her gaze, alongside the absolutely certainty that you won't actually do that, is as good as any fire for warming you all the way through. "But, Rio, my heart," she says, deploying the pet name as a calculated attack. "I care. I'm not done yet."

You're a sucker and you know it. But you can be patient, you can watch and wait as long as it takes for her to come to you willingly, and in the meantime, of course you'll protect Agatha from whatever horror she accidentally calls up today. You do love her very much.

"All right, Agatha," you say. "Whatever you want."

Her eyes narrow as she tries to decide if you're making fun of her (a little) and then she smiles even wider, a wild, manic look, overflowing with hubris, the expression of a woman who could fall in love with Death. "That's right," she agrees, and now her gaze is fixed on you, only you, her hand is cupping your cheek and her mouth is suddenly very close to yours. "Don't forget. I get everything I want," she says, right before she kisses you.

Ugh. When she actually tries, Agatha can be so romantic.

Want to read more fic? To see the first time Agatha learns who Rio is, try The Reveal or for something short and sad about Tommy Maximoff, try tommy. Or check out the Ritual of the Rose on AO3.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Promises

"Agatha, do you like me?"

"What? Yes, of course I like you. We've been doing this for decades."

"What is 'this'?"

"You know. Me and you."

"There's a word for that sort of thing, you know."

"…Sure. There's a word for lots of things."

"Beloved, would it kill you to say we're in a relationship?"

"Kill? No. Wound, maybe."

"It's only, sometimes I think your favorite thing about me is that I'm stubborn enough not to leave, despite all of your—"

"All of my what?"

"Cruelty. Phobia of romance. Distaste for commitment. Inability to use words like 'relationship' or 'love' even though we have, as you pointed out, been doing this for decades."

"Wow. That's quite a list."

"It is."

"You know, maybe you should move on, if you're that unsatisf—"

"Agatha. I will lose my temper."

"Okay, okay, the vines are a little melodramatic, don't you think? Of course that's not my favorite thing about you."

"…I'm waiting."

"You're really good in bed? …And an astonishing green witch, those are some impressively big thorns. Feeling a little tetchy today, huh?"

"…Ags. Come on. Try harder."

"You're laughing, though."

"No, I'm not."

"A little?"

"I will start hitting you with vines if that's what it takes for you to say something nice about me."

"I said you were great in—fine, fine. I…you know I'm no good at this stuff…I like most things about you, all right? I like your objectively annoying laugh, I like the way you sometimes forget to do things like breathe or chew, I like when you get distracted or fixated on the strangest things. I like when you sing off-key, I like when you do impossible magic that makes no sense."

"…That was almost nice. You do complain about all of those things, though."

"Complaining is how I show affection."

"…Agatha…"

"You're definitely laughing now."

"Only because it's true."

"…Hey, Rio?"

"Yes, love?"

"You know."

"I do. Say it anyway. Please?"

"…Don't leave me, okay? I don't…I don't know what I would do without you. If I woke up and you weren't here."

"No, never."

"Promise?"

"Over and over again, every time you question it, every time you try to push me away. I promise, my love, I will always stay with you."

"…Good. Because I don't want someone who doesn't leave me. I want you."

"…Oh."

"Don't be weird about it though, okay?"

"…It's just, you never say things like that…"

"Because you get weird about it. …Rio. Rio! That's too many flowers."

"…I'm happy."

"I'm glad. Can the flowers go outside, though?"

"I love you, Ags."

"Yes, I love you."

"Do you want one flower?"

"…Fine. I would love a flower."

Want some more witch drabbles? Try The Accusation or a tentative peace. Or go check out The Ritual of the Rose on AO3.