#ME?! posting fic at a normal human time instead of 3am?? i know i'm shocked too. probably don't get used to it tho lol

[witchysniffles]

cause and effect

So this started because I was inspired by @snezus-christ-risen's tags on this fantastic fic about what if W/anda's spell had left A/gatha with a photic reflex, you know, as a little treat. This was meant to be a short little thing as a break from a couple of longer projects, but well, here we are.

A (somewhat) canon compliant rewrite of the end of ep. 1 ft. photic A/gatha (and a little bit of implied snzfucker R/io, but I feel like that goes without saying at this point). 2.3k words.

CW for canon-typical violence/knife-use and brief mentions of blood.

Please don't reblog to non-kink blogs!

The last thing Agatha remembered—or rather, the first thing she was aware of—was Rio’s voice.

There are two Jane Does in this case, and you know her name. Now what’s yours?

It was torturously slow and horribly unpleasant at first, like dipping her toes into a freezing lake. Nearly every part of her was screaming for her to stop, but there was Rio’s voice urging her on, pushing her to keep going, and even though she knew she should hate her—even if she couldn’t quite remember why yet—she couldn’t come up with a reason not to trust her. And so she dove head first into that frigid water until she found herself gasping and clawing her way back to the surface. The world around her was blurring, fading in and out of focus, and then suddenly everything was still.

The second things she noticed simultaneously as she settled back into herself and opened her eyes were that she was standing in her living room—or rather, what her living room would look like if she had suddenly decided to start a true crime podcast—and that she was completely fucking naked.

The third thing that she became aware of as she turned towards the bright sunlight streaming in through the open window behind her was that she quite suddenly really needed to—

“HhEITSHhiu!”

The first sneeze tore out of her faster than she could prepare for it, and it was followed immediately by another rapid, burning build-up that she managed to catch against her open palm. “HehT’TSH! Ugh, fuck!”

She ran through a quick check of her body: no congestion, no fever, no watery eyes or wheezy breath or anything else to indicate that that was anything other than a random sneeze. Annoying, sure, but otherwise inconsequential, and frankly she had much bigger things to worry about.

Like the fact that the Darkhold was gone.

And even more pressingly, for the first time in her whole life, Agatha couldn’t even feel her own magic. For as long as she could remember, it had always been there, humming and swirling beneath her skin with an energy all its own, but a halfhearted attempt at the most basic of light spells proved what she already knew in her bones: the Darkhold was gone, and it had taken every ounce of her power with it.

Rage and terror burned in her chest in equal measure, and she screamed into the stillness of the air. There was no one around to hear, and it didn’t really make her feel any better, but it felt better than doing nothing.

She snatched a robe off a hook by the stairs and slipped it on as she started for the basement door. She knew exactly what she was going to find—or rather, what she was missing—at the bottom of the steps, but it still set a sick feeling rolling in the pit of her stomach when she saw not a trace of magic, not a single spellbook or grimoire, not even a rune. She stared in disbelief at the laundry setup and the hot water heater and the tool shelves covered in a thick layer of dust that almost made her nose tickle again just by looking at it.

She was about to storm back upstairs when a small squeak from behind a bin labeled ‘Holiday Table Settings’—ugh—caught her attention. Señor Scratchy hopped out into the open, and Agatha felt a rush of relief at seeing him safe. She swept him up and knelt on the cold basement floor, nuzzling her face against his soft fur.

“I got mugged, mister,” she murmured. “She took every little bit of power I had and left me with household appliances. We gotta get back on top.” She kept her fingers moving in the rabbit’s thick fluff as she let her gaze wander around the basement. It was all so pedestrian, and so fucking dusty. Would it have killed Agnes to have picked up a rag at any point in the last…however long it had been?

Señor Scratchy, for his part, seemed more than happy to stay in Agatha’s arms as long as she’d have him, and right now, Agatha wanted nothing more than to just hold him until she could convince herself this was all just a horrible dream. The only problem was that even without actively disturbing any of the dust around her, her nose was starting to itch in earnest, so she scooped the rabbit up as she got to her feet and hurried up the basement steps before things could get any worse.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the dim light of the basement to the sunlight streaming into hallway. “HE’TSschiu—‘TSCH!” Agatha had barely even felt the sneezes come on this time, and she cursed under her breath as she recovered. Whatever kept making her do that, it was getting really old, really fast.

Startled by the noise, Señor Scratchy started wiggling to get free and Agatha leaned down to set him on the floor.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Who needs you anyway?”

She scrubbed her wrist under her nose and started to make her way towards the kitchen to see what Agnes had in the way of real food when a flash of movement outside caught her attention. She couldn’t tell at first what—or who—it was, but she stiffened in place and waited, her whole body on high alert, until everything suddenly happened all at once.

One second, it was deadly calm, and then the next, the front door crashed open and flew off its hinges. Sunlight flooded into the dim interior, and Agatha barely had time to get a hand up before her traitorous fucking nose picked that moment to start burning again. She sneezed twice into her cupped palm, and she had no time to recover before she was blasted backwards by a gust of wind that knocked her into the wall and sent her tumbling onto the floor.

Agatha looked up, and there she was, stalking into Agatha’s house like she fucking owned the place, dressed all in black with a murderous look on her face that should not be making Agatha’s insides stir the way that it did. There were a thousand thoughts and feelings boiling inside of Agatha as she got to her feet, but before she could even think about a next move, another strong gust knocked her back into the wall, and then Rio was on her, knife unsheathed and held at her throat, Agatha’s trembling hands on Rio’s wrist the only thing keeping it from slicing her open.

“I’ve missed you,” Rio said playfully.

“I hate you,” Agatha spat back.

 “How long has it been, Agatha?”

“Not sure,” Agatha said. Her eyes flitted from the knife to Rio’s face and back again. Every inch of her felt raw and exposed; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt quite so powerless in her life.

“Since you acquired the Darkhold? You hid behind all that dark magic?” Rio’s voice was shaking, and if Agatha didn’t know better, she’d swear there was a glassy sheen over those brown eyes boring into her. “But then you lost it, and now…” Rio gripped the knife’s hilt with her second hand, and pressed the tip of it into the skin at the base of Agatha’s throat. “Touch.” Agatha winced at the sting of it as it bit in, and bared her teeth as she felt a trickle of blood run down her chest. “You’re vulnerable.”

There were tears burning hot in Agatha’s eyes, and she was hyperaware of the quiver in her voice as she spat out “Only physically.”

In one sharp movement, Agatha grabbed Rio by the hair to wrench her head to the side. They wrestled for control of the knife until Agatha managed to get it stabbed into the wall. Rio grinned hungrily at her, and Agatha let out a mirthless laugh. In another lifetime, this might have had a very different ending, but in this one, Rio’s hand tightened around Agatha’s neck, and the next thing Agatha knew, she was thrown towards the kitchen, crash landing on the floor with a groan.

Rio retrieved her knife out of the drywall and whipped it at Agatha, who managed to deflect it off the back of a displaced sheet tray. It hit the floor, and in the mad scramble for it, Agatha found herself in the path of a long shaft of sunlight that made her eyes burn and—oh fuck not now!

Agatha stopped dead. Her hand was already curled around the blade of the knife, and she gasped, not entirely sure if it was from the pain or just her breath hitching in the split second before she—“Hh’ETSH! hEH’YSHeu—‘EHSHhiew!”

“Huh.” Rio stopped and seemed to study Agatha’s burning face, looking from her to the window behind her and back again. “Well that’s new.”

Before Agatha could collect herself any further, Rio surged forward and grabbed both her knife and Agatha’s face, her hand under Agatha’s jaw, her nails pressing nearly hard enough to draw blood. She pulled Agatha back up and they hit the wall again, except this time there was no knife between them. It was a familiar enough position that Agatha couldn’t tell if the shaky little breath that slipped past her parted lips was from fear, fury, arousal, or a heady combination of all three.

Rio was so close, and she pressed even closer as she placed the tip of her knife against the side of Agatha’s nose, tracing the shape of it with the point of the blade, lightly enough to almost tickle.

Arousal was definitely winning out now, but that realization just made her angrier.

“That Scarlet Bitch really did a number on you, huh?” The point of the knife slid upwards to the top of Agatha’s nose right between her eyes, where Rio used it to draw out a gossamer-thin tendril of red magic that glimmered and twisted in the air for just a moment before it snapped back and disappeared against Agatha’s skin. It left a cold, tickly feeling deep in her sinuses, but she’d be damned if she let Rio see that.

“Hmm,” Rio mused. “Effective, but the work itself is clunky. I’m not surprised it’s got some lasting physical effects.”

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

Rio raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Without breaking eye contact or her grip on Agatha’s face, Rio sheathed her knife and thrust her free hand out to the side. A sudden burst of wind forced the dining room curtains open. As bright rays of midmorning sunlight streamed into the room, Agatha felt that infuriating itch flare deep in her nose again. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to even try to cover—not that Rio would have let her—and with her back quite literally against the wall and Rio still holding her in place, she was powerless as her breath hitched, her eyes fell shut, and—“EH’TSCHhu—‘TSHEW! Hh-ITSHU!”

“Oh, bless you,” Rio purred. ��Did that make it a little more clear?”

Of course just trapping Agatha’s mind and stealing her power wasn’t enough. No, Wanda’s shoddy spellwork just had to leave her with a fucking sneeze reflex, and a damn sensitive one at that.

Agatha kept her eyes closed a little longer than was strictly necessary. She could feel Rio’s gaze on her, burning hot enough to make her flush. Rio finally let go of her jaw and traced a finger lightly down the side of Agatha’s nose. It wrinkled involuntarily and Rio chuckled.

“It’s cute,” she said. “Shame we couldn’t have some more fun with that.”

“Did you come here for a reason,” Agatha snapped, “or are you just trying to be a cunt?”

Rio scoffed and shook her head incredulously. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m the one that found you,” she said. “You’ve lost your shield. And now any witch with a beating heart and a score to settle could track you down. In fact, I’d wager there are probably some on their way here already.”

Agatha’s blood ran cold. “You don’t mean—”

“The Salem Seven,” Rio confirmed with a nod. “I expect you’ll see them at sundown.” She looked down and took Agatha’s bloody hand in her own, her fingers far too soft for the message she was delivering. “After all these centuries, Agatha Harkness will finally meet her end. Ugh, it really warms the heart.”

“You don’t have a heart,” Agatha snapped.

“Yes, I do.” Rio squeezed her hand, and stared intensely into Agatha’s eyes. “It’s black. And it beats for you.”

She raised Agatha’s hand to her mouth and licked it, dragging the flat of her tongue up Agatha’s palm without breaking eye contact. The moment she released it, Agatha snatched it back like she’d been burned. She didn’t have to look to know the cut had disappeared.

Rio shouldered past her with a wry chuckle and paused in the space where Agatha’s front door had been. She glanced down at the debris on the floor and then back at Agatha.

“Te veo,” she said softly before stepping through the doorway.

Agatha took a moment to collect herself—let her eyes fall shut and took a deep breath in and out—in an attempt to calm her racing heart and stormy mind. It didn’t do much good, and before she could think better of it, she scrambled towards the doorway, not even thinking about how bright it was outside until it was too late.

“Heh’ETSCHhiu! God f-fuh-fucking da—AT’TYSHieu!”

Rio was nowhere to be seen, but there was a part of Agatha swore she could almost hear her teasing laughter on the breeze. With a frustrated growl, Agatha turned and stalked back into her house. First order of business before fleeing the vengeance seekers: find some goddamn sunglasses until the last of this cursed fucking spell was out of her system.