#Agatha story

[thesconesyard]

Ok, moving on. Here’s an original story I began ages ago in a notebook at work. (I say original, but the idea came from a writing prompt, it’s not fanfic is what I really mean.) You’ll see how old it is if you keep reading lol

It’s also unfinished, but I still want to share it. I typed it all up last night, errors and all. It’s about 2.5k, so not too long.

Untitled Original Story from a Prompt:

The birds were chirping. The smell of lilac drifted in through the window. Gran’s house always smelled like lilac. Granddad had planted them all around the house, next to every window. He was gone now, a lilac planted with him.

I’d been staying with Gran for a while now. She had decided it was time to move somewhere she could have care round the clock. She wanted help; help cleaning the house and help with life in general. She used a walker now and couldn’t manage the stairs.

I would bring things downstairs for her and she would decide what to take with her, what to leave for certain family members and what could simply be gotten rid of.

It was a slow process since I had to bring everything downstairs. We took our time. Gran was in no hurry. I took care of one room at a time. We had finished the upstairs and now our task was to clean the attic. That would be a big job. The attic was as big as the whole upstairs.

So far I had brought down all the Christmas decorations. There was a lot. We threw away lights that no longer worked. Tinsel garlands went in the trash. Ornaments all of us grandkids had made we separated into boxes with our names. Gran wanted us to have them back for our own trees. Gran kept just a few ornaments and decorations that Granddad had given her through their years together. I kept a nutcracker that Gran had always let me play with. Bringing the Christmas boxes downstairs had only made a small dent in the attic.

While Gran was napping, I went up to the attic to wander around. I was trying to decide what to bring down next for her. As I moved through the attic I saw a box in a corner that I had never seen before. It was wooden. The wood was dark and glossy. I had been in Gran’s attic many times in my life. I couldn't imagine not having seen this box before. I was intrigued and walked towards it.

There was a latch on the lid of the box. I opened the lid. Inside was a layer of glass balls. They looked like Christmas ornaments. I carefully lifted one out. It was clear and plain. As I held it, I noticed something lightly etched on the glass. I brought it closer and read “Justin Clark.” I looked back at the box and saw other names etched. I picked up another ball.

“Manuel Garcia-Lopez.”

“Aggy!” I heard Gran suddenly call.

I jumped in surprise, and one of the balls slipped from my hand. I tried to catch it, but it shattered on the attic floor with a tinkling of glass.

“Dónde estoy? Quién eres tú?”

A man was standing in front of me. I don’t know where he came from. He had appeared as soon as the glass ball hit the floor. I jumped backwards in shock, careful to not drop the other ball. The man in front of me looked confused. He was dressed in denim jeans, with cowboy boots and a button down work shirt. He had a large cowboy hat on, and yet something about his clothes didn’t look modern.

“Dónde estoy?” he said again.

“Aggy are you upstairs?” Gran hollered from the bottom of the stairs. My name is Agatha but my whole family calls me Aggy.

“Who are you?” I finally found my voice. “How did you get here?”

“Inglés?” the man asked.

“Yes. English,” I said.

“Who… are… you?” he asked slowly, thinking about the words.

“I’m Aggy,” I said. Something clicked in my brain. “Manuel Garcia-Lopez?” I asked. My voice sounded strange in my ears. The man looked taken aback.

“Sí, Manuel,” he said softly. He looked around the attic.

“Aggy!?” Gran called again.

“In the attic Gran! I’ll be down in a minute,” I yelled back. I turned back to Manuel.

“How did you get here?” I asked again. Manuel noticed the box with the glass name balls and suddenly looked frightened.

“No, señor, no,” he muttered.

“Manuel,” I said sharply to him to get his attention back.

“Sí, señorita,” Manuel said meekly, looking at my feet.

“How did you get here? Habla inglés?”

“Sí señorita, I speak a little,” Manuel replied.

“I don’t speak Spanish,” I said. Manuel looked at my face.

“Dónde es Señor Gordon? You… daughter?”

“My dad is Jack Gordon,” I said.

“No, no,” said Manuel, “Señor Herbert.”

“Herbert Gordon was my granddad.”

“Señorita!” exclaimed Manuel. He looked about to fall over. “Granddaughter?”

“Yes, my dad is Jack, and his dad was Herbert. My granddad.”

Manuel grabbed my arm.

“Que año es?!”

“I don’t understand…”

“Señorita, what year?” Manuel interrupted.

“2015,” I answered. Manuel’s grip on my arm tightened and then loosened as he fell to the floor with a thud.

“Manuel?” I crouched next to his prone body, and placed my hand on his chest.

“Aggy? Are you alright? What was that noise?” my Gran yelled up from downstairs. I was torn. I didn’t want Gran to worry about me, but I didn’t want to leave this mysterious person alone, passed out, in her attic.

I could tell from his chest that Manuel was breathing fine, so I took the chance and raced across the attic and down two flights of stairs.

“I’m fine Gran,” I called as I ran.

“Aggy what’s wrong?” Gran asked as I reached her.

“Gran! There’s a man… the attic… fainted.”

“Aggy catch your breath!” Gran said. I took a deep breath.

“There’s a man in the attic. I dropped…”

“Someone broke in?” Gran said in a panic. “I’ll call 911.”

“No!”

Gran looked at me. “Aggy?”

“His name’s Manuel. He didn’t break in. I broke one of the glass balls. He appeared. He asked for Granddad and passed out when I told him it was 2015.”

“What glass balls? Granddad? Aggy, what?”

“The glass balls in the chest. I’m sorry I broke one. I didn’t mean to, I got surprised when you called me.”

“I don’t know about a chest,” said Gran.

“What should I do about Manuel?” I asked looking back up the stairs.

“How did he get in? And how did he get to the attic? He could be dangerous.” Gran started to go for the phone.

“Don’t Gran, he isn’t dangerous, he looked scared,” I said stopping her.

“Aggy,” Gran started. She looked at me. “Ok. Take him water and bring him down. Bring this chest too.”

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. I went upstairs carefully, leaving Gran to wait.

Manuel was still lying on the floor. I crouched down by him again and shook his shoulder.

“Manuel… hey.” I shook him a bit harder. He began to come to.

“Dónde estoy?” Manuel opened his eyes and saw me. “Señorita!”

“Here Manuel. Have some water.” I helped him sit up and handed him the glass.

He slowly took it. He drank some then said, “Señorita is really 2015?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Dios mio,” said Manuel.

“What year did you think it was?” I asked Manuel. I really was very curious what he would say.

“1945,” said Manuel.

“What? Manuel, how did you get here? Did you time travel?” I asked excitedly.

“No, Señor Gordon…”

I interrupted, remembering Gran as he said Granddad’s name again.

“Wait Manuel. Come downstairs to see my Gran.” I stood up. “Can you help me carry this chest?” It looked heavy.

“Sí señorita,” said Manuel jumping up quickly. I thought for a moment he looked frightened of me. He handed me back the water glass. I sat it on another box to bring down later.

Together we lifted the chest and slowly and carefully brought it down the attic stairs. We set it down for a moment, then hefted it again to carry down the rest of the stairs.

Gran was sitting in the living room waiting with the phone next to her. Manuel and I sat the chest next to the coffee table.

“Gran,” I started, “you didn’t call anyone did you?”

“No, I’m just being prepared in case,” she said.

“This is Manuel,” I said.

“Buenos dias señora,” Manuel said and removed his hat.

“How did you get in my attic? And what were you doing in there?” Gran asked.

“He appeared when I dropped one of these balls,” I said, opening the chest. “He’s from 1945 Gran.”

“Sí señora,” Manuel said.

“What are these Gran? Why do they have names on them?” I carefully brought one over to show her. She took it and turned it every which way.

“I’ve never seen that chest before,” Gran answered. “Do they all have names?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Manuel?” Gran turned to him.

“Sí señora?”

“Do you know anything about this chest?”

“Sí señora. Is Señor Gordon’s.”

“Herbert’s?”

“Yes Gran,” I said.

“How do you know that Manuel?” asked Gran.

“I work for Señor Gordon, señora,” said Manuel.

“What do you mean?” asked Gran.

“On the ranch señora. With the vacas.”

“What are ‘vacas?’” I asked. Manuel wrinkled his brow thinking.

“Cows,” said Gran.

“Sí señorita, cows,” said Manuel.

“When did Granddad work on a ranch?” I asked confused.

“A long time ago as a young man after the war,” answered Gran. “He was a ranch hand while we saved money to get married.” Gran looked at Manuel again. “Do you have a family?”

“Sí señora, una esposa y dos niños.”

Gran sighed as Manuel looked sad.

“What happened Manuel?” I asked at last. “How did you get here?”

“No lo sé. Señor Gordon was furioso una vaca got out y coyote got it,” said Manuel, looking at his boots. We were all silent, but I couldn’t help myself.

“But what happened to you?” I asked.

“No lo sé,” replied Manuel. I looked at him blankly.

“He says he doesn’t know,” said Gran. I looked at her sharply. She sounded choked.

“Gran? What’s wrong?” I moved quickly to her.

“In my room Aggy, in Granddad’s bedside table is an envelope. Please bring it here.”

“Ok,” I said. I walked quickly, and came back with a manila envelope. It was sealed tight and felt like a book was inside. Gran was looking out the window and Manuel was looking at his boots still.

I handed the envelope to Gran.

“Manuel,” I said, “you can sit down if you want.”

“Yes,” agreed Gran. “Please do.”

“Gracias,” said Manuel as he carefully sat in a chair across from Gran.

“What’s in the envelope Gran,” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied as she turned it over in her hands. “Granddad said someday I would know when the right time to open it was. I asked him how I would know and he told me to trust him. I had forgotten all about it until just now.”

“Do you think it’s the right time now?”

“I don’t know,” said Gran. “But it strikes me as something improbable for this improbable situation.”

“Sí señora,” Manuel quietly agreed. We were quiet while Gran unsealed the envelope. She pulled out a book like journal, and a piece of paper.

“It’s a letter,” she said. ‘My darling Agnes,’ she began, ‘I apologize now for what you are about to learn about me. I have kept it from you all our long years together…’ Gran’s face got very pale and her mouth tightened.

‘No, my love, don’t think those thoughts,’ she continued reading, ‘I have only ever loved you and always will, until the last stars go out in the universe.’ Some of Gran’s color came back and a small breath of relief left her. ‘I cannot change who or what I am. I am what my grandfather was and his before him; a warlock. I have done many ills in this world and also much good.’

“What?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

Gran looked just as confused as me. Only Manuel seemed nonplussed. I didn’t know if that was because of the language barrier or if he knew something about Granddad already.

Gran continued. ‘This tradition and power has been passed in this family from grandfather to the first born of the first born time out of mind. Why it skips a generation no one has ever sufficiently decided. Agatha was a surprise. Always had the first born’s first born been a son.’

I didn’t know if I should be hurt by Granddad’s words or not.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “I’m not a warlock.”

“I don’t know what it means Aggy,” said Gran, as confused as me.

“Manuel! Were you in that glass ball I broke? Did Granddad put…”

Gran cut me off. “Shall we finish the letter first Aggy? Don’t worry Manuel.”

“Yes Gran. Sorry Manuel,” I said. Now Manuel was the one looking pale.

‘Agatha will likely be as surprised and confused as you, my dear. The journal is for her. It was mine and my grandfather’s and his grandfather’s. It is old now and likely ready to be rewritten by Agatha.’

“But what’s in it?” I asked. I was thinking to myself that it probably wouldn’t be a fun task, rewriting a journal that likely had old timey handwriting and spelling. Could I modernize the spelling? I wondered.

“I don’t know Aggy. Here,” Gran passed the journal to me. “The letter is almost done.”

‘I’m sorry to not explain more. I’ve said more to you than I should have. Agatha will think this improbable or impossible, yet deep within her, she’ll know, just as I did when my grandfather told me. Until we are reunited my love, Herbert.’

Gran laid the letter on her lap and sat back on the couch.

“That’s all?” I cried. “What does this mean? How does Manuel fit with this?”

“I don’t know Aggy,” said Gran. “Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps there is more in the journal.”

“Sí,” agreed Manuel quietly.

I opened the journal gently. I didn’t know what to expect. If it was as old as Granddad said, I worried pages might be loose and fall out. I was more shocked to find the first page looked as if I had opened a brand new journal. The pages were bright and crisp. I glanced through the first pages, which appeared to be an introduction to me from my forefathers. I didn’t understand what they were greeting me into.

“I don’t understand,” I said aloud. “What does this mean?” I asked, passing the journal to Gran.

“I don’t know either,” said Gran. “I can’t read it.”

“Should I get your readers?” I asked, beginning to get up.

“No Aggy. I can’t read it, it’s nonsense.”

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded, feeling my blood run cold.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated.

“Gran. It’s a whole letter and introduction about what the book is, but I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either Aggy. It’s for you to learn who you are I suppose. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful than that. I don’t know what Herbert has left you, and I think I would have stopped him had I known.”

[sapphoshands]

that they originally assume the tarot trial is set up to tell billy how to live his life, and it turns out that actually it's about everyone understanding and valuing the incredible long brilliant wise tragic life lilia has already lived, including lilia herself-- !!!

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Honestly, this. This, this, this.

Especially with Agatha’s excuse of “it was the 1920s!” sounds so similar to how white people respond to reparations (“It was 400 years ago! Get over it.”)

[thiswildernessismyhome]

just. the way that everyone wrote lilia off as some harmless unserious weirdo in the way so many older women get written off. when in fact she was an incredible brilliant badass

[luckyyharms]

if anyone complains about no agathario I'm going to punch them in the face LOOK AT LILIA LOOK AT HER. SHE'S FINALLY FOUND PEACE WITH HERSELF ANDBHER POWERS. SHE HAS A COVEN. LOOK AT HER

(further rant in tags)

[electricwalkman]

Oh my god Agatha became a witch killer to “survive” because she knew that the more bodies she left behind, the longer Rio would have to stay away from Nicky and the one night they don’t & Nicky says “we can go kill more witches tomorrow” THAT was when Death caught up with Nicky and had to take him i need someone to hit me with a car-

[novelconcepts]

Keep seeing people confused by Agatha letting the world believe she traded her son instead of telling the truth, but…kinda tracks, tbh. Not for the rational mind, of course. Not if you’re looking at it clearly.

Which Agatha isn’t.

She did the worst thing, in her mind. She fell asleep. She fell asleep, knowing Death had bookmarked her son for later, and when she woke, found him snatched out from under her. She failed him as his mother. She let go. And all the power in all the world wouldn’t be enough to bring him back.

So does the wildly grieving woman who has just lost her only child (to presumably her greatest love, but that’s a city-sized suitcase for another day) let herself go through the process of coping with and adapting to that grief? Fuck no! What is she, common?? She goes on a power bender! Even though the kid she prized in her heart of hearts seemed less than into that very thing! Even though that kid may have been able, given enough time, to convince her to stop! So now, not only did she fail him, but she also opted to speed race down Murder Road! For power! That she still won’t ever be able to use to get him back!

It gets muddled, after decades and centuries of this feeling. It grows teeth. In a way, she did trade him for power. In a way, she’ll always have that sitting on her chest. Never mind that it’s not true. Never mind that she wasn’t a bad mother at all (in this respect, anyway). Never mind that he was sick, and this was always coming. For Agatha, who has been stewing on this story she’s been telling herself for centuries, it is what happened. She traded her son. She did the unforgivable. She fell asleep.

[michaun]

Do you remember why you hate me?

[mrgaretcarter]

Agatha/Rio looks at the bonfire

[save-the-sky]

it was so funny when Lady Danbury and Violet were like 'why doesn't Lady Whistledown write about the struggles of mature women?' and in reality Lady Whistledown hasn't even had her first kiss yet

[newwavesylviaplath]

i need him to force his fingers down my throat until there are tears in my eyes and i'm silently begging for him to stop i just want to claw at him and bite his chin and bury my face in his hair and cry into him

[appropriatelystupid]

[homerjacksons]

Arsema Thomas as Lady Agatha Danbury QUEEN CHARLOTTE: A BRIDGERTON STORY (2023-)

[the-merchant00]

This just hit me (in light of the casting confirmation for Nicky).

The awful truth:

Their son wasn't even supposed to live.

Her wife had to bend the cosmic rules JUST to give them a chance but eventually had no choice but to take their son away.

Agatha would rather be the villain in the story than admit that there was simply NOTHING they could do for their little boy.

I'M BLEEDING ALL OVER AGAIN.

[church-of-lilith]

hey do you guys think after rio tells agatha that teen isn’t her son she reverts back into her own grief wondering why rio listened to her pleas this time when a random kid’s life was on the line but not when nicholas, her actual flesh and blood, was dying in her arms? yeah me too.

[wolfienation]

alright folks say it with me because ive already seen the doom spiraling

billy being the black heart on lilia's list doesn't take away from agathario at all. why?

because at the end of the day, agatha thought the black heart was rio. billy wasn't even a consideration for her. she thought it was rio so badly that she shoved the list into her mouth and dragged sharon onto the road with them.

and rio's line, "it's black and it beats for you" stands separately from this whole thing.