Agatha Harkness X Reader - Blog Posts

Quick question, is anybody writing for Agatha All Along yet??

I watched the two available episodes and I'm already obsessed with it

I also realized if you shorten it it's AAA

In Astris Supra (Chapter 8: Prima Nocte Videt Notus Lateri Tuo)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

CW: Demons, demonic possession, blood, slight gore

New York City

December, 1724

"I appreciate your discretion in all this, Doctor." I said as our footsteps echoed off the cold stone steps, "Given that you reached out to me in particular, I'm sure you're aware of the potential circumstances?" 

"Indeed," he replied, producing a wrought iron key from the pocket of his black wool coat, "You're not the first witch I've encountered in my time, but thankfully you're the first one who hasn't tried to kill me. Not to mention that I find your published works on the effects of various poisons on the body's systems to be quite an interesting read. I figured you would be willing to look into this."

The memory of the original proposition played over in my mind, occupying my thoughts as we continued down the frost laden, dark tunnels beneath Fraunces Tavern.

The letter was brought to me surprisingly by Hatch some two weeks prior, clutched tightly within his beak. According to the note, Dr. Christopher Connors, a coroner in New York City, had been asked to conduct an inquest into the manner of death of two young girls, ages fifteen and seventeen, respectfully. The older gentleman was at a loss, the nature of their deaths seemed... unnatural. Having read my findings in the British Medical Journal under the pseudonym Dr. Anthony Druid, and being an associate of Rupert Kingsley's, Connors sought me out and offered to pay a generous sum for my assistance in the case. 

"I don't trust it." Agatha had said after looking over the letter for herself, "Never trust a man."

"Says the woman who's spent the last twenty years rampaging through Salem after killing her coven." I mumbled, hoping she wouldn't hear me. There had been something else included with the letter that I had not shown her. Connors had provided a series of detailed charcoal sketches of both victims. Just a passing glance of them told me that I had no choice but to assist. 

"You can't possibly be considering it!" Agatha exclaimed. I glanced over at her, folding over the sketches and tucking them into the pocket of my wool overcoat that hung by the door of Agatha's cabin. While I had not been a permanent resident there, I did establish myself there as a regular visitor, maintaining my lodgings in Boston to further my studies in private.

"I'll be back by the new year at the latest." I said, loud and clear as I waved a hand, summoning clothes and food into the saddle bags beside my coat, "Trust me, darling; I need to look into this." 

Her hand reached out to grab my wrist, but I was too quick for her. I ducked out of her grasp and out the door before she could protest any further.

I opened my palm to form an orb of light, illuminating the cold tunnel in a pale, white glow. Connors was a bulky man, I realized as I followed behind him. His thick frame might have been intimidating to others who were not equipped to fight. But his gentle green eyes and his kind face gave no evidence of foul intentions, despite his rather morbid occupation. Agatha was right to assume that most men couldn't be trusted, but looking through the eyes of a Lunar witch, the lenses were different. It was easy for me to read the intentions of a person by simply studying their face. He was no threat to me, or to anyone for that matter. Looking past him, we were fast approaching a large wooden door with a heavy padlock. The bodies had to be in there, kept out of sight from mortals who were incapable of understanding what they saw. Connors' heavy footsteps came to a halt in front of the door, the key in his hand shaking as he did against the cold. He glanced back at me with a cautious glance. 

"Are you sure you want to see this, Miss Stuart?" he asked me softly, his breath wafting past his mustachioed lips like wisps of smoke.

I nodded though my heart was slamming against my ribcage, "I have to be sure. If this is what I think it may be, our very existence may be at risk." 

Connors nodded and put the key into the lock. It clicked loudly, the sound echoing menacingly off the walls followed quickly by the creaking of the door as it opened. The smell hit us hard. The sickening decay of flesh despite the numbing cold was enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs. I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out a small jar of aromatics to hold to my nose. Connors held a handkerchief over his nose as he stepped inside, his complexion turning pale green as we approached a pair of sheet-covered lumps on a wide oak table. The room was even darker than the hall, if that was even possible, but with a quick flick of my wrist the light floating above my hand moved about the room, lighting candle stubs and lanterns before wafting up over the table to fully illuminate the room. 

"Tell me about them." I said, my eyes glued to the pair of covered corpses as I approached them. Connors tucked himself into a corner of the room where he wouldn't have to look at them again. Once had been more than enough for him it seemed. 

"Edith O'Brien, age fifteen, and Mildred Adams, age seventeen," he explained, his tone flat as if he were reading straight from his notes, "orphans staying under the care of a Miss Rebecca Stanworth. Both girls were supposedly on their way to do the day’s washing when they suddenly became afflicted with some sort of neurological condition. They began to have fits, collapsed to the ground, and died within minutes."

"Who informed you of this, Doctor?"

"Miss Stanworth did. She saw the whole thing from the kitchen window. The girls barely made it past the garden gate before they fell."

Keeping the jar of herbs under my nose, I stepped over to the smaller of the two bodies and drew back the sheet. Just as the sketches had shown, Edith’s body had been left in horrid condition. 

She was thin, though most girls her age could stand to have a bit more meat on their bones, but from simple observation it was plain to see that the girl was suffering from malnutrition. Her cheek bones were hollowed in, her eyes sunken into the sockets, her ribs protruding, her golden hair brittle as dried straw. Even after two weeks of decomposition, the body had stayed in decent condition, no doubt due to the cold. But what was most alarming about her was her skin. Though pale and faintly greyed due to her current condition, situated brightly over her chest was a mark. It was viciously large, spreading across her chest, down her left arm and up the side of her neck, sourced directly from her heart. Colored like a fresh bruise, in various shades of mottled purples, reds, and blues, it had spread like poison in her veins, like a parasite that had suffocated her slowly then all at once. 

Taking a quick glance at the Adams girl, the condition was exactly the same, down to the pattern of the mark on her body. I sighed heavily and stepped away from the table, covering the girls back up as I did.

"Is it what you feared, Miss Stuart?" Connors asked me. I glanced back at him with worry in my eyes. 

"What do you know about demons, Dr. Connors?"

He shrugged, "Outside of what is written in the Lord's book, not very much." 

"Then allow me to enlighten you." I offered, propping myself against a wall across from him. "Demons as you know them are servants of a Dark Lord. They are called 'fallen angels', 'hellspawn', 'children of Satan'. But demons have existed far longer than your God. They are quite nearly as old as the earth itself, and they are harbingers of chaos and cruelty. Demons as you know them have been portrayed as slaves to a darker power, but this is simply not true. They work as singular entities within a greater sphere of evil, creating doom and chaos as they see fit under the watchful eye of the High Lords of Hell. But something isn't right here."

I pointed to the girls on the table, "These girls were possessed by the same demon at the same time. For a demon to be able to split its soul into two pieces... it's just never been recorded before. No witch or sorcerer has ever seen this before. Did Miss Stanworth mention any odd behavior? Foaming of the mouth, speaking in Demonic Script?" 

Connors shook his head, "Nothing like that at all. Perhaps if this demon has managed to split himself in two, his power is not at its full strength?" 

"Perhaps..." my voice trailed off as I tried to run through every possible scenario I could think of. Connors watched me diligently as I pondered, eventually clearing his throat to draw my attention back to me after he thought of something.

"Miss Stuart, if these girls are deceased, then does that mean that this demon is roaming free once again? Are more people in danger?" 

"Yes, Doctor. I'm afraid so. I don't believe this is a lower demon running amuck amongst the people of the city. Only a demon with a great amount of power would be able to do something like this. I fear that a Lord of Hell has come to unleash terror upon the Colonies." I muttered, though the sound bounced off the walls so easily I knew he could hear me loud and clear. He made a gesture over his chest, the sign of the cross, if I remembered correctly. 

"W-Well, how do we stop it? Do we need to exorcise it? I can fetch a reverend-"

I held up a frozen free hand to stop his rambling. The last thing we needed was a reverend to be involved. The poor bastard would only get himself killed trying to banish the thing without any magical authority. 

"That won't necessary, Dr. Connors." I drawled, straightening up off the wall. "Demons, higher demons especially, have a particular fondness for witches of my variety. I'll summon it outside the city and banish it properly. No need for anyone else to get hurt." 

Connors tilted his head curiously, dropping his handkerchief back into the pocket of his coat, "You're a curious woman, Miss Stuart. I do hope you're successful in your endeavor." 

"So do I."

-------------------------------------------------

I had every intention of dispelling a demon that night. Standing atop a snow-covered hill north of the city, summoned tomes in hand, surrounded by candles, I was fully prepared to begin the summoning ritual when I was interrupted by the sound of furiously flapping wings. Glancing up into the cloud covered night sky, outlined against the barely shining first quarter, was a raven, making a dive toward me. 

"My lady!" Hatch cawed exasperatedly as he set himself down in front of me. He shuddered against the cold of the night and looked up at me with urgency. "I'm so very sorry to interrupt, I know you told me not to but-"

"What, Hatch? What is the matter?" I asked him calmly. 

The raven shuffled his little feet in the snow, as if he were afraid to tell me. Then, he looked up and spoke. 

"You recall the encounter you had with one Lady Death prior to my transformation, yes?" 

Of course, I had told him the truth. No secrets were meant to be kept between a familiar and its master. I nodded, urging him to continue quickly. 

"When she said she would allow you to save me as a favor to a 'her', you assumed it was your mother, correct?" 

"Yes, I could not think of anyone else who-"

"It was Miss Harkness, my lady." Hatch interrupted. My brow furrowed. 

"What?"

"They were... and I believe still are... intimate with each other. I figured you would want to know the truth, rather than be deceived any further." 

I should have felt angry. I should have felt enraged. I should have wanted to kill her. But all I felt was the gravity of my chest caving in again. She used me. And I was completely blind to it. Even with my guard still up, I felt as though I had the wind stripped from my lungs, the warmth pulled from my body. I was alone again. I fell to my knees. The candles around me shuttered against the rush of air, but they did not extinguish. No tears sprang forward, no cry escaped my lips... I just... felt... numb.

I had had every intention of dismissing a demon that night. But now that intention was gone, replaced by a sensation of emptiness that I thought had been cast aside long ago. I was exposed, vulnerable. And that was exactly what he wanted.

As I sat there, my familiar at my feet, the air became colder, so much so that even the smallest drop of water would freeze solid once exposed. Hatch ruffled his feathers and hopped out of the circle to warm himself beside the candles. The skin on my fingers began to turn blue, tiredness washed over me suddenly, and a voice, low and raspy whispered in my ear. 

"Poor little witch... all alone in this world. Perhaps... you'd like a bit of... company." 

A shadow passed over me. The bitter cold of the air returned to its prior chill. My frostbitten skin returned to its normal shade of pale pink. The hole in my chest remained, but a new sort of ache over my heart had formed. I winced and pressed a hand against my chest only to feel a sharp pain. Glancing down, I drew back my winter cloak, coat, and shirt, to see that a bruise, no larger than a penny had formed there, its coloration and nature alarmingly familiar. 

"Well then," I whispered to myself after a hard swallow, "if this is to be my punishment for trusting in her, so be it. But you will not drain me, Demon. Not as long as I have any say in it."

I pulled the small knife from my boot and held out my right palm over the pentagram at the center of the circle. Pressing the blade into my hand, the sting of the blade was partially numbed by the cold and was quickly replaced by the warm flow of crimson blood. 

"Adprehendo te daemonium, virtute mea alligatum, usque ad mortem meam!"

As droplets of blood curdled on the pentagram, the voice of the demon in my head growled menacingly. He did not expect a witch of my caliber, but the decision to kill me had come too late. He could not do so now unless I allowed it. 

"Fine... but you will grow weary of me soon enough. And when you do... your flesh... shall burn. So sayeth Asmodeus... Bane of Solomon... Lord of Hell." 

I rose to my feet and stepped out of the circle. Hatch followed behind me until he caught up and perched on my shoulder. I climbed onto my horse and took a strong hold of the reins.

"Hatch, deliver a message to Miss Harkness for me, please." I ordered flatly. 

"Of course, my lady. What would you like me to tell her?" 

"I will not be returning to Salem again. And she would be wise to not seek me out. Aislin Stuart will no longer associate with the lover of Death." 

Hatch dipped his head and fluttered off my shoulder, turning southward as I spun my horse to the west, aiming to put Agatha and our history behind me.

What a fool I was to believe that I could...

In Astris Supra (Chapter 7: Non Discedo a Calle, Mortis in Manu Teneo)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

Boston, Massachusetts

July 1716

My letters went unanswered. I retreated into my work. After peace was negotiated some two years after the siege of Port Royal, Rupert Kingsley and I amicably parted ways. He offered to refer me to an associate of his in North Carolina, but I politely declined. There was a part of me that knew I couldn't drift so far from the place that I so begrudgingly held close to my heart. Instead, I used the abhorrently small amount of money that I earned for my services to acquire a new horse, a big-bodied Clydesdale that would be sturdy in the winter and rode south. Upon my arrival to Boston, it felt as if I had been suddenly swallowed by darkness, it was as if a shadow had encased me the closer I got to Salem, and because I couldn't bring myself to go any further, I remained there.

I took lodgings in a boarding house beside the Boston Common, exchanging board for a bit of cleaning every now and then, and continued to study in solitude. The room was small and composed of cold, brick walls with barely enough room for a bed and no fireplace, but the mahogany desk was large enough for me to spread out and work without impediment. Hatch continued to work as a diligent familiar, flying in and out of the crown glass window in front of my workspace, bringing me ingredients and materials as I needed them. My work carried on well into the night, when the stars would dance across the sky beneath the watchful eyes of the moon. More often than not I woke up the following morning with my face plastered against my spell books or my notes with ink smeared across my cheeks. And like the day before, I would remain seated there, pouring over alchemical concoctions and improving upon them, all the while studying the well-detailed anatomical structures of the human body and noting how different potions impacted each of them. 

For four years, I did not engage with the outside world. I closed myself off from the world and the people within it and hated every second of it. It was in that time that I realized I would have never been able to truly isolate myself in Salem; my head and heart would not allow it. What can I say? Lunar witches... we are most certainly empathetic to a fault. And now I was torturing myself, confining myself within the four drafty walls of a lonely boarding house bedroom, as though I were a prisoner in a jail cell. I had allowed myself to feel too much, and as a result, I was alone. Not even the company of my familiar was enough to fill the gap in my chest. 

But on a warm, humid morning in early July of 1716, for the first time, a knock echoed across my door. I was in the middle of scribbling some observations down regarding the properties of an improved fever reducing salve and the hard-hitting sound was so sudden that I lost grip of my quill. Blotches of black ink soaked into the page, all but ruining my notes. I growled under my breath and tore myself away from the desk.

"Go away." I snapped, "I'm not taking callers today. Or any day for that matter."

The knocking came again, this time more forceful, as though whomever it was on the other side was preparing to break the door down. I rolled my eyes and went to the door, throwing it open with as much force as I could muster. 

"I said go-" 

The words in my throat suddenly became clogged, stuck like a bit of food caught on the way down. Bright blue eyes were boring into mine, alight with shock and something else... something raw that I couldn't quite categorize as an emotion. Her lips were slightly parted as if she were about to speak but couldn't find the words. Her dark hair cascading past her shoulders in the same luxurious waves that I remembered. Agatha Harkness looked exactly the same, and yet I knew she had changed. I moved to shut the door, but she caught it quickly, her strength masked by her feminine frame. 

"Aislin, please." she begged, something I had not expected from her, "I’ve been trying to find you."

She held up the pearl ring that I had given her. It felt like a lifetime since that first night in Salem when I had gifted it to her. So much had changed, not only for her but for me as well. My heart had started to become cold and detached, a trait that had been instilled in me by Kingsley while we journeyed from battlefield to battlefield. Keeping your distance served you best when most of the people you encountered were going to die within the day. 

"What for? To take my power just as you did your coven?" I spat, "Or is that beneath you now?" 

I turned away, letting the door swing wide open. Agatha paused, looking down at the floorboards between the door frames. 

"There's no spell here," I told her, my tone softened, "because I assumed that I no longer need protection from witches hellbent on destroying me. Am I right to continue to assume that?"

Agatha's gaze moved back to me as she slowly took a step inside. Then another, and another. Once she was fully inside, she shut the door behind her and let out a long sigh of relief. She pressed her back into the creaky old door, sliding slowly down to the floor before burying her head in her hands. 

I scoffed, "Finally met your match, have you?" 

"It's... complicated." her voice came out muffled and strained, but I could hear her well enough. 

"Complicated how?" 

"I didn't finish the job." 

"What job?" 

She let out a heavy sigh, slowly lifting her head up to look at me. The faint trace of fear in her eyes was barely noticeable, but I was able to pick up on it as I studied her. 

"When I... when I killed them, I didn't kill their daughters." she explained softly, her voice surprisingly small, "I let their daughters live and now... they've become something else. Something monstrous."

"The daughters of your coven are hunting you, aren't they?" I concluded. Agatha blinked back the tears in her eyes and nodded. 

"They're killing everyone and everything in their way. Mortals, witches, animals, monsters, it doesn't matter to them. They've become... they're like hellspawn."

A chill raked down my back at that word. Demons were a touchy subject; inherently dark as opposed to my own inherent light. They were drawn to Lunar witches like moths to flames, particularly when said witches exposed themselves physically and emotionally. As sad as it was, many accounts regarding the deaths of Lunar witches detailed the gruesome consumption of their spiritual and physical forms by demonic possession. To hear that these witches might have made some sort of pact with the High Lords of Hell was disturbing to say the least. Adding in the fact that they were pursuing Agatha in an effort to exact revenge only increased my concerns, though I managed to mask it well. 

"Sounds like you need a banishment ritual." 

"I need you."

My heart stopped beating, my breath caught in my throat. Watching her as she slowly rose to her feet, I wasn't sure if the way she was looking at me was out of genuine care, or if it was all a ploy to trick me into helping her. To hear her say those words was the very beginning of what I wanted, but I had to play my cards close to my chest. 

"No," I whispered, keeping a straight face as I turned away from her to address the ink-stained pages of my notebook, "I don't think you do." 

With a wave of my hand, the ink lifted from the page, returning to the inkwell where it belonged. My notes were still intact, the delicate curve of my handwriting still clearly legible on the page as I gently shut the small book and set the quill back in its proper place. Through the open window, the sound of beating wings became louder and louder until Hatch landed on the sill. 

"My lady, I hate to interrupt, but it appears Agatha Harkness is- oh," the raven cocked its head curiously as he noticed the witch standing behind me, "already here." 

"Ever the observer, aren't you, Hatch?" I replied dully as I slammed a few tomes shut.

"I know that raven." Agatha said. I turned to look at her as she stared down at my familiar. "He brought me this." 

She pulled out a piece of folded parchment and held it up. Hatch bobbed his head. I scowled, my grip on my books tightened.

"And he brought nothing back to me." 

"Because I went looking for you!" she snapped, a torrent of emotions finally being let loose, "I put the ring on and followed the path that it showed me, but it took me up and down the coast for three years! I eventually came to the conclusion that you didn't want to be found so I gave up. I went back to Salem only to find that I was being hunted by a coven of demonic witches and the only way to stop them was by finding the one witch left in the Colonies that could possibly be willing to help me!"

My scowl faded away, my grip loosened. I realized what that raw emotion was hidden in her face: vulnerability. I looked away, back to the raven on the windowsill. 

"Leave us, Hatch." I muttered halfheartedly, "Take the rest of the day for yourself." 

He cocked his head to the side for a moment, looking between Agatha and myself before giving a small bow and flying back out over Boston. I unlatched the windowpane and closed it before moving my hands to grip the sides of my desk. I lowered my head, squeezing my eyes shut. A hand found purchase on my waist before wrapping itself around me from behind. 

"I need you, Ash." Agatha's voice whispered in my ear, "I've always needed you."

The grip around my waist remained as her other arm wrapped around my shoulder. Her forehead pressed into my shoulder blade as we stayed there in silence for a while. Everything became quiet as I remained frozen in place. The sound of people laughing outside in the Common all but vanished when I closed the window, but the noise in my head, the constant repetition of alchemical formulas and incantations and anatomical structures came to a halt. My right hand released its hold on the desk and drifted to where hers rested around me. Our fingers intertwined as I turned back around. My eyes met hers and the gap in my chest just barely started to close. 

"Prove it." I whispered back. 

Her hand reached up to cup my jaw, her lips pressed into mine, and the rest of the world melted away until only the two of us remained.

--------------------------------------------

Laying upon the small bed in the corner of my room, naked limbs entangled with hers, I felt at peace. Her head rested upon my chest, her hand tracing small designs across my bare chest, over my breasts, along my collarbone. Her featherlight touch was ethereal, lighting my skin on fire with every pass. It almost didn't seem real, to have her there beside me. But the gentle pass of her breath on my neck, the soft touch of her hair on my shoulder, the ache between our legs... it was all real. 

"I hope that was enough proof for you." she muttered as she pressed herself further against me. I chuckled, running my hand through her splayed-out hair and pressing a kiss to her hairline. 

"I'd certainly say so." I replied. The day had ticked away, the bright, sunny morning giving way to afternoon rainclouds and distant thunder. Raindrops pattered on the crown glass, the temperature in the room dropped, but neither of us felt the chill as we lay there. A crow cawed somewhere just beyond the confines of the boarding house. Agatha's hand stopped tracing. Her breath hitched. 

"What is it, darling?" I asked her softly, letting my hand slide down her back wrap around her shoulders. 

She lifted her head off my chest, the fear returned to her eyes, "They're coming. We don't have a lot of time." 

"Shhh, love. Get dressed and let me look through my books." 

We reluctantly parted, retrieving her simple grey frock and my breeches and shirt to redress ourselves before I returned to my desk and began searching through my books for a proper banishment spell. All the while, Agatha paced back and forth, her hands wringing in front of her as she moved across the room. 

"Are you going to read every single page or are we going to be able to survive the night?"

"Got it!" I declared, ignoring her remark as I finished flipping through the pages of Dux Daemoniorum, "I need... chalk." 

I began searching the drawers for any leftover chalk that I had stashed, finally finding a few stubs tucked away in the back of the bottom one. Holding it up like a spoil of war, I spun on my heel and intercepted Agatha mid-walk. 

"We need to get out of town. Somewhere with enough space to draw a spell circle." I told her, pocketing the chalk in a small leather pouch that hung from the belt on my hips. The book was coming too, tucked into the same belt. Stretching out my hand to Agatha, I smiled when her fingertips brushed mine. "Let's go for a ride, darling."

I led her out to the stables behind the boarding house, trying to dodge raindrops as I grabbed my saddle and bridle to tack up my horse. Agatha watched quietly as I saddled up and threw the bit in his mouth before leading him out of his stall and hoisting myself on to his back. Reaching down, I offered her a hand and lifted her up with a grunt, setting her behind me to wrap her arms around my waist. 

With a tap from my heels the horse trotted forward onto the cobblestone street, and I began to steer him south, out of Boston and into the frontier beyond its outer limits. Once we were out of the bustling streets, I squeezed my heels into the Clydesdale's sides and lifted him into a lively canter. Agatha's grip on my waist tightened. I smirked, leaning back a bit to ask her, "Never ridden a horse before?" 

"It's been a while." she retorted, though the waver in her voice told me she was lying. 

"I'll teach you properly one of these days. I promise." 

"I'd rather not, thank you!" 

I laughed, straightening up again as we carried on. For another ten or so miles, we remained on the dirt path that cut through majestic oaks, gleaming white birches, and tall maples. Once Boston was far enough behind us, I navigated us off the beaten path and into the woods, dodging trees and fallen logs as we maintained our pace, kicking up last autumn's fallen leaves and rain-soaked earth. The rain eventually wore itself out, coming to a stop as we approached a rushing creek. I decided to follow its path to where it was sourced, hoping that there would be a large enough space there to draw the necessary runes. The sky became darker overhead as afternoon shifted into evening. The horse huffed, drenched in frothing sweat as we kept going. We were running out of time.

"Stop!" Agatha shouted suddenly. My immediate reaction was to tug sharply on the reins, making my horse skid to a sudden halt with a squeal. It was a good thing too; we had reached the source of the stream.

A series of waterfalls, standing some thirty or forty feet high, came crashing down into a kettledrum pool. Surrounded on all sides by large, smooth slate stones, there was more than enough space for me to work, but I was running out of time. I handed the book to Agatha and leapt down from the horse, grabbing the chalk and running over to the widest patch of stone. 

"Page sixty-six, Agatha!" I called as I bent down and started drawing the outline of the circle. She was hot on my heels, flipping through the pages quickly and stopping when she found it, turning it around for me to see as I continued to draw the intricate lines and runes. A crow cawed from somewhere within the trees, a fox cried, a coyote howled. 

"Let's hurry this up, Ash." Agatha said through gritted teeth. Her eyes studied our surroundings, her head was on a constant swivel as I continued. 

"Almost done." 

A few more runes and I was finished, tossing the chalk away and stepping out of the circle, but remaining on its outermost edge. I waved her over, pointing to the center of the circle where a pentacle sat. 

"Stand there, darling." I ordered. She obeyed, keeping her eyes on the woods around us, while I continued to instruct her, "Once they cross the threshold of the circle, start the incantation and don't stop until they're gone." 

"You should get out of here, Ash." she said, taking her place, "Put some distance between us until this is over." 

I smirked at her and shook my head, "Not a chance, sweet. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here, bolstering the magic at your feet." 

Pointing up at the sky overhead, I guided her gaze upward to a break in the late evening clouds. A full moon was shining down over us. I was at my peak, in perfect condition for banishing rituals. Hope crossed her face, as she met my gaze through the moonlight. My heart swelled. 

"I'm with you, love." I told her as shadows within the woods began to approach us, "Now get ready." 

The shadows crept closer and closer until I was finally able to realize that they had taken solidified form. Seven women in black robes and masks stood before us, all of their attention fixed solely on Agatha. I lowered myself to the ground and set my hands as close to the circle as I could without touching it. Any break in the line would render it useless, and that couldn't happen. 

"Goad them." I instructed softly, hoping Agatha could hear me. 

Agatha sniffed, not out of sorrow but out of pride and tucked the book under her arm, "Took you long enough. So, who wants the first crack at me?" 

As a single unit, they all hissed, "Agatha... Harkness..." 

They began to approach, moving as one, taking even steps as black smoke drifted from their shoulders. There was certainly something dark and unsettling about them... something hellish was going on. Just a few more steps and they would be close enough, just a few... more... steps...

They crossed the line with animalistic growls and hisses. I spoke my spell as Agatha started her incantation. 

"Confirma hunc circulum cinge inimicos nostros."

"Exi de hoc regno et non reverteris. Exi de hoc regno et non reverteris."

The circle began to glow, its near blinding, pure, white light creating a barrier from which the witches could not escape. They howled in pain and frustration as Agatha's spell continued. One by one, their flesh began to burn, turning into ash and sparks as they began to vanish like smoke on the wind. 

"Keep going!" I called out over the cries and screeches. The witches crumpled to the ground, their bodies writhing in pain as Agatha remained focused on her spell, her voice clear and crisp. A few more minutes of chanting and the crazed coven was nothing more than piles of dust, banished to an infernal plane until forces beyond our power brought them back to the physical plane. The light of the circle faded away, leaving us in nothing but moonlight. The only sound was the crashing of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. 

I rose to my feet, my heart racing from the adrenaline. Agatha slowly turned around, shock clear on her face even in the reduced light. I wasted no time going to meet her in the middle, knowing that she would crash into me as soon as I was close enough. Her arms wrapped around me, her head buried into my chest. I pulled her close, letting my eyes flutter shut as I breathed her in. 

Wood smoke, rosemary, tilled earth.

In Astris Supra (Chapter 6: Profectus Semper Deinceps Sub Ligneo Adyto)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

As written in Familiaritas et Maleficis, the familiar of a witch can take any form, but commonly take the form of birds and small woodland creatures, or most common of all, the form of a feline, in an effort to conspicuously serve their mistresses without fear of capture or persecution. Not every witch may have a familiar; it is not within the rights of a witch to claim one, rather, they must be chosen by a familiar who deems them worthy of their service.

To be chosen is an incredible honor. It means that you exhibit not only talent as a witch, but also the potential to do and be more than what you have been limited to in your current station. More often than not, the arrival of a familiar comes in the form of some great tragedy or victory, a sign so clear from the Divine Mother that it cannot be ignored.

Mine was the former. 

He was young. Couldn't have been older than seventeen when he was carted onto the deck of the HMS Collie, but if he survived would forever carry the scars of a man who had seen enough tragedy to haunt him for a lifetime. Rupert and I were running triage, sending the operable cases to the surgeons below deck, taking the dead to the stern to be wrapped, treating the wounded who could be saved with a quick fix. When the boy came in on a stretcher, his head wrapped in the bloodied scarlet wool of a redcoat, a gaping wound against his right side which he clutched at in agonizing pain. When he was lowered onto the table, he let out a low groan. 

"Private Theodore Hatchet, sir," one of the soldiers who had carried him explained, "Caught the edge of a cannon ball as we tried to make a forward push." 

It had been like this for nearly a week now, everyone was hit as the British tried to make the forward advance, whether it was bullets or cannon balls, there was no escaping it if you weren't a commissioned officer sitting on the back of a horse. But this boy, this Theodore Hatchet... he didn't deserve this.

"Just... doing my duty, sir..." Hatchet said with a wince as Rupert began to inspect the wound in his side. I moved to unwrap the makeshift bandage on his head to assess the damage beneath it. Bits of singed flesh and clumps of coal black hair peeled away with the congealed blood as I pulled gently back on the fabric. He hissed in pain, his bloodstained teeth grinding against each other as it finally came loose. 

"Not much we can do about the pain, right now, lad." Rupert said apologetically as he took hold of a pair of forceps, "Miss Stuart, what can you make of it?" 

I leaned in to get a good look at the gash across Hatchet's forehead. It was messy, no doubt a result of hitting his head on a stone or against the butt of his rifle as he fell. But most blows to the head were shallow, easy to clean and care for. If he survived the injury to his side, the cut on his head would be of minimal concern. 

"It's minor, I can clean it and stitch it up."  

"Excellent." Kingsley replied, not bothering to check it himself, "It'll give you the opportunity to practice your surgeon's knot while I clean this up. You're awfully lucky, Private Hatchet, not many men could take a cannon ball to the ribs and have a chance at survival."

Hatchet tried to laugh, cracking open his pale green eyes a sliver as he tried to look down at Kingsley, but the pain became too overwhelming, making him groan again. Once the wave of discomfort passed, he opened his eyes again and glanced up at me as I prepared the needle and catsgut before taking a cloth to the wound to wipe the dried blood away. 

"A woman as a doctor," Theodore muttered, his voice barely audible above the distant gunfire and shouting soldiers, "I must truly be in heaven then." 

I smiled at him, pressing the rag gently against his forehead, "Not yet, Mr. Hatchet." 

"Please, call me Hatch." 

"Hatch." I corrected myself as I continued to clean his wound, "And I'm not a doctor. Not yet, anyway. Just a student of Dr. Kingsley's." 

Hatch’s smile broke through the pain, his bloodied teeth still forming a handsome half-grin as he watched me dab oil of vitriol and ethanol on his wound to numb it. “Well, even so, I’m grateful for your gentle hand, Miss uh?”

"Stuart. Aislin Stuart."

"Pretty name. You Irish?" 

I began to start stitching up his wound as Rupert continued to pull shrapnel and dead flesh from the gaping wound on his side. I shrugged as I worked, "I wouldn't know. My mother never spoke of her heritage, though if I had to guess, she might have actually been Welsh." 

"And your father? What about him?" he asked. My smile dropped, replaced by an apathetic expression at mention of fathers.

"I don't have one."

"Everyone has a father, Miss Stuart."

"I don't." 

My eyes became emblazoned with warning as I met his innocent look. He dropped the subject, instead glancing down at Kingsley who was starting to bandage the wound. 

"What about you, Doctor? Where all are you from?" 

"London." replied Kingsley blandly, "But my father was born in York."

Hatch's smile returned, "I was born in Kingston upon Hull. Father is a Commodore in the Navy, I suppose I was meant to serve. It's in my blood." 

I turned away for a moment, just a moment to grab a clean rag to dab away the blood that had formed at the base of the stitches. But glancing up for just a split second, I saw her again. Death stood across the deck with that entertained smirk, watching Hatch with a hungry gleam in her eye. Everything around me seemed to freeze in place, no cannons fired, no screams of pain rang out. I looked over at Hatch, whose smile was still plastered on his face as Kingsley was caught in place tying off the bandage around his abdomen. This boy... this kind, hopeful boy, deserved better than this. 

"No." I said firmly. I knew only she could hear me. Her malicious laugh echoed in my ears again. 

"You think you can tell me no?" 

Earthy brown met hazel, I didn't flinch or shy away. Theodore Hatchet had more to give this world, he was good, he didn't deserve to have such a kind light snuffed out when so much life was left to be lived. 

Death's grin fell away, her expression became disturbingly reserved, "He won't survive the night. Theodore Hatchet is meant to die, nothing can stop that." 

"One thing can. I can convince him to pledge his service to me."

She tilted her head curiously, almost... impressed, "He'll never walk the earth as a man again. He won't be able to say goodbye to his family." 

"He wouldn't have been able to do that if you claimed him either." I quipped, "All I ask is that you give me 'til dawn to try." 

The air hung heavy between us. Things slowly started to move again. Soldiers started to run as if they were moving through molasses, the faint echo of crackling gunfire finally reached my ears. I felt as though my heart would stop beating in that frozen moment, the hardened look of Death making me wonder if she might exchange Hatchet's life for mine. But then she nodded, and her gaze softened ever so slightly.

"Fine." she said, her nose scrunching up a bit in the disgust of having to cave, "You have until first light. But don't expect this to be a regular occurrence. I'm only doing this as a favor to her." 

My brow furrowed, my eyes narrowed, "Her? Who are you talking about?" 

Death's smirk returned, "Who indeed?"

She vanished, and everything started to move all at once, making me flinch as the noises and smells of war flooded my senses. 

"Are you alright, Miss Stuart?" Rupert's gentle baritone interrupted the noise, drawing my attention back to where he and Hatch were sat. My wide eyes and stock-still position must have been off-putting as they both looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted a second head. 

"Yes," I replied, returning to Hatch's side with a rag in my hand, "Just tired, I suppose. It's been a long week for all of us." 

The boy's smile faded a bit, becoming more wistful, "Last I knew, we were breaching the wall. Our cannons can't be more than a hundred meters from the fort. I wager by the end of the day, the Union Jack will be flying over us." 

"Well, I certainly hope so." Rupert said with a stiff, practiced grin, "We've done all we can do for you, Private. Miss Stuart will check on you in a few hours. For now, we'll get you below deck so you can rest." 

Hatch nodded slowly, painfully. A pair of soldiers stationed on board moved toward us when Kingsley waved them over, carrying a stretcher. They gingerly rolled the boy onto the canvas and lifted him with ease, ignoring the pained moans and grunts they elicited. I watched them take step after step until they vanished below deck and my timer officially started.

---------------------------------------------

The boy certainly had a knack for predicting the future, but I wouldn't call him a divination witch just yet. By sundown on the twelfth of October, the French had surrendered, and terms had been agreed upon. It was over. 

As the faintest sliver of a waxing moon offered no light on board the Collie, I sat beside Theodore Hatchet, the only one awake below deck. A chorus of heavy snores echoed through bowels of the ship as we talked in hushed tones. It was tricky, trying to find the right way to propose what I wanted to propose. Most people would curse my name or try to kill me if I blatantly announced that I was, in fact, a witch. To offer to save a young man's life by less than normal means would certainly take some careful wording. 

"In the end, it took my mother three hours to get Louis out of the tree and to this day, he won't take any sweets from her." Hatch said, concluding a rather entertaining story from his primary school days. I smiled softly as he chuckled a bit, though the pain in his side quickly put a stop to it. My smile faltered as I glanced down toward his bandages. Blood was starting to soak through them, he was going to bleed out by morning. 

"I'm not going to make it, am I, Miss Stuart?" he croaked. Looking back into his eyes, they were sad, heartbroken even. I didn't say anything, but I knew he was able to read the expression on my face. He knew. 

"I'm sorry, Hatch." I finally whispered when I couldn't fight the apology forming in my throat, "I'm so sorry." 

He swallowed harshly, blinked hard to fight back the tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes, "Is there nothing you can do?" 

There was no avoiding it now. No beating around the bush or distracting with alternative topics. 

"There is... something." I started, my voice quiet and shaky as I leaned in nervously, "But you would have to trust me entirely. And... you would not be the same person as you are now." 

Confusion replaced his sadness, his sharply defined brow furrowed, "What do you mean?" 

I leaned in, huddling over him to form a shell around my hand as I conjured up a few silvery wisps of my magic in my open palm, "I can offer you an alternative, but-"

"You're a witch?" he whisper-yelled, looking quickly around the deck to make sure no one was listening in. The only sign of life around us was the continuing cacophony of snores. He looked back at me, "Why couldn't you just heal me then?" 

I rolled my eyes; of course that would be the first thing he would ask. I shifted back on the stool by his bed and threaded my fingers together, shaking my head. 

"That's not how it works, Hatch." I said lowly, "Magic isn't a cure to every ailment. And I... I haven't been studying magic long enough to heal wounds as serious as yours. What I'm proposing to you is not healing, it's transformation." 

An inkling of fear crossed his face, "So, w-what you want to turn me into a- a toad? A newt? A cat?" 

I clapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up as his tone started to become loud. I held my hand there for a moment until he calmed down before withdrawing it, but the look on his face was still one of fear and partial disgust. 

"I am offering you the chance to become my associate." I explained, "Every so often, a candidate appears to a witch, usually in times of tragedy or triumph. This candidate can either pledge their service and take on a new form or deny it and..."

"Die?" 

"Or go about their lives as they used to."

"But not me."

"No... not you, Hatch." I said with a heavy sigh, "You're going to die."

Tears sprang forward. He sobbed, despite the pain it was undoubtedly causing him. I sat beside him quietly, my eyes glued to the seeping bloody bandage that was right in my face. He continued to cry for a while, but when his sobs finally ceased, and his chest rhythm fell back to normal, I took a gentle hold of his hand and directed his gaze toward me. 

"Theodore, you need to decide, and you need to do it now." I told him, "You said it yourself; you were always meant to serve. Serve me and I promise you that your life will be long and fulfilling. Refuse and you leave this world without ever having truly lived. What do you want to do?" 

He froze, took a minute or two to think on it. 

Then he nodded. 

"I, Theodore Edmund Hatchet, pledge my service to you, Miss Aislin Stuart, 'til death divides us."

I rose from my seat and set a hand on his chest. His eyes widened as he watched me prepare myself. I knew what he was silently asking me. A small, reassuring smile decorated my face. 

"It won't hurt, I promise." 

Looking back at my hand I muttered the famous incantation under my breath, "Derivare et formare, mutare et ministrare. Derivare et formare, mutare et ministrare."

As I continued to repeat the spell over and over, silvery tendrils wrapped around Hatch's body like long, ghost-like fingers. Slowly, they began to constrict him, encasing him in a shroud of pure moonlight. The pale glow grew brighter and brighter until I could no longer see Hatch beneath it. Glancing around the room, I was shocked that no one had awoken yet, that no one was even disturbed. But then I thought back to my brief interaction with Death earlier in the day. This was a favor, not to me... but to someone else. My mother perhaps? If anyone would be so daring as to court Death, it would be her. 

The light became dimmer, the form it encased became smaller. I continued my recitation without pause until the light was finally gone and the comforting sensation of magic at my fingertips faded away. Where Theodore Hatchet's body had once been, a raven stood, with gleaming obsidian feathers and the faintest smattering of green in its dark, beady eyes. It looked up at me curiously, then stretched out its wings as if it still expected them to be arms. 

"Hello, Hatch." I said with a wide grin, "How do you feel?"

What would have sounded like the call of a raven to any mortal sounded like Hatch's voice to me, clear and strong, as it had been before he was wounded. 

"Strange," he replied, "as if my body isn't really my own. But... it feels... right somehow. Miss Stuart-"

"Please, call me Ash." 

"Ash... was I always meant to become... this?"

I shrugged, "I don't know, Hatch. No one really knows if familiars are born or made. But when the opportunity presents itself to find one... we know it. A part of us can feel it. That sense of duty and service that you carry within you is what makes you special, Hatch. It's what brought you to me. And because of it, you will get to live a very long, very interesting life." 

If a raven could laugh, he would have. Instead, it came out as a cross between a caw and a chuckle, an amalgamation of his former and current forms, "Well, then I suppose I made the right choice. So... my lady, what would you like me to do first?"

I lowered my hand and allowed him to perch on it. With no one left to watch over, I left the lower deck and took Hatch up top to feel the gentle, cool breeze wafting across the bay. I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the chill of autumn bathe me like it had the first night I had set foot in the Colonies. I reached into the pocket of my coat and produced a piece of folded parchment that I had written on two days ago. 

"I'd like you to take a crack at flying." I said, holding up the letter, "I need you to deliver this to someone in Salem, Massachusetts. Are you up for it?" 

Hatch bobbed his head, his new way of nodding, "Of course. May I ask who I have the pleasure of delivering it to?"

"Her name is Agatha Harkness. She's the only living witch in the village, it should be no trouble to find her." 

Hatch took hold of the letter with his broad beak and started to flap his wings. After a few efforts, he lifted off my hand and flew upward, turning south and disappearing against the star-flecked navy sky. Giving a small sigh, I continued to watch the stars until they gave way to the faintest rays of morning light and for the first time in nearly a year, I felt happiness tug at my heartstrings. 

In Astris Supra (Chapter 5: Circulus Insutus Fato, Portas Abditas Resera)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

October 1710

There is no amount or combination of words sufficient enough to capture the true horror of war. Even those who avoid the front face of conflict are subject to the cruelty and tragedy that befalls men at arms. There is heartbreak, sorrow, and a pain so immense that it blankets the battlefield and all that surrounds it like a straitjacket, constricting everything until it chokes both sides of the conflict and creates suffering. 

I had not truly known suffering like that. Not even when I left Salem behind in pursuit of a nobler calling, one that would hopefully allow me to one day return to Agatha Harkness and offer her a solution. At the time, I could only assume that she had remained in Salem, carving out her own place in the town and wreaking havoc on those who dared to get in her way. From what I could gather, based on the cries of newsboys from Boston to Philadelphia, the Witch Trials had come to an end, the town nearly destroyed by their own paranoia. It made me wonder just how much influence Agatha had gained in just a few short months, made me try to recall if I could have had the opportunity to see the signs of her inevitable descent into power mongering. 

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to think that she had done so willingly. The love that I had for her remained, despite my best efforts to suppress it. At night, I dreamed of the days we spent together, when there was no barrier between us, no coven driving a wedge between her and her potential for good. Those memories would bring on what ifs that were as blissful as the feeling of her touch on my skin. What if we had left Salem before her mother had found us out? What if I had told her of my love for her before it was too late? What if we could have been happy simply being together, with no magic to get in the way?

"Lots on your mind this morning, eh, Ms. Stuart?" 

My thoughts were abruptly cut off by the voice of the man I was traveling with. Looking over at him from the back of my horse, I smiled wistfully and nodded. Dr. Rupert Kingsley was a rather handsome and kind young man, who came straight off the boat from London proper, with wide, dark eyes and light brown hair the shade of molten bronze. Had my interests been aligned with his, I likely would have married him as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but he was well aware that our paths were parallel to each other, never meant to cross but rather to guide each other to the right destination. So, as a talented young physician, with no ward or servant, he accepted me as an unofficial student and permitted me to travel with him as he moved from Boston northward along the coast of the colonies and into the wilds of French-controlled Acadia. 

"There's always a lot on my mind, Dr. Kingsley. Today though, the thoughts are just a tad bit louder than usual." I replied, tightening the grip on my reins. My gaze fell from the doctor to my hands, buried in the black mane of my mare.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Rupert said solemnly, "But I'm afraid you're going to have to silence them. There's no place for loud thoughts on the battlefield. If you want to be a doctor, and I know you do, you have to calm your mind and senses. Leave no room for distractions, they only lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death." 

"Of course."

We did not speak again after that, instead allowing the silence to be filled by the beat of our horses' hooves beneath us as we urged them forward to a lively trot and continued on the path northward. It had been a week since we had crossed into Acadia, and with Lieutenant-General Nelson on the move with nearly 2,000 men intent on laying siege to the French at Port Royal, we had little time for dawdling.

The troops were meant to make landfall at their destination any day now, a cohort of doctors and their associates not far behind. From there, it was simply the task of removing the French, an objective that had proven surprisingly difficult for the British forces as of late. But the British were unwilling to cave, which was why Dr. Kingsley thought it the perfect opportunity to 'break me in' to the world of mortal medicine. I was thankful that he remained blissfully unaware of my magic, the late nights spent practicing healing spells on wounded animals or patients that had come into his Boston office seeking extended treatment.

In combination with his medical prowess, I found that my magic was sufficient enough to reduce treatment time by nearly half, even with the most basic of spells. And while my power continued to fluctuate with the phases of the moon, I came to the discovery that at different phases, my spells reacted differently with the wounds and diseases they came into contact with. During a dark moon, I might be able to stop a person's vomiting with a simple digestive potion, but the same potion would have no effect on a patient with the same symptom if the moon was waning or it might make matters worse if administered during the full moon. Trial and error, as crude as it may sound, was the only way I was able to make any headway. The results of said experiments were all jotted down in a small black leather book that was tucked in the belt around my waist, a protective rune hidden just under the cover, making it impossible for anyone but myself to read its contents. 

Kingsley thought nothing of it, mostly because he didn't know that I had anything to do with sudden improvement or worsening of conditions amongst his patients. I intended to keep it that way for as long as I could, or at the very least until the end of this war that Queen Anne was so insistent upon waging. 

We trotted onward, surrounded on either side by pine trees and fog, dense and chilling in the early autumn air. The sun was hidden behind a heavy layer of gray clouds, the smell of petrichor hung over us warning of the impending autumnal rains that were sure to hit the shore at any time. The encampment for doctors and their associates was just past the bend in the road ahead, supposedly nestled amongst the pines beside the sheer cliffs of the Acadian shoreline. The not-so-distant sound of crashing waves roared and receded in its powerful, natural rhythm as we trotted on.

As we moved to the right of the road to take the bend, I felt a sudden presence, ancient and dark, reaching out to me from within the darkness beneath the trees. I tugged on the reins, bringing my mount to a halt as I scanned my surroundings. Under my breath, I muttered, "Mater divina me defendat hodie." 

A seductive chuckle echoed in my ear, though I couldn't tell what direction it came from. My head began to swivel back and forth, trying to find the source, only stopping when I came face-to-face with a woman dressed in hues of black and green. The cloak she wore seemed to fade into wisps of smoke as she stood not but five feet from me, a crown that appeared to crafted from fossilized thorns and obsidian resting atop the hood she wore. She had an entertained half-smirk upon her darkly painted lips, her eyes deep brown as the earth as they met my hazel gaze. 

"Prayers aren't going to get you anywhere, princess. Not here, at least." she said with a bit of a laugh. My horse snorted and began to spook, shuffling away from the woman with a frightened snort. Not wanting to agitate her further, I slid from her back and let my boots land softly on the grass, keeping the reins in one hand as I tilted my head at the woman before me. 

"You seem... familiar to me, and yet I know I've never seen you before in my life." 

"I get that a lot." 

There was a change of the light for only a moment, but in that brief time, I saw that the attractive face of the woman in front of me had changed. The lower half of her skull was exposed, no sinew or flesh to cover it, no blood or muscle to keep it living and the exposure spread down to her throat, where her esophagus sat nestled between two walls of cartilage. Just as quickly as the change appeared, it reverted back, and recognition hit me like a wall of stone. 

"Lady Death." I whispered. 

She smirked again, "In the flesh." 

I should have been terrified, scared to... well, death. But there was something about her that told me there was no need for fear. She wasn't here for me. So why was she standing in front me now?

"Why reveal yourself to me?"

She shrugged and began to circle me and my horse slowly, "There's something about you... you're important. And as much as I hate having Lunar witches walking around, you need to stick around for a while."

"That’s not an answer."

"Are you sure?"

I glared at her. She continued to smile back. When I wouldn’t relent, her grin dropped and she rolled her eyes. 

"You do know that most Lunar witches don’t live longer than a century, right?"

"I’m aware I’m on a doomed path.” I replied, trying to mask the slight tremble of my voice with a sharp edge, “A Lunar witch comes around maybe once every three hundred years. They never live long enough to teach the next one. Though I know you’re well aware of that."

"And yet, here I am, telling you that you’re the odd woman out."

"Why? What do you have to gain from my survival?"

Death scoffed at me, as if the whole concept of existence was amusing to her, "Nothing, actually. I'll lose more than I gain with you in the picture. But greater forces in this universe seem insistent on keeping you alive, so alive you’ll stay for now. But I must say, I'm looking forward to checking in on you over the next few centuries." 

I paled, there was no way to hide it, "What do mean?" 

"You're going into war, Aislin!" she exclaimed, as if it weren't obvious, "My favorite stomping grounds! We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I wager. Though I'm sure you'll be sick of me soon enough." 

She stopped her circling and looked to me full on, the intensity of her earthy eyes feeling as though they could bury me beneath the soil with just a hard enough glance. The around me seemed to shift, the petrichor smell growing steadily stronger. With a final smile, she offered me a sultry wave and said, "Te veo." 

And suddenly, I was alone in the clearing.

--------------------------------------------------

The doctors that had been summoned to serve did not take kindly to women in their presence. Of course, they had to tolerate the caretakers who sacrificed their white linens to the spatters of blood and fragments of flesh, but to have a woman stand among them as a student of the art, was far less palatable. After all, women had no place amongst the respectable ranks of surgeons and physicians, nor did the Iroquois healers who offered their services as their own warriors joined the British forces gathering on the coast, though given the choice, I'd have taken care from the Cayuga over Charles Cromwell any day. 

Kingsley found me as I led my horse on foot through camp aimlessly with my saddle pack and bedroll tucked under my free arm. He had taken no notice of my sudden absence, nor had he been subject to a surprise meeting with Death herself, but simply kept on riding to camp, claiming his large-framed tent and a much smaller one beside it. 

"Ah, did you get lost, Miss Stuart?" he asked me with a charming grin, "Or were you simply taking in the scenery?" 

"A bit of both I suppose." I answered honestly. I took my horse to the hitching post and tied her there, allowing her access to the trough and a bale of fresh hay before turning back to the young doctor. "Have I missed anything?" 

He shook his head, "Nothing at all. Lieutenant-General Nelson won't make landfall 'til midday on the 'morrow, at which time we'll board a smaller vessel and cross the channel to wait for incoming wounded and dead. I should warn you though, this siege may take weeks, months even. You still have time to return to Boston-"

I held up a hand to silence him, sending a sharp glare his way, "As much as I respect your offer, Rupert, I simply must decline. Despite the maliciously loud whispers I've heard about this camp already, I am most certainly needed here, so here I will stay. I do not shy away from the sword when it is flashed in my face." 

Kingsley's grin softened in understanding, a small nod rocked his head back and forth, "Spoken like a true fellow of medical academia, Miss Stuart. I suggest you take the evening to study, and if you're so inclined, I'd write to your family. Simply because we bear the caduceus, it does not mean we are immune from cannon and gun fire. You'll find all you need for the night in your tent."

Overhead, the skies finally broke, the satisfying drip of rainfall pattering against the trees and the waxed canvas tents. A few of the horses snorted in discontent but continued to eat away at the hay in front of them. As the heavy drops landed on our shoulders and heads, chilling us to the bone, we gave each other a silent farewell and retreated beneath the cover of our tents for the night. While I had no doubt that Kingsley's tent boasted all the necessary equipment he would need for operations and examinations, not to mention cigars and cheap liquor to numb his mind to the horrors incoming, mine was much reserved, containing only a camp bed with several woolen blankets, a pair of white cover aprons, and a small bedside table with a pair of lit candles.

Rupert must have placed the small stack of parchment on the table, along with an inkwell and quill. There was no way the other doctors would have extended such kindness to me, not when they didn't even want me there. Heaving a loud sigh, I dropped my bedroll and saddle pack onto the ground at my feet. I slumped onto the camp bed and let my head fall into my hands, my interaction with Death replaying over and over again in my mind.

She had told me that I was important, though at the moment, I couldn't possibly see how. And the way she had looked at me, as though I were a fresh piece of bloodied meat and she was a ravenous wolf... it was unsettling, though I suppose she always intended to be. 

"Oh, Divine Mother, what have you gotten me into?" I whispered, so softly that even I could barely hear myself. I dropped my hands and let my eyes wander back to the parchment on the small wooden table. I don't know how long I sat there staring at it, but by the time I had come to the conclusion to write, the gentle shower outside had increased to a torrential downpour, the weight of the water pounding against the roof of the tent as I dipped the quill into the murky black ink. As I took hold of the topmost sheet, I paused, wondering if sending a letter would make any difference. But then I thought of her, and the doubt melted away. I put the quill to the parchment and began to write in my most elegant script. 

Darling Agatha,

I hope that this letter finds you in suitable spirits after we departed on such egregious terms. Not that I fear for your well-being; I know you are certainly capable of taking care of yourself. I write to inform you that I have undertaken a task most unbecoming for women of our talents and station, serving as the student and assistant of one Doctor Rupert Kingsley of Boston. We, in response to the request made by the British Crown, have joined a cohort of other physicians and surgeons at a posting in Acadia, not thirty miles from the French stronghold of Port Royal, and are awaiting the order to cross the channel to provide medical assistance during the attempted siege of the fort. 

Having not heard from you in well over a decade, I am certain that you did not intend to seek me out again, and in truth, I was hesitant to write. But I am told that we, like the soldiers who will march onto the shore, will be subject to the shock and awe of war, and at the risk of walking into the next world without having settled the grievances between us, I found the courage to pen this letter. 

You may no long care for me, you may no longer wish to think of me, but I think of you often. And I shall be thinking of you on the 'morrow, when cannons roar overhead and the blood of dying men coats my hands. I shall be thinking of the days we spent in the peaceful solitude of the forest, relishing in the quiet hours that we spent together. I shall be thinking of you not as someone I once knew, but as someone I know and care for. For a witch should never abandon her coven and I, in my own anger and fear, have abandoned you.

It is my hope that upon my, with any luck inevitable, survival, that we may cross paths again, and I will once again be able to relish in peace with you as we once did. Until then, I shall think of you, darling, and hope that you think of me. 

With all my love, 

Aislin Stuart

I set the quill down and folded the parchment carefully once the ink had dried. Muttering a simple sending incantation, I lifted the letter to the candle on the left and let one corner light, before repeating the gesture with the candle on the right. I gripped the parchment tight between my fingers as the flames inched closer to my hand until I could no longer hold it. As I released my grip, I whispered, "Agatha Harkness." 

The ashes scattered in an invisible wind, drifting beneath the canvas walls of the tent and carrying my message to wherever she was. I lay back on my bed, and started at the roof in the eerie quiet, only drifting off to sleep when thunder finally began to roll in.  

In Astris Supra (Chapter 4: Ardeat et Coire Cum Vera et Gloria Tua Erit)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

March 1693

I should have known this day would come, though in truth, I almost preferred the not knowing. It allowed me nearly two full years with her, blissful and beautiful despite the challenges that arose from it. After that night when Agatha came to me bruised and vulnerable, we came to the consensus that only when the moon was at its peak and its pit would see seek me out. On those nights, we attempted to break through the barrier that divided her conscious mind and the wild form of her magic. But whether it was her reluctance to embrace the magic she possessed, or her fear that she would erupt in a deadly display of raw power, she struggled to cross the threshold into true control.

I couldn't blame her for it; most witches couldn't truly master self-control without decades or even centuries of careful, meticulous training, and that was with a coven that was willing to teach them. My knowledge of the art was barely a fraction of the knowledge that existed, I didn't have the benefit of a coven or even a mother to pass such knowledge down to me. I gave Agatha all that I had to offer. 

But it wasn't enough. 

All the while, my suspicion that the song in my heart would grow louder and louder until it was too much to bear became a proven fact. I couldn't tell exactly when it was that I realized that I loved her. It could have been any given day, even a day when she wasn't there. On those days in particular, when her presence was most desired, I had resorted to burying myself in the advancement of healing magic in an attempt to drown out the silence that surrounded me.

On one particularly warm, spring night, Agatha gifted me a copy of Medicinae Magicae that she had 'found' amongst her mother's old, untouched stacks. I had since decorated every page with scribbled notes and edits throughout its formerly pristine pages. Notes on adjustments to dosage and ideal casting times littered the pages, interwoven between the printed lines like threads in a blanket. The intricately detailed sketches of plants and anatomical structures were fascinating to study, their artistry refined from centuries of practice. The studying of benefits and detriments associated with healing magic and the influence of the lunar cycle became an enjoyable pastime to fill the void that was left behind when Agatha departed. 

But it wasn't enough. 

Evanora Harkness became increasingly suspicious of me as Agatha and I carried on with our secret society of study. Though she never once came to confront me, I could sense the encroaching presence of her coven around my camp. All of them, every last witch in her charge had their sights set upon me. In the end, it wasn't my teaching, nor my companionship that altered the course of the Salemites, but their own fear and hubris. Ultimately, their end was brought down upon them like the heavy strike of a hammer at the forge, though they had refused to see it as such right 'til the very end.

--------------------------------------------------

On the sixth day of March in the year 1693, I awaited the arrival of Agatha to begin our session beneath a dark sky. No moon would shine that night, and as such my power and my own physical form felt fragile and exposed. Even the runes that defined my protection spell seemed to waver as the black ink sky overhead cast the world in complete and utter darkness. It was a fitting exposition for what would come to pass that night and a grim shadow casting itself upon what would arise in the aftermath. 

The air was still that night, almost disgustingly so. By the gentle glow of the fire in front of me, I was able to make out the faintest silhouettes of the trees closest to my hidden circle, though incapable of discerning what lay beyond it. The cracking of an occasional twig, the rustle of leaves just out of sight, I found myself jumping at each and every sound that reached my ears.

Something wasn't right.

I could feel a shift in my very soul, as if the world was about to be turned on its head. But it wasn't until I saw the faint orange glow far off to the south, nearer to the edge of the wood. The distant sound of shouts and jeers barely reached me, though in the recent weeks, such a sound was not unusual. The mortals of Salem had finally reached the pinnacle of pure hatred, according to Agatha. Mortals accusing mortals of witchcraft, burning each other at the stake over the false words of children who thought it a funny game, it was despicable. 

But then the orange glow of flame shifted to vibrant blue before returning to its original state. I realized then that it was not mortals on the rampage, but the Salemite coven. My encampment was abandoned in an instant, traded for the dark void of the forest. As I ran past toward the source of light, I created some of my own with what little power I had reserved, a gentle white orb that floated just above my hand as I navigated felled logs and hanging branches. I ignored the sting of scrapes as I ran past thorn bushes and brambles, my feet carrying me faster and faster toward whatever waited at the forest's edge. They came to a halt just before the tree line ended, as did my heart.

Evanora Harkness was stood before a pyre, the hood of her cloak drawn back as the rest of her coven formed a circle around her. Flaming torches lit the ring in an ominous glow casting shadows in an odd light across the ground and obscuring the faces of every witch in the circle.

Except for one. 

There was a woman tied to the pyre, bound with rope and unable to move, fear present in her eyes. Her pristine, blue eyes. 

"No." I whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would draw unwanted attention. Agatha was the one tied to the pyre, looking down at her mother in desperation as the older witch met her gaze with disdain. I snuffed the light in my palm and dared to creep closer, hoping to pick up on whatever exchange of words would come from this heinous act. 

Agatha struggled against the ropes, her hair mussed and wild as she tried to desperately break free to no avail. Evanora took a step toward her daughter, the sour expression on her face more than obvious. My eyes locked onto the older witch as she began to speak. Her tone was macabre as though she were announcing the death of the King himself. She might as well have. 

"Agatha Harkness," she said clear and crisp, "are you a witch?" 

Agatha paused her struggling to answer her mother's question with a wary glance, "Yes... I am a witch." 

"Yet you have betrayed your coven." 

"I have not!" Agatha argued, but it was no use. Evanora raised a hand to silence her.

"You have stolen knowledge above your age and station. You have sought out knowledge from an enemy and refused to obey the orders of your superiors. You practice the darkest of magic."

"Damn it." I muttered to myself, shaking my head to fight the tears that were starting to form. This was my fault. I had allowed my own desires to put her at risk and for what? To encourage her to be unafraid of her power? To have even the most minute possibility of love in my life for the first time, even if it was fleeting? Look at what that had gotten her; tied to a stake, about to be burned by those who should have nurtured and loved her most. 

"I know..." Agatha paused, her eyes scanning the coven rapidly before they shifted up to the tree line for some means of escape, until at last they came to a stop. She had seen me, watching from the border of the forest, and in her eyes I saw true fear, the type of fear that grows only from the realization that your time is truly running out, that there was going to be an end to your story. She lingered on me for only a second before turning back to her mother, finding her voice once more. "I know nothing of these crimes! I- I swear it!"

"Enough deception!" snapped Evanora. Her words fell heavy from her mouth, but I could see that Agatha had begun to brace against her binds, that she was preparing herself for what was to come. 

"I did not break your rules," she explained, "they simply bent to my power." 

Her coven ignored her, beginning the ritualistic chant of what sounded like a banishment spell, or maybe even a killing curse. I started to creep closer, seeing that the Salemites were solely focused on Agatha now. 

"No! I cannot control it! I-" she paused again, her chest rising and falling in desperate, heavy pants, "If only you would teach me!" 

The chanting grew louder and louder, the swelling of power around them growing along with it. Agatha began to plead for help, looking for anyone amongst her coven that would offer her aid. 

"Please! Help me!" 

No help came from them as her eyes flew back to mine. My heart pounded in my chest. Her eyes begged me silently to do something, anything, to save her. But my power was limited beneath the dark moon, I wouldn't be able to stop them. 

"Please, Mother!" she cried, focusing back on Evanora, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Please! I can be good!"

Her mother's eyes darkened, the scowl on her face grew even sharper. I didn't believe it was possible for a woman to look so cruel. She shook her head slowly and replied, "No, you cannot." 

She joined in the chant, swirls of blue magic dancing off the fingertips of every witch in the coven. I couldn't stop them. Tears were flowing down my face now as I tried to get to Agatha, but I wasn't quick enough to cross the clearing. Beams of bright blue power came from each direction striking Agatha from every angle. I skidded to a halt, cemented to the ground, watching as everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Agatha screamed in pain as the magic began to course through her veins, never having experienced the brunt of pure power like this before. But after a moment, the pained expression on her face began to melt away, the rigidity of her body seemed to shift to relaxation. The magic's color seemed to reverse in on itself, changing from blue to purple, the same color that Agatha's magic expressed itself as. The longer I watched, the more I realized that while the coven's magic had originally been blasted at her, the power, the very essence of their magic was being absorbed into her.

A few others seemed to notice this as well and tried to pull away, tried to break the connection, but they found that they were caught by some invisible snare. Agatha had hold of them like horses hitched to the plow, taking not only their power, but their very essence of life.

Agatha's cries were replaced by the cries of her coven, the cries of her mother. My haze suddenly faded as I came to the conclusion that, without interference, Agatha would kill each and every one of them. I started to run toward her, my heart racing. 

"Agatha, stop! Let them go!" I screamed, trying to reach her before it was too late. But the spread of her magic was too quick, reaching back toward the witches around her like spokes on a wheel before severing the connection entirely in a burst of violet energy. The sudden surge of strength that had passed into Agatha, allowed her to break free of her ropes with a simple raise of her hands, a near euphoric look on her face as she let a few heavy breaths. Around her, every witch in her coven crumpled to the earth, their skin gray and shriveled, like mummified corpses, expressions of terror on each of their faces, even Evanora's. 

I hesitated at the edge of the ring of bodies, looking around at them in shock. I ran a hand over my hair as I took in the sight before me, breathing out the words, "Oh, darling, what have you done?"

With a sort of swagger to her step, Agatha sauntered down off the pyre, an empowered look in her eyes as she knelt before her mother and plucked a brooch off of her cloak and snapped it to her own dress. 

"Do you realize what you've done?" I asked her, my voice strained. "Do you realize that if you go down this path, I cannot help you?"

For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw sadness flash in her crystal blue gaze, but it was quickly replaced by a lust, not for love or reconciliation, but for power.

"I know." she answered, though her tone was quiet. 

I shook my head, wiping fresh tears off my cheeks before looking back at her, "I told you that the choice wouldn't be easy, darling. It seems you've chosen the path of least resistance." 

"No, dear. I believe that it's chosen me." 

I took a final look at the ring of dead witches, then back to the woman that I had fallen for. Curses be to the Divine Mother, I could not stop myself from loving her still. Her path had been laid before her, and for now, at least, that path diverged from mine. 

"I'm leaving this place." I told her, turning northward to avoid meeting her eye again, "I'm limited here. My research requires me to seek the aid of others well-versed in healing magic."

"So, that's it then?" Agatha asked me incredulously, "What we have is over?"

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. My hands clenched into fists. I could never let her go. With a halfway glance over my shoulder, I shook my head slowly. 

"I believe our paths will cross again, Agatha. But when that day comes, will you be the same as you once were?"

"Will you?"

I chuckled under my breath, hiding the pain in my chest behind an entertained smirk, "I suppose we'll have to wait and see." 

And I walked away, allowing the tears to fully stream down my face when I was far enough from her that she wouldn't hear my broken sobs. Returning quickly to my camp, I collected my books, removed my protective runes, and extinguished the fire, leaving all other worldly possessions behind as a decaying monument to the past.

In Astris Supra (Chapter 3: Hora Tenebrissima, Potentiam Tuam, Terrenam et Divinam, Excita)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

A fortnight. Fourteen days of cold, eerily quiet nights, and days filled with the turning of pages. Every basic spell studied, every school of magic reviewed. Except for one. Mine. The last page of Carminum et Magicarum was reserved for it, a magic that is so rare that hardly anything is known about it. The pads of my fingertips traced over the sketch of a full moon at the top of the page as my hazel eyes looked to the script beneath it.

Lunar Magic

A rare and difficult magic, Lunar magic is controlled by the phases of the moon and the position of the stars. Witches who are attuned to this particular form of magic can be considered worldly and empathetic but are often prone to fluctuating moods that are reflective of the lunar phases. Through their connection to the moon, Lunar witches are known to have their power wane and wax with it, reaching highs and lows with the full and dark moons.

Due to its rarity, the particular strengths and weaknesses of Lunar magic are unknown, though previous practitioners of this school of magic have shown promise in the art of healing and-

The crunching of frosted leaves interrupted my reading. I quickly tucked my spell book beneath my cloak and rose from my seat on the stump. It had to be her. It just had to be.

"I'd be lying if I said I was surprised it took you so long to come ba-"

As I turned with a smile growing on my face, I was met with a look of terror. The delicate face of Agatha Harkness was mottled and bruised, her lip split and swollen, caked with dried blood. Her blue eyes were brimming with horror and welling with tears. 

My smile dropped.

I left the circle. 

"What happened?" I whispered gently once I had stopped close enough to her that I could take in the full extent of damage done. The bruises that lined her jaw and blotched her cheeks were in varying stages of color, some were purple and black, others were yellowing. The cut through her lip couldn't have been more than a few hours old though, the blood though clotted was still relatively fresh. "Tell me." 

Part of me already knew. The reluctance to meet my eye, the hesitation to accept even the lightest touch when I moved to observe her closely. But I needed to hear it from her to be absolutely certain of it.

"My mother knows that I came to see you." she whispered back, her voice restrained and cracked as if she hadn't spoken much in the last few days, "She doesn't know why, but... sh-she had me confined to the house."

"Did she do this?" I couldn't resist reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear as I asked. When she didn't answer, I inched myself closer and cupped her face with the gentlest touch. Raising her gaze to mine, my heart shattered like glass in my chest. "Agatha, darling, did she do this to you?" 

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came from it. I didn't need it though, the look in her eyes was enough to confirm it. Releasing her face, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the circle of stones. Uttering under my breath words of passage, she walked with me into my camp and allowed me to seat her in front of the fire. Her shoulders began to shake, though not from the cold as the tears that had been pooling spilled forth, staining her cheeks. Her hands clung to the wool of the cloak she had given me as she buried her face into my side and sobbed. I did my best to envelope her from where I stood, running a hand through her long, dark locks as I hushed her gently. 

After a few minutes passed, Agatha pulled away and took a shaky breath, wrapping her arms around her waist to provide some self-comfort. I carefully, cautiously pulled away to fetch the pail of water I had collected from the nearby stream that morning and a clean rag. Returning to her side quickly, I knelt before her and dipped a corner the rag into the pail. 

Looking back at her with kindness in my eyes and anger in my heart, I said, "This will most certainly hurt, but let's see if we can get you cleaned up a bit." 

She nodded once, minute and quick, allowing me to reach up and take hold of her chin before raising the rag to the dried blood that had dribbled down in it. She winced at the chill of the water being pressed to her skin, but it warmed quickly, and she settled into the pressure as I wiped the blood away. 

"I didn't mean to steal your drinking water for the day." She muttered as I refreshed the rag. I chuckled softly, the corners of my mouth curving up. 

"I'll get more, love. It's not far of a walk." 

Her brow furrowed as I brought the rag to the split in her lip. When I touched it to her, she hissed but didn't pull away, allowing me to press it against her mottled skin. After a brief sting, she relaxed, almost leaning into the cool sensation. A thought occurred to me as I watched her eyes flutter shut, and the creases of stress and fear melt away. 

'Previous practitioners of this school of magic have shown promise in the art of healing...'

"You're not going back there." I told her after a few minutes of quiet had passed by. "Not tonight, at least." 

"My mother-"

"Will be dealt with accordingly." I assured her. "For now, hold this to your wound. I have an idea as to taking care of those bruises for you, but we'll have to wait for nightfall." 

-----------------------------------------------------

When the golden hour of the day had passed and night began to settle upon us, I felt a surge of power well up within me. The moon would be at its fullest on that night, bathing the wood in its pale silvery glow. Its serenity, its strength was unmatched when at its peak. It made me feel indestructible, as though I could take a thousand bullets to the chest and carry on without pause. Such power was intoxicating, and it was the first time I felt that I could allow myself to express the serendipity that it provided. Even during my time in Kamar-Taj, when I had been allowed to wield my power without punishment or retaliation, I had not felt free enough to take in and release the full extent of my magic at its peak. But here, in the presence of no one other than Agatha Harkness, I gave myself permission to be free for the first time in my life. 

As the moon's light became brighter and stronger, I flipped through the pages of my spellbook, searching for the simplest of healing spells, finding it in a matter of moments. Glancing over at Agatha, I saw that the swelling had gone down tremendously over the past few hours, but her bruises remained bright and blossoming, the fear in her eyes still lingered in trace amounts. I scanned over the incantation and reached for the fresh pail of water that I had collected and carried over to where Agatha had remained. Collecting a cup, I filled it to the brim and held it to the nearest ray of silvery moonlight. 

"Vulnera ad ab curare. Vulnera ad ab curare. Vulnera ad ab curare." 

I had seen this spell cast before but it was never useful for anything more than a minor cut. But when I finished my incantation and looked down at the water sitting in my cup, I was shocked to see that it had begun to glow as white as polished pearls. The water had never glowed before, not when other witches performed the spell, at least. Turning away from the moonlight, I offered the cup to Agatha.

"Drink, darling." I ordered gently. She did as she was asked, the glow of the spell spreading across her cheeks like the blood in her veins. A few swallows later, the freshest of her bruises had vanished, as had the older ones, replaced by the pristine fair tone that she usually possessed. Another swallow and the split in her lip began to seal itself together, drawing any remaining flecks of blood back into her body before closing off entirely. 

I watched in amazement as Agatha set the cup down and met my eye firmly for the first time that day.

"How do I look?" she asked me. 

"Absolutely beautiful." I replied without pause.

A hesitant, faint smile painted itself upon her lips, the beginnings of a blush dusted the sharp line of her cheeks. I couldn't believe it. Such a simple spell had been made powerful enough to undo two weeks' worth of abuse and damage. What more could come of this magic? What else could I accomplish in the centuries that I had yet to live? 

"Are you alright, Ash?" 

Her melodic voice brought me out of my head and back into reality. She was looking at me curiously, like I had spontaneously grown a second head. I grinned and started to laugh, tears of revelation brimming in my eyes. 

"Yes, yes, I- I'm fine!" I said as I wiped my eyes dry with the cuff of my white cotton shirt, "I just... I believe I've found the path I'm meant to follow. Don't worry, I'm not giving up on you, darling. I made you a promise and I mean to keep it. But this... this healing magic... it might just change everything."

I returned to my place on my knees before her, my hands cupping her face with the same gentle touch I had given her earlier. My heart fluttered at the slight parting of her perfect, pink lips. The glow of the moonlight in her eyes reflected back at me like frosted glass, delicate and precious. She was perfect in every possible way. 

And I refused to believe otherwise.

"We'll resume your lessons tomorrow." I told her, running my thumb across her cheek. "You and me, darling. A coven of two, I swear it."

Her expression suddenly became unreadable to me. The pounding in my chest grew louder and louder. My mind wandered toward the thought of what she would taste like, what her lips would feel like pressed against mine. 

'Intoxicating,' the voice in my head whispered, 'just like your power.' 

I swallowed sharply and the haziness in my head went away as soon as I broke eye contact. My hands dropped from her face and took hold of the delicate hands folded in her lap. 

"Ash," she breathed. I froze. The desire was certainly there; to lean in just a bit further and tell her without words that my heart had begun to sing her name. But now wasn't the time, not when her coven was undoubtedly considering the idea of killing me for teaching her to control her power. Not when I had only truly known her for three days.

I pulled away and rose to my feet. Running a hand over my face, I let my eyes land anywhere but on Agatha, knowing that if I were to meet her gaze again tonight, I would not be able to resist the pull that was growing stronger by the second. 

"You should rest." I told her, turning toward the large canvas tent that would easily fit two for the night. "You can sleep on the camp bed. There are furs and quilts for you as well." 

Pulling back the waxed canvas, I slipped inside and grabbed a fire striker from the top of a crate at the foot of my bed. Opening the small oil lantern beside it, I struck the flint, lighting the wick and closed off the chamber. The pale orange glow illuminated the tent, casting dancing shadows against the walls of the tent as I gathered a spare rabbit fleece and a heavy wool blanket before removing my cloak and laying it across the browning grass. 

A hand took hold of my wrist as I moved to lay down. I didn't resist as it pulled me to the camp bed and set me down. Agatha's hand remained fixed to my wrist, though I still made the effort to avoid meeting her gaze. 

"I- I don't..." she tried, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Against my better judgement, I glanced up at her. My gaze didn't tear away from hers as I pulled her down onto the bed beside me. 

"I understand." I uttered, lacing our fingers together. Gently, I lowered myself, and by extension her, onto the bed. She pressed into my side, letting her head rest in the crook of my neck, our hands still joined. "Just rest, love. Just rest." 

In Astris Supra (Chapter 2: Ignem, Aquam, Terram et Aerem Colligite Sorores)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

Quick note:

Ugh, my high school Latin skills are THRIVING with the pronunciation of spells in this show! Proper, classical, Latin, the way the Romans spoke it is very different from the Latin spoken by the Catholic church today. So, here's my 30-second Duolingo lesson for you:

V is pronounced like W J is replaced with an I and pronounced as a Y C is a hard consonant, pronounced like a K

"The key to self-control is knowing what tethers you to this world, more specifically, to this dimension. You must center yourself and locate this tether in order to anchor yourself and make your magic more malleable. Does that make any sense?" 

Agatha observed me carefully as I paced back and forth across from her. This was the second time she had sought me out, the first time we would begin to scratch the surface of controlling whatever dark magic she possessed. I would not allow her to cast within the confines of my compound. The runes of a protection spell surrounded us cutting off the magic of anyone other than myself until Agatha was able to better control herself. 

"I suppose it does." she replied, nodding slowly, "But what would a tether be exactly? Is it a person, a place?" 

"It can be anything. A person close to you, a place of importance to you, even an object that holds meaning for you. But whatever it is, it must be important to you and you alone." I stopped pacing to face her directly, the flickering flames of the campfire at my feet casting shadows across my form, "Do you have anything like that?" 

She faltered, wracking her brain for something, anything that could have been substantial enough to keep anchored in the material world. But the look she gave me, the sadness upon the realization that there was nothing, twisted my gut worse than any wound. Stepping around the fire, I knelt before her and set a hand upon her knee. 

"That's alright, darling. For now, I will act as your temporary anchor. Once you find something more substantial, we'll transition you over to it." 

Reaching up with my free hand, I set it upon her cheek and locked eyes with her. The coolness of her skin in the biting autumn air was surprisingly soothing against my calloused hand and she seemed to relish in the contact. My guess was that she had not been touched often by anyone, not even her mother. 

"Close your eyes." I instructed her softly. She did as I asked, letting her eyes flutter shut as she leaned gently into my palm. "Focus only upon my voice. Breathe with me." 

I inhaled through my nose and she mirrored me, before exhaling slowly from the mouth. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

"Now, I want you to picture in your mind, your power in a concrete form. All magic is fluid, all magic can be shaped to suit its user. But when you concentrate on it, your own magic will take a unique form. What form does your power take, darling?"

Her brow furrowed as she tried to picture it in her mind, after a moment her jaw clenched. I gave her knee a squeeze. "Don't be frightened by the magnitude. I know it can be a lot, but you can push through it. Now, tell me, Agatha, what do you see?" 

"A vortex," she replied through gritted teeth, "a violent, vortex of energy, swallowing everything it can." 

"It will not consume you. Remind yourself of that." I told her, my grip on her tightening ever so slightly, "It is your power. It does not control you, you control it."

"I- I can't! It's too strong!" Her hand set itself on top of mine and gripped it strongly, her nails digging into my skin. 

I kept my voice calm and even, despite the death grip she had on me. "Yes, you can, Agatha, you just need to focus." 

"No, no, I can't!" Her eyes flew open as she let out a startling gasp. Beneath the hand upon her face, I felt her pulse racing, her face had become clammy and coated in a sheen layer of sweat. 

"It's alright." I assured, running my thumb across her cheek, "You're alright, love. Take a deep breath."

Slowly, regretfully, I pulled away, reaching for the pitcher of water I had collected from the nearby stream and poured her a cup. Moving to sit beside her, I set a hand upon her back, watching closely as she took the cup with shaky hands. 

"Drink. It'll help." I instructed gently. She took a small sip and let out a sigh of relief, letting her eyes close once more as though she were trying to erase what had just happened in her mind. "You did well for a first attempt. Like I said, it will take time. Most witches and sorcerers are unable to define their magic without centuries of dedication and training." 

"I... I can't..." Agatha's voice trailed away as her gaze became detached and distant. Her hands curled tightly into fists in her lap. I sighed and set myself back against my palms, looking up at the sky as it transitioned from dusk to night. The faint spattering of stars was brighter out here than it was in Salem proper, but not as bright as it could have been, as it should have been. 

"You can." I said, "But it won't be easy. Ultimately, you will have to make a choice: control what does not want to be controlled or be consumed by it."

"Seems like an easy choice to make." 

"Until it isn't." My eyes fell away from the sky above and landed on the earth below. "It is never an easy choice. But it is one we all as witches must make."

A silence fell over us, comfortable yet strained, before Agatha cleared her throat and glanced back at me, "Can I ask you something?"

I nodded, my gaze still fixated on the ground. 

"Why did you come here? Truly?"

I lifted my gaze slowly toward the forest ahead of me, seeing memories flash before me as if they were concurrent with the ticking clock. My chest tightened, though not pleasantly, my breath picked up in pace. 

"To find solitude." My answer was quick, instinctive, and far too obvious. Agatha could see right through it.

Taking hold of my arm, she forced me to face her directly, meeting her clear, blue gaze with glimmer of fear in my own. She didn't need to speak; I knew what she wanted of me. 'Tell me the truth. Please just tell me the truth.'

"My mother cast me out." It came as barely a whisper, though I knew she heard every word. "Five years ago, I refused to allow myself to be corrupted by her dark purpose. She called me a disappointment, threw me into the street and drew a ring of warding around her home so I could not return. I had read about students of the Mystic Arts of Kamar-Taj hidden in the Himalayas, so I used the full extent of my power to cast a teleportation spell to bring me there and seek the aid of the Ancient One. I remained their student until eight months ago, when I gave myself the surname Stuart, departed Kamar-Taj, and made my way here to forge a new path, distinct from the one my mother had wanted me to follow." 

The truth was laid out in front of Agatha now, plain for her to see. I could not, would not hide from her, not when she was so willing to expose her vulnerabilities to me. Her hands reached for mine, encasing them both in a gentle clasp. She did not speak, rather rested her head upon my shoulder, silently telling me she understood. I found myself leaning into her, shutting my eyes and taking in a long, deep breath. She smelled like wood smoke, rosemary, and tilled earth, a combination so intoxicating to me that I would have gladly surrendered myself to Death for another chance to take it in. Time passed slowly as we sat there in the cold silence of the woods, letting the stars pass over us in their never-ending journey.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

She left sometime in the night, when I couldn't exactly say. But she had managed to bring me to my bedroll and throw a ragged blanket over my sleeping form before slipping away. I would not see her again for near a fortnight, during which I found myself surprisingly empty. In truth, I had been empty in heart and soul for far longer, though at the time, my own youthful naivety masked it. 

What had begun as a desperate attempt to remain within the confines of my own solitude had quickly shifted and molded itself into a desire for companionship, for her companionship. My camp was too still without Agatha in it, my days too quiet. So, I attempted to create a bit noise, so to speak, by combing through the tattered spell book I had managed to tuck away from my mother before she threw me out like last week's mold-covered bread. The worn and water-stained pages were brittle and fragile, even the lightest touch threatened to rip them apart as I pulled the cracked leather cover back. 

Carminum et Magicum printed against the dark brown cow's hide above an etch of the Triple Goddess. Oh, the legacy this book carried within it. Passed down from my mother's mother's mother into my hands. Hidden amongst pages and smudged ink were the secrets to understanding and controlling all aspects of magic. With as feather light a touch as I could muster, I flipped through the pages slowly, working through each section day by day, glancing over the basics of conjuration, transmutation, and enchantment before settling on the schools of magic. 

"Alchemy, Divination, Protection..." I muttered as I continued to flip pages until my eyes settled on what I was looking to start with.

"Dark magic is an often overestimated and overly scrutinized form of magic drawn to witches who are continually overlooked and underestimated. This magic is wild and difficult to control, which has led to the wrong assumption that it is inherently dangerous and deadly. Witches who wield dark magic are more willing to solve their problems through morally questionable means, though this does not automatically make them morally questionable themselves. The witch who is able to harness Dark magic is not only powerful, but skilled, and with proper education and discipline, can utilize and combine other schools of magic with it, including but not limited to Illusory, Divination, and Alchemical magics. The most coveted and dangerous of tomes pertaining to Dark magic and its spells is the Darkhold, written by the first demon Chthon, in the early days of existence. While several copies of this book exist, the original copy has been lost for millennia, and for good reason." 

I turned the page and froze. On the browning page, in fading black ink, was a sketch. A sketch of a book. Of the book.

"So," I whispered to myself, "that's how you found it, you bitch." 

With the lightest bit of pressure, the page tore away from its binding, giving a soft rip as it fell away from its companions. A surge of emotion slammed into me like a tidal wave: anger, frustration... guilt. Had I been just a tad more curious in my younger years, just a bit more rebellious, could I have prevented what became of my mother? Then reality came crashing back down. I shook my head, fighting back against the welling tears that stung the corners of my eyes. 

"Not that I would have been able to stop you." 

The paper crumpled in my hand, nearly turning to dust in my palm before I threw it into the campfire in front of me. Staring at it as it turned to ash, I could have sworn that the flames closest to it shifted from blue and white to violet and black before the page became nothing more than a memory in the back of my mind. 

I looked to the next page and continued to read.

"The Darkhold is known to influence and corrupt any who utilize it for an extended period of time. Such corruption can be observed as blackening of the fingertips, obsession over the book, and, in extreme conditions, severe mental imbalance. It is advised that any witch seeking the Darkhold abandon their search, lest they wish to be consumed by the darkest of evils. There is no reversal for the corruption of the Darkhold on a witch's soul. It is an absolute condition that cannot be altered or reduced. Any attempt to break the influence of the Darkhold has proven to be a colossal failure, resulting in death and destruction each and every time." 

In Astris Supra (Chapter I: Viam Quaeris ad Omnia Foeda et Pulchra)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC (Aislin Stuart)

Read it on AO3

Summary: "No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace." - H.P. Lovecraft Agatha Harkness is certainly not commonplace. Nor is the witch who came to Salem one cold night in the autumn of 1691. And when the two of them collide, the world will certainly never be the same. But will it be for better or for worse?

Salem, Massachusetts 1691

The stars were different in Salem. They weren't as dim as they were over Shrewsbury, though they still seemed restrained, like they couldn't shine as bright as they wanted to when the children of the Divine Mother were so restrained themselves. And the air, it hung heavy like a woolen cloak upon my shoulders as I stepped off that wretched ship and onto the fog-laden dock. There was no greeting from local folk, no word of welcome as I and a handful of others passed the harbor master and carried on to the small cluster of homes and shops. Smoke wafted from chimneys and the scent of roasting meat caught my nose as I followed the trodden path through the town. Children were nowhere in sight, contained within the confines of their homes, and with good reason, I could wager that anyone caught wandering after dark met a rather sticky end. 

No one dared meet my eye as I walked through the town, though that could have easily been attributed to the attire that I wore which had passed me off well enough as a man to sail to the New World without hinderance. I'd be a fool to say that I didn't prefer breeches to corsets, though if any onlookers got too close of a glimpse they would have tried to see me hanged by first light. 

"Return to your homes! Seek not the devil within the cover of night!" A voice called over the ringing of a crier's bell from somewhere within the rows of houses. One by one, men and women vanished as the night grew darker and the moon in its waning cast its silvery light down upon the path before me. I planted my feet, feeling the light of the moon bathe my skin as I felt raw, natural power wash over me. 

"Divine Mother, give me strength." I whispered, feeling as though pure starlight coursed through my veins. A gentle breeze kissed my cheeks as my eyes fluttered shut. The quiet that settled in Salem after the doors were all closed, and the windows were shuttered was welcome after the sloshing of the sea and roaring of the breakers for the last three months. It was grounding, solidifying, peaceful. Until it wasn't. The breeze grew into a gust then into a small gale, before it finally ceased. A knowing smirk twitched at the corner of my mouth as I opened my eyes to see that I was completely surrounded by women dressed entirely in black. 

"Bold of you to venture into a town such as Salem... sisters." I greeted, "From what I hear you're all on the verge of being burned at the stake." 

"Mind your tongue, girl." a veiled woman snapped, "You stand in the presence of the most powerful coven in the New World." 

I bit back a laugh, "Good. That means I ended up in the right place." 

"Just who do you think you are, whelp?" 

"A covenless witch of the stars," I replied with a shrug, "seeking solitude and safety." 

The veiled woman scoffed at me, "Ha! You will find neither here. Leave this land and do not return."

"Or what?" I dared to ask, sauntering up to her with a darkened expression, "You'll kill me? Because I would love to see you try."

The witch drew back her veil and revealed an older, graying woman with a pointed, stalwart face. I met her eye with a fierce gaze, my natural power flowing off me in silver wisps. To my surprise, this woman, this leader of the Salem coven, seemed to shrink beneath my glare. A flicker of fear flashed in cold, unkind eyes. I stepped away and turned to address the rest of the coven. 

"I came here to seek solitude, and I will have it. So, let's make a deal. I'll retreat into the expanse of the wood and remain there without issue. I shall not venture to Salem again, so long as you leave me in peace. And in exchange, you can go about your business as you always have, unhindered by any intervention of mine." I scanned every witch's face for any sense of doubt, any inkling of waver and found none until my hazel gaze settled upon the deep blue eyes of a girl no older than myself. She was stood beside the old crone, but her eyes were not filled with fear or indignation like the others. Instead, they gleamed with fascination and intrigue, shining bright in the darkness against her pristine pale skin, like sapphires freshly polished. I lingered on her for a moment too long, finding that my cold exterior began to crack beneath her gaze and I was willing to allow it. 

"Do we have a deal?" I asked with a far too gentle tone, my eyes still locked on her. Beside her, the crone set her veil back upon her face and nodded. 

"The terms of your agreement are acceptable. Go now and do not cross our path again." 

I allowed myself a final second to look upon the girl beside this wicked witch before tearing my eyes away to fix them on the path that would carry me into the forest beyond. My feet led themselves away from the coven, pushing through their ranks and past the array of homes and hovels. As I walked on, the chill of the night finally began to sink in past the thin white wool shirt I wore and against my will, I shivered. That shudder was accompanied by the sound of footsteps behind me, fast approaching. I paused and glanced over my shoulder to see the girl that had caught my eye chasing after me, her dark hair following behind her in long, illustrious waves. 

"Wait!" she called to me, holding up a bundle of cloth in her hands. I was almost inclined to keep walking, but my feet remained glued to the ground as she stopped mere inches from me and caught her breath. 

"You should not be here." I told her, daring to glance back at the town in the distance, "Your coven mother is not too keen on having me here. Nor am I one to be caught associating with witches who are supposed to keep their distance from me."

"My mother is a cruel and unkind woman," she answered rather harshly, "And I've never been one to follow her rules to the letter." 

I scoffed, "Well, then you and I are rather alike, it would seem." 

I turned fully to face her and found myself captivated once more, not wanting to move an inch. There was something about this girl that was... enthralling to say the least. It was as though I were coming face to face with pure, untapped power and I had no way to contain or control it, though I had the feeling that I did not want to do either. 

"What do they call you, stranger?" she asked me, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly, a delightful smile spreading across her face. 

"Aislin Stuart." I replied with a smile of my own and little bow which loosened a few strands of my brown hair from the tie at the back of my neck, "Daughter of Dorcas Topsfield, the Scourge of Shrewsbury."

Her smile grew wider and wilder. I took a slow step forward, getting within a heartbeat from her, whispering into her ear, "And what do they call you, pet?" 

Her breath hitched, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. A chuckle rose from deep in my chest as I pulled away. Her mouth hung slightly agape as I took a step back to get a good look at her again. It took a minute for her to recollect her thoughts and reply. 

"A-Agatha. Agatha Harkness." 

"Hmm," I hummed with a softened expression, "Well, Agatha, I suppose I won't see you again. Ta." 

I started to move away, but she stretched out her hand and caught my arm with surprising deftness. 

"Wait, I, uh, wanted to give you this." she offered up the bundle of black, heavy cloth in her arms, which upon quick inspection was a warm, winter cloak, "Winter is nigh upon us, and it would seem you don't possess the proper clothing for the cold months ahead."

I took hold of the rough wool, my hand brushing against hers as I did, sending a spark up my arm and into my chest. The air became heavy again, though not due to the fear of the Salemites behind me. This was a comfortable heavy, one that shielded me from the cold for only a split second before the chill of the autumn air came rushing back. 

"Thank you." I said softly. Taking the cloak into my arms, I tossed over my shoulders and immediately felt the cut of the wind come to an end. "I suppose I should be off."

"Can I see you again?" Agatha asked me quickly. Looking back into her brilliant blue eyes, I felt a flutter in my chest. I had come here to escape other witches, only to end up being entranced by one as soon as I arrived. I took hold of a ring on my right hand, crafted from fine silver bearing a gleaming white pearl.

Holding it up to my lips, I whispered, "Invenias quod petis apud me in manu tua."

Stepping back toward her, I pressed the ring into her palm and closed her fingers around it, "When you wish to find me, simply put on the ring and it will show you your path. When you wear it, all roads shall lead to me."

I released her hand and stepped away, vanishing from sight before she lifted her eyes from the ring back to the road.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

She sought me out three days later. It had given me enough time to venture far enough into the wood that I would remain untouched by any who dared to seek me out, while also granting me the opportunity to make use of a summoning spell to establish a sturdy enough shelter until I was able to conjure something permanent. A heavy frost coated the leaf litter on the floor that morning, casting an ethereal shimmer across the wood as I sat upon a rotting oak stump and took in my surroundings.

The protection circle had continued to do its job, I had remained undisturbed during the night. The small fire that I had built was steadily growing as I continued to feed it, heating up the kettle I had hung on an iron hook. Freshly snared rabbit was roasting on a small wire spit, the scent of its roasting flesh making my mouth water as I readied a cup for morning tea. The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves when a squirrel skittered past, or a deer came by to investigate. Glancing up at the sky, I could see that it was going to a clear day, a good day. It had been a long time since I had had one of those. 

The kettle began to whistle, I grasped hold of the rag-wrapped handle and filled my cup. The calming scent of black tea, calendula, and cornflower wafted up to my nose, the heat radiating from the cup warming my hands as I raised it to my lips and took a careful sip. 

"I hope you have enough to share." 

My head whipped around to see Agatha Harkness standing at the edge of my circle, a gentle, innocent smile on her face as she stood with a deep violet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was entrancing in the dark of night, but in the light of day, she was as radiant as the sun. Her dark brown hair shone brightly in the pale autumn light, her porcelain skin pristinely white. The shawl meant to stave off the morning chill covered most of her, though I could see the intricate black lacework of her gown's bodice peeking through it. 

"Transite in sacrarium meum, et estote suscipite." I said, gesturing to the space next to me on the stump, "I have plenty to share. Come, sit." 

With a snap of my fingers, a second cup floated up from its place amongst the personal effects I had summoned over to where the kettle was. Without lifting a finger, the kettle filled the cup and returned to its place. Agatha cautiously stepped past the ring of white stones and found no resistance upon passing fully through. Taking the cup from its place in midair she lowered herself next to me and took a sip, letting the warm liquid bring some life back into her chilled bones.

"You know I wasn't completely convinced that your little spell would work but," she glanced down at the ring nestled perfectly upon her right middle finger, "as soon as I put it on, I felt a pull in my chest, and it led me here."

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to lie to you. I only lie to those who deserve to be lied to." I replied simply, "I haven't known you very long, but I see no reason why you shouldn't be told the truth."

"Ah, then you and my mother would be quite at odds. She refuses to teach me." 

I arched a curious brow, "What witch would refuse to teach her child the craft?" 

Agatha's grip on her teacup became tense, her eyes remained downcast. She was withholding something, though what it was I couldn't be sure. I watched her sit in abject silence for a while, until she finally worked up the courage to speak again.

"My magic is dark. It aligns with evil, and because of this my mother will not teach me."

I had heard an eerily similar story many years ago. My own mother's tale of how she came to acquire her power was one of turmoil, anguish, and death. Over the centuries, she had become known to lure witches into her thrall, tell them she was establishing a coven, then like a leech to an ill man's neck drew every drop of magic from them and absorbed it for herself. The corpses piled high outside the cottage where I was born. I'm sure if I were to return to that place tucked within the forests outside Shrewsbury, they would have grown higher still. 

"My mother refused to teach me as well." I confessed, " She is a proponent of the dark arts, using power to gain more power. But my magic is rare, volatile, more in tune with the eldritch magic of sorcerers. It's as ever changing as the phases of the moon and it takes a great deal of self-discipline to master, something my mother disregards entirely. I had to spend some time studying with the Ancient One in Kamar-Taj to truly understand it myself. But... in time you could learn to master yourself as well." 

"You would teach me?" Agatha's tone suddenly became hopeful, excited even as her eyes met mine. I nearly choked on the sip of tea I had just taken, coughing up my drink onto the frost-laden ground at my feet. My gaze fixed on my shoes, drifted back up once I had regained my ability to breathe again. 

"I... apologize." I said with a hoarse tone. "But I'm not much of a teacher, Agatha Harkness." 

"Well, I'm not much of a student, Aislin Stuart," she answered smartly, a smirk dressed upon her face, "but I'd be willing to walk this unknown path if you walk it with me." 

A tightness formed in my chest. My heart pounded against my ribcage. I couldn't turn away from her, and she knew it.

"Very well then. Down the road we'll go. Our own secret coven of two." 

Part of me wished that I had leaned toward divination in that time, perhaps then I would have seen what was to come. The passion, the anger, the heartache that would certainly arise from it all... but knowing it wouldn't have made a difference. There was truly no way to predict what Agatha Harkness would do.

I only wish I had known it sooner. 

very excited for this, she deserves so much love <3

heres the link to the article if you would like more information :))

https://www.empireonline.com/tv/news/marvel-planning-agatha-harkness-spin-off-disney-plus/

Empire

Marvel Is Planning An Agatha Harkness Spin-Off For Disney+

The hit-making witch is reportedly receiving her own 'dark comedy' series from WandaVision showrunner Jac Schaeffer. Read more at Empire.

NO BECAUSE IMAGINE SLOW DANCING TO MERRY GO ROUND OF LIFE WITH AGATHA DNA DNSNDNSN

Ok, so I already commented on this and I know im late doing this but,,

The author did an absolutely amazing job with this fanfic and I feel really happy and special that someone wrote a fanfic off of one of my Agatha imagines. definitely check out the author, their @ is @poetsdeadxo thank you SO much for doing this and I’m completely in love with this fanfic, we stan soft Aggs :))

home to you [1/2] (agatha harkness x reader)

hi there! this is my first time posting a fic and uhh yeah. hope you guys enjoy!! might post part two next week (or sunday)!! 

this is inspired by a post made by @agatha-harkness-simp​ (i hope you don’t mind and if you’re not happy with it i can take it down i don’t mind honestly!!)

Agatha sighed as she closed the front door, her forehead leaning against the cold wood. Usually she loved her trips, but this one was different. Not only was it further away than usual, it was also a lot longer. Her last few trips have been 2-3 days, maybe 4 at a push but they never extended past a week. This one was for a month. It was a month away from you, her angel, her true love. She would do anything for you, and hated being away from you for too long. It drove her insane.

Your relationship with Agatha has been your longest so far. You’ve been together for 3 years but it felt as if you’d been together for most of your lives. It felt as if you were soulmates. For Agatha, this was a whole new ballgame. She’d never been in anything as long term as this, she was usually too afraid of the other person getting hurt, or hurting them accidentally or them eventually fearing her because of what she was. But you, you took her by surprise, as you always do nowadays. You didn’t judge at all, in fact, you found it cool that she was a witch, and rather hot. The fact that she stood in her own power and didn’t cower to anyone or anything was amazing to you, and incredibly empowering… also extremely hot.

The day she met (a more accurate description would be when she bumped into) you at that coffee shop is one of her favourite memories. She remembered how much of a stuttering mess you were blurting out as many apologies as possible as you attempted to wipe the coffee you’d spilt down her shirt whilst she remained silent, watching you. It was her fault, she wasn’t paying attention but you immediately took the blame. You’d continue to panic until she took hold of your hands softly to stop you from hastily wiping, reassuring you it was okay and that no harm was done. She told you she didn’t like this shirt anyway and that now she had a reason to get rid of it (not that she did, unsurprisingly she’s the sentimental type and kept it in the end, not that she’d ever tell you). You asked how you could make it up to her regardless, and she asked for one simple thing. That you both meet the next day for coffee, at the same coffee shop at the same time. You agreed. From that day on, she knew she would never let you go, and the same could be said for you with her. You both fell for each other the second you met.

She found it odd that the only light downstairs was coming from the kitchen. She further realised that there was something else missing in the darkened front room: you. The last few trips she’d been on, the day she was returning you’d stayed up until she got home, wanting to kiss her and hug her the second she walked through the door, even if she protested that you needed to sleep; she couldn’t always guarantee she would get home at a reasonable time. She dropped her bag by the door and walked through the seemingly empty house, feeling a sense of dread until she noticed the pre-prepared cup left next to the almost cold kettle. You knew she loved to have a cup of tea when she came home, so you’d prepped one for her, putting her favourite lavender teabag in for her. Agatha’s smile returned as she boiled it again, looking around the small kitchen and remembering all the nights you’d spent together trying to bake or cook things that were sometimes successful, sometimes not so much. All the times she’d come up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder or peppering your cheek with them as you softly argued about needing to make dinner. She’d turn you around and switch the radio on with her magic so she didn’t have to let go of you, swaying together to whatever song was playing. She’d always tell you how much she loved you, how much you meant to her, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as she held you as close to her as possible.

She was pulled out of her memories by the kettle whistling before going quiet, alerting Agatha it was finally boiled. She poured the hot water into the mug before walking upstairs slowly, hoping you were still awake. Once she reached the bedroom she stopped in the doorway, admiring the sweet scene before her. You were curled up on the bed, wearing her favourite purple jumper, fast asleep with Senor Scratchy in your arms. Her smile widened, she couldn’t believe she’d not seen your gorgeous face in a month. As much as she loved modern technology, she still didn’t see the purpose of having a phone but that was before she met you, and realised long distances were hard on the both of you. Maybe she’d finally get one, just so she could talk to you when she’s away. She remained in the doorway for a few minutes, just taking in being home and finally seeing you. She sipped on her tea before she walked towards her side of the bed, noticing how the moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, illuminating parts of your face softly. She finished her tea quickly before she carefully opened her bedside drawer to grab her pyjamas, not wanting to waste anymore time she could be spending snuggling with you, making up for lost time.

Senor Scratchy sensed movement beside him and woke softly, turning in your arms to see who or what it was, growling quietly in case it was an intruder or someone he didn’t like and needed to protect you. Once he recognised the other person was Agatha, he began purring happily. Agatha leaned over to pet him in an attempt to calm him down. “I know, I know, shhh. You missed me, I was gone for too long, I agree. I hope you behaved while I was gone.“ Agatha whispered to make sure she didn’t wake you. They both turned to look at your face, soft and peaceful, too deep in slumber to hear them.

"I think someone else missed me too.”

Scratchy curled back up into your arms as you shivered, the cold air finally reaching your bare legs. Shorts were not a good idea when you’re sleeping alone in winter. Agatha unfolded the blanket under your legs to pull it up to your waist, so you could warm up and still let Scratchy see what was going on. When she found the pyjamas she’d been looking for, she used her magic to change rather than physically doing it, it would take up too much time and she was far too impatient in that moment.

She finally climbed into your shared bed, trying her hardest not to disturb you from your sleep. As she turned to face you, she pulled you closer to her. You found Agatha’s warmth welcoming, moving closer unconsciously. Agatha opened her arms and allowed you to snuggle against her chest, your head resting against her shoulder. She admired you for a moment before pressing a few soft kisses to your forehead and temple. She rested her chin atop your head, one hand delicately brushing through your hair, something she did to calm you down or to help you sleep. The other wrapped around your waist, her forearm lightly resting against Scratchy’s back, making sure he felt included too.

Every time she came home from her trips, this was the only thing she wanted to do, cuddle with you and Scratchy, who the pair of you affectionately refer to as her son, the two most important people in her life. You both found it hard to sleep without the other person, often only getting a few hours sleep or suffering from bouts of sleeplessness when away. That first night back together is always so important to the pair of them, hence who you like staying up to see her when she gets home. She can imagine you might be heartbroken when you wake up and realise you weren’t there to greet her when she got back, but it was okay. The fact that Agatha gets to cuddle you and hold you close now means more to her than anything, and knowing she wouldn’t have to go anywhere for the foreseeable future was even better. The rest of the week would consist of the pair of you staying in bed, not leaving each other’s arms (and the house if you can both help it).

“Next time, I won’t be gone for as long as I was today. I promise you, my angel. No more long trips, I don’t like it when you’re not next to me whether in bed or not. I missed you far too much to be humanly possible.” She whispered these promises into your hair as you continued sleeping, aware she was there but at the same time, you weren’t too sure if she was really there or if you were fully immersed in the dream you were having. You always dreamt of Agatha when she was away.

“I love you baby, more than words can say.”

She pressed a soft kiss against your lips before closing her eyes, finally feeling at peace with her lover in her arms and her son cuddled up between them.

Nothing could make her happier, knowing she would always come home to you.

so imagine Agatha went away on a trip because shes a witch and stuff and she comes home to find you in your shared bed in her purple sweater asleep holding Senor Scratchy

agatha imagine

——

Imagine your running from Agatha’s coven with her after both been found guilty of learning dark magic and when they eventually find you your both looking down a cliff and they think they have cornered you both but you both just laugh and kiss each other and then jump off the cliff laughing and holding hands. The coven looks down to see if you have both fallen to your death, they find you hanging onto Agatha and flying away.

——

im so gay for this woman

does anyone else just think about running away with agatha?

just saying Agatha would totally call you Bunny if you were dating her

Heyo! I felt like writing some fluffy Agatha Harkness x Fem! Reader so here we go! I hope you enjoy :) Happy Pride Month!! <3

Summary:You and Agatha had a hammock on your back porch so why not use it on a rainy day?

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff(?)

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

It was a Sunday morning, you and Agatha were sitting in the living room, you being held tightly by Agatha and you holding onto Agatha tightly. You two were looking for something to watch, and so far, you had no luck. "Babes, what should we watch?" Agatha asked you, you just shrugged and snuggled into the crook of her neck. "Y/N." Agatha said. Y/N looked up, "Yes Aggs?" she asked, "It’s raining and I have an idea." she said with a smirk, you looked at her confused, "And what would that idea be?" Y/N asked. Agatha didn’t say anything as she stood up and grabbed your hand which caused you to get yanked once she started walking towards the backdoor, and once she opened it and teleported you both onto the hammock that was on your back porch she conjured up a blanket and before putting it over the two of you, she laid you down on-top of her. Once you two got comfortable you smiled up at her, "This is nice." You said holding her hand. Agatha looked down at you and you already knew she was about to make a sarcastic comment, but it wouldn’t be the Agatha you loved if she didn’t say something sarcastic, "Of course it is, I am amazing you know." She said with a chuckle and kissed the top of your forehead. "That you are Agatha Harkness, that you are." you say yawning and moving your head to the crook of her neck, "Get some sleep darling, I love you." Agatha said kissing your head, "I love you too." you mumbled. 🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

THE END

I hope you enjoyed this!