twas-agatha-all-along - Tumblr blog

twas-agatha-all-along · 23 days ago

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Haunted

Summary: When ghost Agatha Harkness starts haunting you, fear turns to fascination. As her playful charm captivates you, the line between life and death blurs, igniting an unexpected connection.

Warnings: romance and fluff (even though they’re not really warnings)

Word count: 3.4k

~ghost!Agatha Harkness x reader~

Please don’t copy/steal or translate this work thanks.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

It all starts one night as you’re falling asleep. You’ve barely closed your eyes when you feel a presence cold and lingering, like someone’s standing at the foot of your bed, just… watching. You sit up, scanning the room, your heart pounding.

There’s no one there.

With a shaky breath, you settle back under the covers, convincing yourself it was just your imagination. But then, just as you’re drifting off again, you hear it. A voice, low and amused.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

You sit up again, heart racing. “Who… who’s there?”

Silence. You can almost hear your own pulse pounding in your ears as you look around. Shadows stretch across the walls, and the room feels colder, but nothing’s out of place. You let out a long, shaky breath. Maybe you’re just hearing things.

“Not going to say hello?” The voice is closer now, low and rich, with a teasing edge. You whip around, looking everywhere, but there’s no one.

“I..I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but this isn’t funny,” you stammer, trying to sound braver than you feel.

A soft chuckle floats through the room, followed by a faint shimmer of purple light in the corner. It takes form a woman with light, wavy hair, a wicked smile playing on her lips. She’s… floating, her body flickering faintly like a candle flame.

“What?” You scramble back, pressing yourself against the headboard. “Who are you? What are you?”

She sighs, a little mockingly, as if she’s disappointed. “Well I’m Agatha Harkness dear, don’t you know me? I was quite famous in some places.” She tilts her head, looking you over slowly. “And you, darling, are in my new favorite one to haunt.”

Your breath catches, panic rising. “Haunt? So… you’re a ghost?”

She grins, clearly entertained by your reaction. “Sharp, aren’t you?” She leans in closer, eyes gleaming. “Most people would be thrilled to have my attention, you know.”

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “Well, I’m not most people. So, if you’re done scaring me half to death… could you leave?”

She places a hand on her chest, feigning offense. “Scaring you? Darling, if I wanted to scare you, I’d be doing a lot more than this.”

“Why are you even here?” you demand, gripping the blanket tightly as if it’ll somehow protect you.

“Why?” she echoes, arching an eyebrow. Her smile is playful, and she crosses her arms, taking her time before answering. “Because, my dear, it’s entertaining.” Her gaze trails over you, and you feel your skin prickle under her stare. “And you’re far too cute when you’re flustered.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she just laughs, her form fading until all that’s left is her laughter, echoing softly in the room.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The next night, you’re hoping that yesterday was a one time thing. You even go to bed early, thinking if you fall asleep fast, she might leave you alone. But, just as you’re slipping into a dream, you feel that cold presence again. You crack an eye open, and there she is, perched on the edge of your bed, studying you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

You jolt up, almost bumping into her. “You’re back?”

She smirks, propping her chin up on her hand. “Oh, did you miss me?”

“No! I was hoping you’d be gone!” you exclaim, exasperated.

She laughs, as if this is the most amusing thing she’s heard all night. “Oh, darling, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. But don’t worry.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll try to make it worth your while.”

You stare at her, half in shock, half in frustration. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but I have work in the morning, and I need to sleep, so if you could just…”

She holds up a finger, silencing you. “Work? Oh, you poor thing. Haunted and working the nine-to-five grind.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. I promise I’ll leave you alone… for now.”

With a wink, she vanishes, leaving you feeling both relieved and somehow… disappointed.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

She doesn’t make good on her promise for long.

The following evening, just as you’re settling onto the couch with a book, she appears again, sitting on the arm of the couch, her eyes fixed on you.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” she remarks, glancing at the book in your hands. “You look like the type to be nose deep in a novel.”

You sigh, closing the book and looking up at her. “Can you stop doing that?��

She raises an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Appearing out of nowhere! And making fun of me!” you snap, though it’s hard to keep your voice steady.

She laughs, a rich, low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not here to make fun of you. I’m here because you’re… fascinating.” She watches your reaction closely, clearly amused by how flustered you’re getting. “And the way you get all worked up over my visits? Adorable.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Please, just… go haunt someone else. I’m begging you.”

She smirks, leaning closer until you can feel the chill radiating from her. “Now, why would I want to do that? You’re so much more fun.”

The nights pass, and Agatha’s visits become a routine. No matter how you try to ignore her or ask her to leave, she always reappears, finding new ways to tease you.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

One evening, as you’re brushing your teeth, you glance in the mirror and nearly jump out of your skin. Agatha is standing behind you, her face inches from yours.

“Really?” you exclaim, spitting out toothpaste in surprise. “You couldn’t give me a moment of privacy?”

She shrugs, completely unfazed. “I just wanted to see you again.” Her gaze lingers a little too long, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks. “I must say, you get lovelier every night.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to let her see how flustered you are. “Great. So you’re haunting me because you think I’m… cute?”

“Adorable,” she corrects, smirking. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

You stare at her, unsure whether to be angry or embarrassed. “Well… could you haunt someone else?”

She chuckles, her fingers grazing your arm, sending a chill through your skin. “Oh, but darling, that wouldn’t be half as fun.” She leans closer, her voice a low purr. “Besides, I think you’re starting to enjoy my company.”

You sputter, nearly dropping your toothbrush. “I-what? No!”

She grins, clearly satisfied with your reaction. “We’ll see about that.”

And, like every night, she vanishes just as quickly as she came, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the unmistakable feeling that, despite yourself, part of you is actually looking forward to her next visit.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

You thought the hauntings would stay confined to the nights, but it turns out Agatha has other plans.

The next day, you’re at work, trying to focus on an email, when your computer screen flickers. You frown, wiggling your mouse and glancing around to see if anyone else’s computer is acting up. Just as you’re about to get back to typing, you catch a glimpse of her reflection in the monitor.

“Miss me?” her voice murmurs, smooth and amused.

You jump in your seat, glancing around the empty office, panic rising in your chest. “What… how did you even get here?”

Agatha leans in closer, her reflection on the screen looking far too smug for your liking. “Ghost, darling. We tend to ignore things like… ‘boundaries.’”

You swallow hard, your face heating up. “I’m at work. I have, you know… things to do.”

Her chuckle echoes softly, and you realize with growing dread that it’s coming from inside your computer. “Oh, I can see that. Fascinating stuff.” She sounds genuinely bored, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And here I was, thinking you’d have a little more excitement in your life.”

“Excitement? Because a ghost decided to haunt me?” you hiss, keeping your voice low so no one passing by overhears.

Her voice is playful, a low murmur just for you. “Come now, I thought you might enjoy a little company.”

You glance around, hoping no one notices you speaking to what looks like an empty monitor. “I didn’t exactly ask for company.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos, “you’re fun to haunt, and I don’t haunt just anyone.” Her eyes flash with a mischievous gleam. “There’s something about you… something irresistibly adorable.”

You stammer, face turning bright red. “I—please, just… can we not do this here?”

But she only laughs softly, her image flickering on the screen until she’s gone, leaving you embarrassed and flustered. You glance around, hoping no one saw your conversation with, well, thin air.

The rest of the day, you’re jumpy, glancing over your shoulder every few minutes, but Agatha doesn’t show up again. By the time you’re heading home, you’re convinced she’s done… at least for now.

But she’s not done. Not even close.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Later that afternoon, as you’re sorting through laundry in your bedroom, you feel that chill again. You freeze, already bracing yourself for what’s coming.

Sure enough, she appears, lounging on top of your dresser, her gaze fixed on you with a gleam of amusement. “Laundry day, is it? Thrilling.”

You roll your eyes, tossing a shirt onto the pile. “Do you just have to comment on everything I do?”

“Oh, but darling, where’s the fun in keeping quiet?” She crosses her legs, watching you with a catlike curiosity. “Besides, I don’t see you telling me to leave this time.”

You throw a sock into the laundry basket with a little too much force. “If I thought you’d listen, I would.”

Agatha laughs, hopping down from the dresser to stand in front of you. “Maybe you don’t want me to leave.” She reaches out, her cold fingers brushing your cheek in an almost affectionate gesture. “Maybe you’re enjoying this little game more than you’d admit.”

Your face heats up instantly. “I—no. That’s… I don’t want to be haunted!”

“Hmm.” She taps a finger to her lips, smirking. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Can you please just give me a break?”

She tilts her head, studying you with that unreadable expression. “Fine. I’ll give you the rest of the day. But don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily, darling.”

And with that, she vanishes, leaving you flustered and very much rattled.

But that “break” lasts exactly one afternoon.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The next day, while you’re getting coffee at a little shop near your office, you reach for a cup only to feel a chill sweep over you, accompanied by her familiar voice.

“Careful, darling,” she murmurs, as if she’s standing right beside you. “That coffee looks hot.”

You nearly jump, sloshing a bit of coffee onto your hand in surprise. You glance around, your pulse quickening as you realize she’s somehow made herself visible in the reflective surface of the coffee machine.

“Seriously?” you whisper, trying to sound angry but only managing to look utterly bewildered.

She grins at you through the reflection, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Well, I couldn’t just stay away all day. I’ve missed you.” She sounds almost sincere, but her eyes are glinting with mischief.

You roll your eyes, stepping away from the coffee machine in the hopes that moving might make her go away. “This is getting out of hand. People are going to think I’m talking to myself!”

“Maybe,” she says, her voice echoing just beside your ear as if she’s standing right behind you. “But maybe they’ll just think you’re a little eccentric.” She leans in, her voice a low purr. “And I like that about you.”

You grit your teeth, your cheeks heating up. “Well, I don’t.”

She chuckles, clearly amused. “You’ll get used to it, darling. Just you wait.” And with that, her voice fades, leaving you standing there with your coffee, trying to ignore the weird looks from the barista behind the counter.

By the time you get back to your desk, you’re convinced she’s gone again, and maybe just maybe you’ll get a moment of peace.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

That evening, as you’re finally relaxing on your couch, watching a movie and trying to unwind, there’s a familiar cold chill. You don’t even need to look to know she’s there.

Sure enough, Agatha materializes beside you, draping herself across the back of the couch, her head propped up on her hand as she watches you with that sly, knowing smile. “Watching a movie, are we?”

You groan, pressing your hands over your face. “Oh my god, you don’t have to comment on everything I do!”

She laughs, unabashed, and leans closer. “But where’s the fun in that?” She glances at the screen, raising an eyebrow. “Romantic comedy? How… sweet.”

You groan again, throwing a pillow at her, but it goes right through her and lands on the floor.

She smirks, clearly pleased with herself. “Nice try, darling. But I don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.”

You sigh, flopping back against the couch in resignation. “Are you ever going to stop?”

Her expression softens, just a little, as she tilts her head, studying you. “Why would I, when you’re so… entertaining?”

Despite yourself, you feel your cheeks warm again. “I’m not here to be your entertainment.”

She chuckles, leaning close enough that you can feel the faint chill of her presence. “Oh, darling, you’re so much more than that. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll try to be… gentler.”

You stare at her, unsure if she’s joking or if this is her version of an apology. Before you can ask, she smirks and vanishes once more, leaving you alone on the couch with a racing heart and an undeniable anticipation that, like it or not, you’ll see her again tomorrow.

And, even more confusingly… you don’t exactly mind.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The nightly visits continue, and despite your best efforts, you find yourself… adapting. At first, you still jump whenever she appears, but over time, your reactions soften. Agatha’s hauntings, once intrusive and nerve wracking, start to feel almost like part of your routine.

One night, you’re curled up with a book, trying to ignore the flickering of the overhead light that signals her arrival. Sure enough, Agatha materializes beside you, leaning back against your headboard with that familiar, teasing smirk.

“Back in bed with another book?” she asks, eyebrow quirked. Her gaze slides to the cover, and she feigns a shocked expression. “Romance? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “I like it, okay? And it’s… relaxing.”

She laughs, the sound rich and surprisingly warm. “I’m sure it is. Though I’d think you’d have all the excitement you need, with your very own ghost lover dropping in.”

Your face heats up instantly. “You’re not my… ghost lover!”

“Oh?” She’s amused, but there’s something softer in her expression as she tilts her head, studying you. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to haunt my way into your heart then.”

You try to act exasperated, but her playful flirting has started to get to you. There’s something intoxicating about the way she hovers just close enough for you to feel her presence, but far enough that you can only imagine what it would be like to reach out, to touch her.

Each night, her teasing becomes gentler, more thoughtful. Sometimes, she doesn’t even try to scare you. She’ll sit on the edge of your bed while you talk about your day, or she’ll hover nearby as you work, making little comments that keep you entertained. It’s… oddly comforting.

And somewhere along the way, the lines blur. You find yourself looking forward to her appearances, to that flutter of excitement that fills you whenever you sense she’s near. You start to notice things about her, too—the way her laughter has a warmth to it, or how, sometimes, she looks at you with a strange softness in her eyes, like she’s truly seeing you for the first time.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

One evening, she shows up while you’re cooking, and you’re no longer startled by her arrival. Instead, you simply smile, lifting an eyebrow.

“Hungry?” you tease.

She grins, crossing her arms as she watches you move about the kitchen. “You do realize I can’t eat, right?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t mean you can’t keep me company.”

Her smirk softens, and for a moment, her gaze lingers on you in a way that makes your heart flutter. She steps closer, just near enough that the air around you cools.

“Well, if you insist,” she murmurs, her voice low and warm. “You might be the first living person who wants me around.”

You laugh, stirring the pot on the stove. “Maybe you’re just growing on me.”

She falls silent, and when you glance over, there’s a vulnerability in her expression you haven’t seen before. “You know,” she begins, her voice uncharacteristically soft, “most people would have banished me by now. Or called a priest.”

You look at her, really look at her, and suddenly you realize just how lonely she must be stuck between worlds, visiting people who never wanted her there. The thought tugs at your heart.

“Well, I guess I’m not most people,” you say softly.

She smiles, a real smile, and it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

As the weeks go by, you notice the way Agatha lingers a little longer each night. She becomes less of a ghostly presence and more… familiar, almost comforting. You find yourself drawn to her, to her quick wit and the way she seems to know exactly how to make you laugh. You wonder if maybe she feels it too—the strange pull between you, like an invisible thread connecting you both.

One evening, as you’re getting ready for bed, she appears by your side, watching you with a softer, almost hesitant expression.

“What?” you ask, feeling oddly self-conscious under her gaze.

She shrugs, looking away as if she’s embarrassed. “Nothing. Just… you look nice.”

Your face warms, and you duck your head. “Thank you.”

There’s a silence, and you sense she wants to say something else. When you look up, her eyes are fixed on you, serious in a way that makes your breath catch.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me anymore?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You pause, searching for the right words. “Because… I know you now. You’re not just some ghost haunting me. You’re… you’re Agatha.” The words come out more tenderly than you intended, and you see something shift in her eyes, a softness that makes your heart race.

Slowly, she steps closer, her hand lifting as if she wants to reach for you. But she stops, hovering inches away, her gaze locked on yours. “You… shouldn’t look at me like that,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

You swallow hard, the air between you electric. “Why not?”

“Because,” she says, her voice trembling slightly, “if I were still alive, I’d kiss you right now.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding. Part of you knows it’s impossible, knows she’s a ghost and that you’re separated by a barrier that can’t be crossed. But another part of you—a braver, more reckless part—leans in, letting the cold of her presence wash over you, wishing for just a moment that you could close the distance.

“I think…” you whisper, barely able to get the words out, “I’d let you.”

Agatha’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face. For a second, you see a glimmer of regret there, of longing for something she knows she can never have. And in that moment, you realize you’re falling in love with her despite everything, despite the impossible chasm between you, you’ve fallen for her.

She draws back, her face sad but softened with a gentleness you’ve never seen before. “You really are one of a kind,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The next few days, she visits you less frequently, almost as if she’s afraid of getting too close. You miss her, that electric energy that always filled the air when she was near. But then, just as you’re starting to wonder if she’s gone for good, she appears again, standing by your bed in the middle of the night, her expression determined.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she says, her voice laced with her usual bravado, though her eyes hold a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You sit up, your heart pounding. “I wouldn’t want to.”

She sighs, taking a shaky step toward you. “You’re not making this easy, you know that?”

You smile, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through your chest. “Maybe I don’t want to make it easy.”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips as she gazes at you. “Then I guess we’ll just have to find a way to make this work, won’t we?”

And with that, she reaches out, her hand hovering just inches from yours, as if she’s daring herself to bridge the impossible divide. And though you can’t touch, you both feel it the unmistakable connection, the shared longing.

Somehow, it’s enough.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Fin <3

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twas-agatha-all-along · 25 days ago

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The Self-Fulfilled Tragedy of Agathario - Study / Analysis.

Agatha met Rio over the bodies of her original coven. She was scared, at first. “I didn't do it.” She said. Rio simply said, “I saw.” In a soft voice, “your power is beautiful. Don't ever feel guilty about your talent. You survived.”

Death was the only consistent comfort in Agatha's life — “this is the me you fell in love with.” Agatha wasn't scared of it, not for a long time.

Why should Agatha value life, when death loves her so intimately? When only Death understands her sorrow? When Death is the only one who tells her that she wasn't born evil—because Death is the natural order of all things?

They did live together, in that cottage, for a while. Agatha, “took power from the undeserving—” who *she* deemed undeserving, as said in WandaVision—and Rio collected the bodies. They never had to be apart. Death was her satellite, orbiting around her endlessly, holding her hand because no-one else would. (“I hold Death's hand in mine.”)

But Rio cannot be present for long if there is no body to collect. She needs to be everywhere, in every place, all at once. So she'd be gone for long periods of time, back whenever Agatha would kill and stick around to see her. Split across the fabric of reality, always reaping, collecting, guiding the souls to their afterlife. She may not be the only reaper—but she's the personification of Death, not merely a deity who carries the title. She is finality. She is the “end,” the “goal” the “completion.” The “telos” where all roads lead to. She isn't “decay” but a cycle coming to an end. Transformation. New Beginnings. Change. Growth. She is thr Green Witch, as all living beings return to the earth that gave birth to them.

Nicky came from Agatha's love for Rio, just as Billy and Tommy came from Wanda's love for Vision. There was no spell, no need for incantation. Nicky came from Scratch. Life from Death, like the Green Witch's trial. And that, indeed, is why he was a stillborn.

And because Rio merely appears wherever there is death—the moment she appeared during the childbirth, even though no one else was around, no bodies to collect—Agatha knew immediately.

Rio was inevitable—and she could offer only time. She bent the rules for the woman she loved, because she couldn't bear the thought of Agatha hating her.

And suddenly, the form she fell in love with was terrifying. Because she now had something to love other than death. She didn't find it to be a beautiful comfort amidst her darkness anymore, but a cruel reminder of her son's mortality.

And though once she killed and stayed—to kill death close—like the protagonist of an ancient tragedy, seeing beauty and eroticism and peace and quiet and divinity in Rio—she was suddenly met with discomfort and fear and grief. And so she killed and ran—to keep Death busy. To keep Death occupied. To keep Death away. To earn more time, to delay the inevitable. To not see her face again. “Why do we kill witches?” - “To survive.”

The same Death that rescued her from her mother's cruel arms and cradled her in hers was now the very reason she couldn't be a mother herself. The very reason she couldn't see her son grow.

The very Death that once re-assured her that she wasn't born evil was now a cruel reminder that maybe she was. And you know why?

Her mother treated her as evil because her magick 'takes'—and 'gives' nothing. For Agatha, that's what evil means. That's why she insults Rio by telling her she gave nothing—she *took.* “And that's usually your move, right?”

And the real tragedy of Agatha Harkness is that her villainy was self-actualized. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Agatha hates her powers, even more so when looking at her son. Because, “I cannot heal you, (Jen) I cannot protect you from what's coming, (Alice) and I cannot divine (Lilia) when she (Death) will return.”

So she hates her power, because unlike the others, Agatha cannot—by design—give anything to her son. She can only 'take' from others. She can only 'give' to *Death,* and that's why only Death has ever loved her. And that, now, to her, verifies her mother's statement: “you were *born* evil.”

Not like other witches—like Jen—the 'deserving.' “I left you alone, because what you were doing was important.” “It was bind or burn.”

Because she couldn't save her son. She never could have. And to Agatha, that's because she was “born evil.” Because she never was living—she was surviving, with Death's hand in hers. Her power could only drain life, not better it. The very song that Lorna Wu used to protect her daughter was a cruel reminder that Agatha couldn't protect ber son.

Agatha could never see Rio the same. She could never face her like she had before. Because now, Death was her deepest shame. And she was Death's scar.

She left the world thinking that she sacrificed her son because it's better to be feared than pitied. Easier to blame herself and blame Rio than to admit and register that it was inevitable.

She slept that night without killing witches to spare Nicky's feelings—because he wasn't evil, like her, and she'd never let him think it like her mother did to her—and she assumee that Rio would wait. That she wouldn't strike in the night. What Rio saw as mercy, Agatha saw as the cruelest betrayal.

Rio never stopped pursuing her even as Agatha could never face her. And their love was so powerful, so passionate, but it couldn't overshadow the pain and the grief of something so human as losing a child. Though despite the baggage, they never could be too far from each other. Even within Wanda's hex, even when Agatha didn't remember her own name—she remembered her deep feelings for Rio. Her love, her hate, her passion. Even when she didn't remember why

Rio can't understand why Agatha doesn't want her. “No-one in history has had special treatment like you“ - “Why don't you want me?” - “this is the me you fell in love with” - Because as The Green Witch, the personification of Death—she is the natural outcome of all things and cannot conceive the human aversion to death. “Evil? You're calling me evil?” She doesn't **get it.** She doesn't find her nature cruel, just as she doesn't find Agatha as “born evil.” She sees her as she always had—affectionately. She bent the rules of the universe for her sake. And so she doesn't understand the aversion at all. She feels rejection. And all she wants is to have Agatha again, who keeps evading her for something she couldn't help. And she's devastated, because once, Agatha loved her for the very thing she now hated her for.

So Death can't fathom humanity finding her cruel. Because she knows she can be gentle, and kind, and patient. Because she has been, a million times over. Because she's the one thing that everyone has in common, as Lilia's Maestra said. But what she *can* fathom is grief—because she knows love—“because what is grief, if not love persevering?” And so grief is a feeling of longing, beyond Death. More powerful than her.

And the longing never stops, even for death. And so Agatha tries to kiss her on the road after the “she's my scar” scene. She can't stop herself. Is it because she's desperate to convince herself that Nicky's soul lives on in Billy, meaning perhaps that Rio allowed it to? Is it because, despite knowing it's not her son, she's vulnerable, and thankful that Rio didn't take him too? Is it because she's reminded of the past—and love is beyond death? Beyond fear? Because grief is love persevering?

Regardless—because I could not stop for death, she kindly stopped for me. And Rio doesn't take advantage of the vulnerability. She reminds Agatha of the raw, cruel, heavy truth. “That boy is not your own.” Nothing is better. Nothing is fixed. Agatha isn't kissing Rio here because she's accepted Death, but because she's denying it. And so it's not real. They can only kiss when Agatha finally accepts Death.

So in the finale when Agatha turns to Rio and kisses her, at first Rio doesn't believe it—that she finally wants her again, that she finally accepts her. As if finally letting her grief settle, accepting it as natural, sharing it with Rio.

She forgives Death, but she doesn't necessarily forgive herself. Because she HAS become a villain, because she has used her sweet boy's innocent song to kill, tainting it as to not face Death all these years, when she was stuck in limbo between blaming Rio and Herself.

Now, she only blames herself. She doesn't let it happen again, with Billy. Agatha embraces Death just as Nicky once did, because she wouldn't.

But she's still not ready to pass on. And maybe she never will be. She is a tragic figure with no catharsis, even as she's faced both hubris and nemesis.

And that is the real tragedy of Agatha Harkness, who loved Death above all and feared it all the same.

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