gallifreyan85

[gallifreyan85]

when is the next mentor!agatha x reader fic coming out i need my drugs so bad

Worry not, more is on the way, I'm just in a bit of an idea crunch. I wanna write but I'm trying to think of fic ideas I haven't used so far lol.

Actually y'all, send me what your favorite Agatha fic of mine is and why. I wanna know what you like most.

<3

[gallifreyan85]

And Loki (in Other Marvel characters) forgot to add😅

I'm willing to take a shot at writing romance for aaron or agatha but i'm only just trying my hand at it rn, so pls don't hate me if i don't deliver any of these right away <3

Also don't fret if your fav char doesn't get the most votes, if I am in the mood and write a fic for said char I'll share it anyway, this poll is just my brain turning stuff over about tumblr and me planning things.

[gallifreyan85]

I'm willing to take a shot at writing romance for aaron or agatha but i'm only just trying my hand at it rn, so pls don't hate me if i don't deliver any of these right away <3

Also don't fret if your fav char doesn't get the most votes, if I am in the mood and write a fic for said char I'll share it anyway, this poll is just my brain turning stuff over about tumblr and me planning things.

[gallifreyan85]

and from the dark into the light is maybe one of my favourite fics you’ve done with mentor!agatha so far. there aren’t enough words to fully express how it filled my heart and soul with something warm and comforting. 

the description of the sounds in westview is a perfect contrast to when we arrived at the house, in showing that we’re finally able to resurface for air. in scare me up, the silence builds on the weight of the grief by illustrating how numb we’ve become to the outside world. the story spends more time in our mind and memories, because grief traps us in the past. so when we hear the sounds of westview is an awakening, it’s the first step of our healing. 

describing how you want to hold her hand, make sure she’s really there is actually quite similar to what i have written down in some half finished headcanons about the scare me up universe! yes, because it makes sense in the context of the story, but also, to note down how it contrasts well with mentor!agatha in the forwards beckon rebound and the teen!reader fics. with teen!reader, we get to see agatha reluctant to let herself become attached, and learning how to be gentle again. in this one, we’re clinging to agatha because of the fear that she’ll be ripped away from us again, whereas it’s the opposite in forwards beckon rebound. 

seeing señor scratchy reunite with agatha is so sweet, but also digs deeper into the aspects of grief that exist outside our field of view when we’re so immersed in it. the distinct longing to be held by agatha again, paired with the refusal to be jealous of scratchy perfectly encapsulates how isolating grief can be, and the jarring reminder that others are grieving along side you. 

i love how you captured the emotional hesitance from both yourself and agatha now that the moment has calmed down, and  you’re finally out of her grave. agatha glancing to see if you’re looking while she’s greeting scratchy, and you looking away when you comment on you and scratchy missing her? as well as your nerves about giving her the gift. it’s very much agatha’s past shining through, but it’s also an inkling of how her death might’ve affected us. it’s possible that it’s always been part of us, or that agatha’s behaviour has rubbed off on us during our time learning with her, but i like to imagine that it’s part of our grief; your emotional distance from others prevents this kind of grief from happening with anybody else. an anger at the rest of the world, for continuing to pass by, and you stuck in the cycle of day and night, without agatha.

the dust in the house works in so many different ways. part of it is having lived here with her; how are you supposed to exist in a space without her? how do you find your place and navigate the empty silence where she would’ve been? yes it was your home, but it was always your home with agatha. the guilt of not returning hurts my heart too. when grieving, i think we often feel a sense of responsibility towards all that’s left of who we lost, even if it’s not realistically something we can maintain. it’s also very literally the calm after the storm that was the witches road and the salem seven. it’s a beautiful irony, how the dust has settled everywhere else but in your heart. billy and jen get to move on, they got what they needed from the road. but you? you lost agatha.

i can’t emphasize enough how heartbreakingly authentic your description of seeking comfort was. scent often goes unnoticed, and yet it’s also such a crucial component to identity and memory. trying to find the smell of agatha’s perfume hurts so deeply because they’re the tiny shadows of agatha; the reminders of her that were silent until she was gone, and now you’re left with nothing but the silhouette of who your mentor once was.

there’s something specifically touching about agatha asking where you went afterwards. its vague enough for plausible deniability, like agatha could pull herself out of such vulnerability with a snarky remark, but it also burns with a genuine sense of worry for you. i think that as a ghost, she had no way of knowing where you were, and this is her way of reassuring herself that you were taken care of while she wasn’t around. while she’d accepted her death, i don’t think she could forgive herself if grieving her destroyed you.

the mother’s day card, oh,,, my heart. the need to apologize for our vulnerability is so real!! the way you worry about if your feelings are too much and the overthinking of it all?? on both parts? impeccable. i have to try to not cry when i read “just- don’t throw it away please” because it hits so close to home. the talk about not feeling strong, and being held while agatha tells us about her mother makes me think about how all this time, without agatha, we’ve had to try to be strong, and now that she’s back, we’re finally safe to be vulnerable again. 

“I guess I love you too, then. You little menace.” she’s such a mom :’) the little menace title is so dear to me, because i think the playful and caring nature of your dynamic with agatha really shines through. 

this paired so beautifully with scare me up a little bit of love, and i already know ill be reading it again and again. every one of your stories is a love letter to the character of agatha harkness, and to those all those who feel a connection with her. this was such a treat to read. i’m so sorry for how late this review is, i didn’t realize how quickly april flew by. how has it been almost a whole month since you posted it? also, i saw your recent posts, and i’d like to say, happy belated birthday!! i hope you spent the time resting and having fun :3 i think i’ll be back soon to talk more about mentor!agatha <3

-your lovely review anon

Review anon I've missed you!! <3

I'm so glad you liked the part with all the sounds in Westview, something I really really love about writing is trying to get the overall 'vibe' of the scene right, and that often ends up meaning relying on sounds and smells around that setting, those particularly because I feel like sometimes they can do more to trigger a memory than just seeing something/ writing a detailed description of said setting.

I loovee the way you worded 'silhouette of who your mentor once was', I imagined that kind of letting go while writing about what we've done while she was gone, the unseen line of grief and loss being too much for us to make us almost uncaring whether we've crossed it or not into becoming more like her, and then will being like her bring us a scrap of comfort or would she be disappointed because it's something she wouldn't want for us. It's sort of established that we don't have much of family outside of her, so being away while she was gone means we were on our own, and the pain of it all because (more so in the teen reader fics) it started as clinging to her for safety and the fear of ending up alone and ended in the genuine feeling of family and care on both sides.

Her as a mom never fails to make me all warm, I think for her this was her thinking maybe this is it, she's gone and we'll eventually get over her death and move on, but then she's suddenly back, being genuinely, so desperately missed, and given something that makes her see we do think of her like that, and we've never stopped. She might be really scared to let herself feel it (especially after Nicky) but she's getting there.

I know you say you sometimes reread my fics (which makes me giddy to know people like them) and I'd like you to know that I often tend to reread your reviews, and they end up being my motivation to kick start into writing a new fic. I've recently kind of slowed it down a bit even though I've been making headcanons and scenarios in my head, and it's mostly just due to life being chaotic, school stuff (this damn college thingy we have to do till this Friday) and general craziness, but I am definitely still going to post more fics as soon as I get a bit of time to breathe from the assignments. Hopefully soon. I'm really excited to dive back into this world with Agatha cause now that we're sort of on the same page with her on emotional vulnerability there's still a lot that can happen and a longish way to go. We'll see.

Also I apologize for letting this one sit in my inbox for three days, I wanted to properly answer and not make it a fumbled response just to get it out of the way. Thank you (for the happy birthday) and seeing your ask notification really made me grin on Sunday, I saw it first thing in the morning and it really made my day a bit brighter. I can't wait to hear more of your thoughts and headcanons on everything!!!

❤️

[gallifreyan85]

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

[gallifreyan85]

"I write for my own enjoyment"

And

"I'm happy when people interact with my writing"

Are two sentences that can coexist!

[gallifreyan85]

My mom got me purple balloons for my birthday quote "cause you're obsessed with that witch". Agatha would be proud.

And a Doctor Who card. She knows me <3

[gallifreyan85]

highkey im LOVING all ur agathaxreader fics im literally in a pool of tears when i read each one and I LOVE IT SO MUCHHHHHH ILOVEIT AND ILOVEUFORMAKINGIT,,, so pls dont explode anytime in the near future i need more fics, i literally need one everyday its now a drug ts insane i have a fic req, if u could make a 'tell ur baby that im ur baby' - i bet on losing dogs, where someone gets jealous that someone else is getting more attention that them, ex agatha losing her self bc she saw u hugging ur old teacher or reader crying themself to sleep because they think agatha likes billy more than them :) PLSPSLSPLSLPSLPSLPSLP I BEG OF U MAKE ONE IM GONNA DIE ILYSM IF U DO

Hii, I'm sorry if this took too long, I was traveling and then had college stuff, so I was in a bit of a hustle. I had started writing this and then kind of got off track a little (hence the title being different), but I tried to keep it around the whole reader thinking agatha prefers billy now, and all that jazz. I hope you like it, if you're not happy tell me, it has a bit more dialogue than my usual fics, but hopefully it'll be okay. Thanks for the request!!

<3

Hurt Me and Tell Me You're Mine

summary: Summary: after Wanda closed the hex, things got complicated. Now you’re on the witches road with your mentor after not seeing her for three years, and she brought someone who you think might be your replacement (Billy.) With everyone reeling after what happened during the third trial, you try to talk to her and sort things out.

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

A/n: as always, more stuff at the end, this was originally supposed to be part 5 of (𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉) 𝒩𝑜 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 but I have something else planned for that sooo. idk. it's my bday tomorrow i'm a bit chaotic. enjoy!!

The Witches Road was no place for the faint of heart. You’d learned that the hard way, first getting drenched during Jen’s trial, then almost burning to death because of a curse during Alice’s. When Teen had gotten hurt you caught a glimpse of something in Agatha’s eyes, the way she lingered for just a moment too long after everyone had already made sure he was okay. It had been three years since you’d last seen her and you wanted to sit down and talk, catch up for lack of a better, less normal word, but time didn’t seem to be on your side. And it seemed Agatha wasn’t either. You’d been her student, if that was what you could call it, and she was relentless and strict and sarcastic, but she’d taught you things about magic no other witch ever would. You were sure of it. Her view on magic was all control and precision, yet chaos and power at the same time.

It was a lot.

It was unique.

But you didn’t regret it.

You still wondered if maybe she did. She never told you. In fact, ever since you barged in to find her and this other boy around your age in her house, along with a bunch of witches you didn’t know, she kept quiet around you. So you came along. Of course it would be dangerous, like everything else she ever did, but you could handle it. You didn’t spend three years perfecting your magic best as you could to flake out at the slightest opportunity of chaos. Maybe you were like her after all. And then her trial came along. You were there with the rest of them, on Teen’s side when the others tried to turn on her, and then her mother’s ghost was there, and Agatha was pleading with them, pleading, not to leave her behind, and Alice stepped in, and--

You shook the memory out of your head. Tried to clear your thoughts. It didn’t really work, apart from giving your already minor headache a boost, but you sighed and tried to relax anyway. Being tense would get you nowhere.

It was then that you realized the rest of the coven, whoever was left-- had finally stopped arguing. You turned to see Jen and Lilia talking to Teen, all three of them sitting down, not sparing you a glance. Neither Agatha or Rio were in sight. You sighed. While you did wonder about Rio, who she was and why Agatha seemed to hate her so much, you didn’t feel up to going to look for her. You wanted to find Agatha. And with the others preoccupied, this was your chance.

So, quietly, unnoticed by anyone, you slipped away from the path and onto a little clearing, hoping that Agatha didn’t go far. You’d learned that the trial would be ahead of you whichever way you went, but that didn’t mean you were eager to wonder around such a place alone. You had just spotted something resembling a small pond, or maybe more of a swamp-- it was covered with weeds and tall, wet grass hanging from overhead branches from the trees-- when a voice made you jump.

“You never were very good at following the rules.” Agatha stepped out from a dark nook you hadn’t even noticed, a distant smirk on her face, not quite reaching her eyes, “But then again, that was part of why I liked you.”

You turned around to see her striding towards you in a slow, seemingly composed way, hands shoved in her coat pockets.

“Liked?” you murmured quietly.

She chuckled.

“I did share my very vast magical knowledge with you. Be a little grateful.”

You stayed quiet. Her smirk, which you suspected was fake, fell into something of a contemplative expression. She seemed… less sure of herself.

It unnerved you a little.

“Stray not from the path,” she went on, her voice a teasing lilt. “And yet…”

“I was looking for you.” you murmured.

“Still, it’s no excuse.” she huffed faintly, coming to a stop next to you, blue eyes fixed on the muddy pond. “We’re already down one person. You shouldn’t wander off unless you wanna be number two.”

“Three.” you said faintly.

She gave you a confused look.

“Sharon Davis?” you gestured around the air to no avail. Agatha frowned.

“Who?”

You sighed. “The gardening lady.”

Her nose scrunched, a vague scoff escaping her. “Oh. Right. Two people then. But the point still stands.”

And then--

“Why are you here?”

You stayed quiet. She frowned.

“Pet—”

“You used to call me that all the time.” you said softly. She didn’t look at you.

“Did I?”

“Yes. Now you just use my name. It’s…” What was it? Odd, unnatural, distant-- too distant.

You knew she didn’t care for you in any soft, affectionate way, of course she didn’t, but you felt like she was purposefully being vague and quiet towards you. Maybe it was the three years of not talking. Maybe she already forgot about you. What were you really? A student? How many of those she must’ve had over the years, dozens, maybe hundreds, and you were just one in the long line of Agatha Harkness wannabes, making yourself think she had it in her to become fond of you.

Maybe she did. Or so you thought. The hope you held had slowly started to die out from the moment you stepped into her basement. When you turned to look at her her head was held high, one hand running through her hair, the other somewhere along her side, half hidden by that blue coat, fingers grasping around nothing as if she was perfecting an invisible spell.

“Did you get it back?” you asked quietly blurting out your thoughts.

She paused.

You weren’t sure if she was expecting you to ask about Alice, or what happened, why it happened, but you didn’t. Selfishly enough, you were meaning to keep on track for trying to get her to talk to you. To bridge that gap that was somehow there no matter how hard you tried to follow her, agree to her ideas, watch her when she was watching someone else.

“No.” she said flatly. “Not all the way, at least.” she raised a hand, twisted her fingers, and you watched as a small cloud of warm orange light slipped around her empty palm, swirled for a moment, and then vanished into a puff of smoke.

She wasn’t looking at it. Her eyes were fixed on some distant spot, far beyond the forest.

“That’s still something.” you tried to sound optimistic. “Something’s better than nothing.”

She scoffed, shoving her hands back into her pockets.

“You always were so cheerful. I suppose you’re right, sure. But this is nothing compared to—” she paused. You could see the inner turmoil in her eyes, that quiet fury mixed with longing.

“It’s different.” she said, turning away. “If it had been someone like Wanda—”

“I tried to find her, you know.” you said quietly.

You thought she’d at least turn to look at you. She didn’t.

“And?”

“People say she’s dead. I’m...not too sure. They didn’t even find her body, but…”

Agatha huffed. “You could’ve done something useful.”

You frowned.

What? Was she serious?

“I did it for you.” you said, firmly, a little surprised, almost desperate, “I was doing it to help you—”

“Well a lot of good that did.” she sighed.

You fell silent. Hurt. You saw her gaze flick over your face, and something sharp softened in her blue eyes.

“What did you think you’d do? If you...found her.”

“I would’ve asked her to lift that- that spell. Whatever it was.”

She tilted her head.

“Why?”

Because I wanted to help. Because you’re the only person I can call family, the only one who-

You decided to be honest.

“Because I-- missed you.”

She didn’t say anything. You thought you saw her huff, lightly, glance away-- but maybe it was all in your head.

She was turned away from you, her head towards the faint chatter of the others, Teen talking to Lilia, their voices carrying through the thicket of the underbrush. You felt a wave of frustration course through you.

“Agatha.” you said.

She turned. Perfect posture, perfect teeth, sharp smile in place.

“Yes?”

And no words left you. A part of you maybe wanted to scream. To ask her why she was acting like this, so distant, so unlike her to be gloating so much, the lack of teasing little taunts murmured to you in passing. Instead she was just… quiet. Yes, she teased the others, but you? It was almost as if she was ignoring you.

“Are you going to stand there and gawk at me or are you going to speak?” she asked, enunciating every word with clear precision.

That felt more like her. Something eased inside of you, a familiarity, a warmth, at her voice saying things you were used to. Things you wouldn’t admit you so dearly missed in your time apart.

You took a breath. “Why are you so curious about him?” you blurted.

It wasn’t what you were meaning to ask, your preferred response would’ve been something like ‘can you let me in on what’s going on’ or ‘are you mad at me’ and now she was looking at you like that, like you just asked her something very funny and amusing and she looked smug. More like the Agatha you knew. It hurt a little as much as it soothed. You wondered briefly if you would die with her one day, just like this, meet your end stuck in some nevereding loop of running after the affection of someone who might not even want you anymore, not in her coven, not as her student, definitely not as a daughte--

“Oooh.” she smirked, tilting her head, “is someone feeling left out?”

You crossed your arms. Your insides were screaming yes, yes I am, why are you so interested in him, why won’t you talk to me, I was there first-

Instead you just said, “No.”

She smiled. “No? Are you sure, dear? I do know you very well, and-”

“All this time you’ve been watching him.” you said, looking down at the murky water below, “I want to know why. And it’s not just boredom, you don’t look like that at the people you’re not trying to figure out. So why him? Is it the sigil? Or what?”

Agatha sighed. “And you’ve been watching me, have you?”

You were. You were always watching her, even before, when she was your mentor officially, watching the hand movements, the way she countered spells, cast shields and blasted hexes and walked around with that impeccable, unflinching flair.

“I just wanna know why you’re so interested in him.” you murmured. “He’s just some kid, same as me, and I was here first.”

She paused, lips curving just a little bit upwards.

But she didn’t answer.

You sighed.

Looked down.

Took another breath.

“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. Just-- why-- at least tell me why you’re acting like this? What id it, what did I do? Did I do something wrong, are you- are you mad at me?”

At that, her expression changed. It was almost imperceptible, but you caught it easily, a softer shift in her stoic exterior.

“No.” she said after a moment. Her voice was quiet. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt something deep inside your heart unwind, relief flowing through your veins, a hope growing brighter-- “Then why?” you uttered, your own voice quieter too, slightly uneven despite your attempts at keeping your composure.

“Because,” she sighed finally, turning back to look at you, “you weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to come with us.”

You frowned.

“What?”

She pressed her lips together, frustrated.

“None of this was supposed to happen, toots. No trials, no—” she gestured blindly around, annoyed, “middle-of-the-woods cabins and ghosts and—” she met your eyes, “no Road.”

You paused, not following.

“What do you mean no Road?”

“The Witches Road, it doesn’t exist.” she said.

You stared at her. Blinked. Still didn’t understand.

“But-- it does. It does exist- we’re on it, right now. We’re here-- this is real.”

“Yes.” she nodded, something darker in her eyes. “It’s real. And the question is, who made it real?”

You followed her gaze over to the others. Stopped. Finally understood.

“You think he made the road?”

She waited. “I had my suspicions from the start, but now I’m sure.”

“You’re sure.” you tried to read her thoughts and came up blank. “So he’s a powerful witch, you mean. Powerful enough to make all of this? You think he made-- everything around us, right now?”

She nodded, quiet, and turned to meet your eye, voice low.

“Yes. That much power in someone so young,” you swallowed down a sting of something unfair, “it’s a precious thing. Needs to be handled carefully, or else…”

“Now you’re saying he’s precious?”

“I’m saying his power is precious, and that’s really sweet actually.”

You frowned.

“How much you seem to care what I think about him. I never took you for the jealous type, pet, but here we are.”

“I’m not—” you swallowed. “jealous.”

She chuckled. “No. Of course not. You’re just worried your dear old mentor might’ve found a new favourite student.”

“I’m your only student. And he’s not-- Agatha—”

“It’s alright, pet.” she murmured. “You know you’ll always be my favourite.”

You died there, maybe. Those were the words you needed to hear, however pathetic, however needy, they made something settle inside of you, the frustration-turned-desperation melting to relief, to ease, and more hope.

You hugged her.

She wasn’t expecting it, not at all, and made out a slightly startled oof- as you wrapped your arms around her so tight, holding on for dear life, face tucked into her coat.

“Why does everything have to be filled with sentimental nonsense when it comes to you, hm?” she asked, but you already felt her arms coming up around you, hands that pulled so much life out of others smoothing over your back in a comforting gesture. You didn’t know for sure when the tears gathered in your eyes, but before you had a chance to stop them they were falling down your cheeks, and into the mess of her curled, dark hair. You sniffled.

She let out a sigh, as if this exhausted her to the utmost level, and ran her fingers through your tangled hair.

“There, there.” she said, a little awkwardly, voice laced with exasperation. “You’re okay.”

And you nodded, because she was right, you were okay, and you were fine--

“I thought you-” your breath hitched, “you might be mad at me for- for not coming back so soon- I was trying- I t-tried—”

She exhaled softly, a thousand heavy regrets in her heart, and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter, darling.”

“But it does,” you insisted, “it does matter, I should’ve found a way-- and instead he—”

“He isn’t my favourite, only student, and he’s not my-”

“Your what?” you made out quietly.

“He’s not my anything.” she said. “You are.”

That was enough. Enough to ease your worries once and for all, all the untrue thoughts your mind had conjured up about you in the dead of night, that she might hate you, might not want you around anymore, that she found someone better- easier to teach, better at learning-

She pulled away from you with a quiet look, her eyes on you, studying your tearful face.

“What?” you murmured shakily.

“You really care, don’t you.”

“Of course I do-”

She turned away a little, only slightly, like she was maybe unsure if you should see. Her eyes were pale as always, blue and set like cloudy weather, and she had the look of someone so composed on the outside yet hiding a storm on the inside. That was most of her life, you realized at some point while staying with her before. Always so distant, yet so much emotion raging inside. You looked into her eyes and wondered if you were seeing a glimmer of regret. What she did to Alice was a reminder of who you were dealing with, that she wasn’t some friendly, smiling witch or sleepover buddy, but you weren’t about to turn your back on her like the rest of them. Not now. Not here. You might not agree with her morals, but this was something you knew when you begged her to let you join her. You knew what you were signing up for. Witchcraft wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows and Agatha Harkness wasn’t a cold-blooded psycho, not like everyone said or thought. You knew her. Deep down, quietly and from the sidelines, but you did. You believed that and you hoped she knew that too.

You wiped your eyes, quiet and careful, and stilled when she rose one hand and swiped off the liquid on your cheek with her thumb.

And you asked what kept lingering in the back of your mind since you all left the last trial.

“Agatha?”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

She tilted her head. “Asked you what?”

“To give you my magic. Juice you up, whatever you call it. I could’ve blasted you with it.”

She stilled just slightly, an almost-smile on her lips. “And you would’ve let me?”

“If you asked me, yes.”

“How do you know I just wouldn’t kill you?” she asked.

The truth was, you didn’t. You hoped she wouldn’t, but it was all a slippery slope. You did trust her. Not just a little. Maybe too much. You definitely believed her when she spoke about being on the Witches Road before. And you would’ve let her take some of your magic too. Naively, maybe, you also believed she wouldn’t have killed you. That maybe, somehow, she would’ve stopped just on the brink, and it would leave you slumped over and heaving and panting but alive. You were so close to stepping in when Alice did it first. Would it have been different if it had been you? Would you have saved a life, or exchanged it for your own?

Beside, quietly, Agatha said, “You don’t know what it’s like, dear. All that power, surging into you, it’s like breathing air after being underwater for too long. It’s all you need to do until you feel better. Until you catch your breath. Some could survive that. Some couldn’t. But Alice never stood a chance. And neither would you.”

That stung.

“You think we’re too weak?”

But Agatha shook her head, the look in her eyes almost remorseful. “No. Not that. But it was three long years. Anyone to blast me with even a spark of it was guaranteed to…” she stopped. “It’s not an easy thing, this.” she said, quietly. “Most days I love it. It’s saved me more times than I can count. But it’s not always the easiest to control. Do you think you could make yourself stop breathing the second you took that first breath of air after being down for so long? For three years?I’m glad it wasn’t you.” she said, and you were surprised to her the firm conviction of her tone, “I’m not glad it was her, but I’m glad it wasn’t you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. There was a gentleness in her gaze you oh so missed, that soft look she gave you after saying something far too soft and indulging you in it. Her hand gently fixed your hair, tucking away a strand gently behind your ear.

And you didn’t know what to say so you just stood there, looking at her, feeling like you might cry all over again.

“So we’re on the same team?” you murmured. “Not like, the coven, them, and you and me. I just mean, us.”

She smiled. A fragile, uncertain smile, but it was there. Guarded. Healing. Safe.

“You and me.” she said back, “I promise, kid.”

For a brief moment, neither of you said anything. You felt the moment settle. Dissolve.

“We should probably get back to the others.” she said. “The sooner we finish this thing the sooner we can get home.”

Home? You turned to look at her, but she was already strolling away, posture poised, head up, back straight, that blue coat flapping behind her like a loyal apprentice, instead of you. You watched her for a moment, walking with her back to you, no doubt rather unwelcome now with the rest of the group.

You couldn’t blame them.

But you shoved your own guilt over it down. Perhaps they’d hate you for it, but you’d stay on her side. Just like before, just like always. There were times when even people like Agatha needed someone in their corner, and you swore to yourself you’d stay though the worst of it, where so many others turned their backs on her and left.

And so, with a purposeful stride in your step, you turned away from the lake and followed her back to the others. There was another adventure to come.

A/n: this wasn't proofread, i'm sorry. title is from Diet Mountain Dew (The Flight Demo) by Lana Del Ray. send me your thoughts on agatha or anything else, I love to talk with yall!!! I had a lot of college exams these last few days and tomorrow I'll be 21 (I literally do not feel old enough) but life goes on and what can you do. Thank you for reading and I hope you're all good and have a wonderful day!

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

[gallifreyan85]

Villain and Violent

pairing: mentor!agatha x reader

summary: after getting used to being around you, agatha decides that she's being too soft and tries to fix it. things only spiral from there.

Warnings: siphoning magic? uhhh. I'm so tired I don't know.

A/n: part 4 of (𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉) 𝒩𝑜 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈. can be read as standalone. not yet proofread don't hex me pls. more a/n stuff at the end <3 enjoy!!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Agatha Harkness was a lot of things. Powerful. Terrifying. A commanding presence of a witch, ready for anything that might come her way. You saw how cruel she could be to people, how teasing and mean, yet you never truly felt scared. Not of her. Not like that.

You knew she wouldn’t really hurt you. You were safe. You felt safe with her. So you started to let your guard down.

And so did she.

It was the little things you noticed first.

How she acted less distant. Slowly, little by little, you started to see more of her personal side, not just the aloof mentor figure you were used to. When you flunked a spell or made a charm flicker and disappear from your hands far too early you took her teasing words and mocking laughter as friendly rapport. Something familiar. Something you were used to. She read more books in the living room. Didn’t shoo you away when you made a curious glance towards the book title or whatever complex spellwork was written on the tattered pages she was holding. She started drinking tea in the kitchen rather than her own room with the door closed. And sometimes you joined her.

They were quiet, those evenings, and while she kept to her tomes and you to your homework, there was a peace there that you hadn’t previously felt. A sense of belonging, even.

As if you had a home there.

So when it was time for yet another lesson, you made your way down to the basement with ease in your posture and a rare spring in your step. You were hoping to finish with those transmutation spells and get into blasting and shielding. You’d been pleading with her to show you the ropes, she was a famous, powerful witch, and who better to learn from about magical defence. You kept trying to read her mood throughout the day, trying to check how she was feeling, relaxed, snarky, whatever colorful combination of emotions she usually wore. You knew how quickly her moods could change. And as it turned out, so did yours.

You were less than four steps down into the basement, notebook in hand, a few pens and papers in the other, when a bolt of violet light hit you so quickly you stumbled, and caught yourself on the railing just in time before you actually managed to hit your head.

The papers scattered gracefully across the floor in front of you.

You looked up, eyes wide.

Agatha was standing in her usual spot in the middle of the room, hands loose at her sides, an expression of quiet intrigue on her perfectly composed face. You struggled to pull yourself up off the floor.

“What—” you managed to stand up, slightly winded and reaching to gather the colourful pens that had rolled all over the stone floor, “what was that for?”

You tried to keep the slight hurt out of your voice. You knew she was ruthless, but you weren’t expecting her to catch you off guard before you even got to put down your things.

Agatha smirked. Subtly. But surely.

She crossed her arms, briefly fixing her hair, tossing it over one shoulder.

“It’s what you asked for.” her voice was oozing innocence, a perfect cover over a hint of amusement.

You frowned a little.

“Ohh, Agatha, please can be start learning how to fight? Sound familiar? No?”

You gave her a look. “You could’ve at least—” but she interrupted you.

“Ah-ah. I don’t wanna hear complaining. We’re doing this because you asked, now listen. First rule. Always be ready. Your opponent isn’t gonna wait for you to catch your breath.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. She was right, even though you still felt slightly like you just got punched in the stomach.

“So what do I do? Dodge you?”

She chuckled. “You can try.” she said, head tilted slightly, “But you won’t be very successful. I promise.”

“What then?”

She shrugged.

Shrugged.

You bit back a sigh of frustration.

Why was she acting like this?

She was perfectly fine in the morning, throwing comments about the neighbours, smiling at you over her black coffee when you entered the kitchen. She seemed a bit distant maybe, in thought, but- Now she was just so...

You straightened your posture and braced for impact. “Okay… uh. Try again, then.”

She grinned, and turned her head to the side.

You turned as well, trying to see what she was looking at, and before you could blink there was another blast of purple and you were on your knees, fumbling to get back up again. You raised your head and glared.

“That wasn’t fair-”

She laughed.

“You want fair, darling? Go join a debate team. Maybe you can try to reason with whoever’s trying to kill you.”

You got off the floor. Braced again. She waved an elegant hand and vanished, only to reappear behind you and make you end up back on the ground.

You tried to blast her first.

The spell you shot dissipated into thin air barely three feet away from her.

You tried again.

Blocked.

Tried again.

She stepped to the side so effortlessly she might’ve been a model in the middle of a runway walk.

You cast again.

And hit her square in the chest.

You froze.

She stumbled back a step, maintaining her balance, then raised her head, and smiled at you as you watched the blue of your magic slowly fade into her, changing slowly but surely into that familiar purple.

She sighed.

“That might’ve bought you a second, but now I’m more powerful than I was a minute ago. You’re dead.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do?”

“Think on your feet.”

“I don’t know how-”

“Then learn to.” she fixed her hair again.

You let slip a huff, now feeling even more frustrated.

“So teach me!”

She paused. You thought she was going to get mad at you for yelling but her smile didn’t falter. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

She didn’t answer.

You took a deep breath. Fumbled with your fingers.

“I—” you sighed softly. “I just feel like you’re being more—”

“More what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“More- I don’t know. Distant.”

“Hm.” she nodded. “Yes. At least you can notice things. Good.”

You stepped towards her. “But— what- why? What did I do?”

She smiled. “Oh, please. You didn’t do anything, toots. This one’s on me.”

You frowned. “You?”

She nodded, not looking at you, and started pacing around the dark basement. So casual. Too casual.

“That little expression you have on right now is adorable, but it’s not going to change anything.”

Your frown grew. So did your confusion.

She chuckled.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.” she fixed a few rings on her fingers, voice calm as ever, “You were right. You’re getting too comfortable here. And I’m not here to mother you, I’m here to teach you magic. So don’t expect me to be all soft and doting like you want—”

Your expression slipped. Faltered. You felt your heart sink just slightly.

“I’m not gonna let this get out of hand. I can be your teacher, hun, but I don’t want you to forget who you’re staying with. Now come on. Again.”

You blinked.

The words hurt more than you expected them to, and you barely had time to process what she said before she was raising a hand and getting ready to blast you again.

You ducked. Shielded yourself properly for once.

“Not bad.” she said before already doing it again.

And again.

And again.

You tried to get a word in but you were already starting to get breathless from keeping up shield after shield and keeping it steady with your magic. Keeping it solid.

When she finally paused, you let it disperse and stepped towards her.

“Agatha—”

“What?”

“You can’t just—” you threw your hands up in defeat. “Is it really so bad that you were having a good time here? I mean nothing’s wrong, we were talking-- we’re doing magic, it’s—”

“It’s not right.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” she snapped, and you actually stopped. “Do you have any idea who I am, hm? You seem to be forgetting who you’re here with, toots.”

You huffed quietly.

Was she expecting you to be scared? Was this really what you thought it was?

She was upset over you being so comfortable with her?

“Agatha..” you started, unsure of how to even start.

I’m happy here, you wanted to say. I’m happy with you, you make me feel safe, this is my home, I have a home, a family-

But she cut in before you could even start, voice cold and calculated.

“Go again. Maybe we can talk after if you do a decent job.”

You tried to figure out if she was joking or not. If this was one of those Agatha ways of trying to motivate you to try harder in lessons, it wasn’t working. The only thing you were feeling was a dragging sense of hopelessness, slowly grappling onto you and pulling you downwards.

Was she going to start being all cold again?

Like in the beginning?

If so, you didn’t think you could take it. You knew you couldn’t.

And before you could try to voice your concerns aloud, you were already on on the floor again.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment.

Then, you got up, silently grateful that she at least waited until you were up on your feet again, and shot the spell again.

You weren’t sure how it started, but you couldn’t wait for the lesson to finish before trying to talk to her again.

“I wasn’t scared of you, you know.” you said, successfully dodging one of her hexes, “I wasn’t before, and I’m not now.”

“You’ll change your mind eventually, dear.” she said, far too casual for such a conversation, either because of the topic at hand, or the fact that you were both currently casting spells at one another.

“No, I won’t.”

“Want me to make you?” she smirked.

She couldn’t, you thought. You weren’t scared of her. Never really, yes she might be intimidating and powerful but--

“You can’t.” you let slip. And then, because you’d stupidly gotten too comfortable, “Cause I know you’re secretly such a softie.”

And that seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

The next time you flung a spell towards her she let her hands fall down so quickly, letting you hit her. The magic hit her in the chest, slowly turning purple, and you went to pull your hands away and ask why she didn’t block you, but something was wrong.

The magic-- your magic, in your hands, it had stuck onto her somehow and you tried to pull away but it-- it--

Kept flowing.

You frowned. This never happened before.

“What-” You tried to move away, hands still involuntarily oozing magic. You knew she could siphon magic but you also knew she would never take yours.

Or so you thought.

Maybe you were wrong.

Stumbling in a slightly shaky, quickly growing panic, you tried to pull away, side-stepped, staggered, and caught yourself. But your balance didn’t last long.

You felt the pull, your own magic slowly being siphoned away into her, tugging at you.

No, not tugging.

Draining you.

Your eyes widened.

“A-agatha—”

She wasn’t stopping. Her eyes were closed. Hands outstretched as if in welcome.

“Agatha what are you—” you fumbled, “Stop- let go—”

But she didn’t.

And her magic kept pulling, and pulling, until you you stumbled onto your knees with a desperate whimper.

It didn’t hurt per se, but the feeling was odd. It wasn’t pain, but a loss, like you were losing something that was a core part of you, that it was being pulled out of you by force, and was now slipping away too fast and out of reach, unable to be caught or yanked back or stopped before it was lost. You blinked, letting your thoughts cloud your vision.

Was this what they all felt?

All the witches she killed?

So many of them, helpless and struggling and screaming and--

Betrayed, alone, irreparable, helpless, so helpless--

And suddenly you knew what it was like for them. But for you, it wasn’t the betrayal that hurt most, it was the fact that it was her, Agatha, your Agatha, your mentor, your witch and teacher and friend who made you feel that helpless, when it was her-

The whole reason you joined her to escape that feeling, and here she was, forcing you into it, forcing it onto you because you’d called her soft- because-

You’d gotten so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice her open her eyes, tilting her head down at you the slightest bit. When you finally did she didn’t say anything, but rose one hand and severed the steady flow of magic.

It broke quickly, a split second, and you slumped onto the cold stone floor. Your pressed your forehead against your hands, felt the slight chill of the cobbles against your cheek, and then with a heavy effort raised your head. Looked up at her.

She was standing where she had been earlier, and the expression on her face was one you could not read.

It wasn’t anything you expected, like satisfaction or smugness.

If you had to guess, it’d have been something between pity and regret.

Maybe even guilt.

That must’ve been wrong, because Agatha Harkness didn’t do guilt.

But she also didn’t do fun and yet for all your strict lessons you spent far too much time laughing over her jokes, and she didn’t do soft, but she did defend you from others, and begrudgingly pat your head-- rarely but surely-- and talked to you when you came to her.

She took a step towards you and you flinched.

You didn’t mean to, you weren’t even all that scared, only tired, so tired, and it was instinct after all the shielding you’d just done. But she froze. Paused. Stopped.

Then she stepped past you and up the staircase.

“That’s it for today.” she said, her voice short and clipped,

“Lesson’s over.”

And she went upstairs.

You could've sworn there was some held back emotion behind her words you couldn’t yet name, but your mind kept getting stuck on the way her voice sounded, so quick and slightly unsteady.

And she’d left.

You heard her upstairs, pacing or walking or going to her room, and waited.

Stayed on the floor.

It didn’t make sense.

You let your head fall back down against the cold stone, down against your hands. And you let the tears fall.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, what you were waiting for, hoping she’d maybe come down to talk to you, comfort you, but she didn’t. After a while you sat up and wiped your palms over your face. Blinked. Sniffled.

You were fine, nothing was hurting, and now that you’d come to think of it the whole siphoning your magic kind of thing had lasted for maybe half a minute or so, even if it seemed like much longer. You looked around. Your notebook was on the wooden desk, closed and untouched, pends stacked on top. The old tomes Agatha sometimes taught you from were next to it, also unopened. Everything was still.

You got up. Sniffled again, holding onto the railing as you climbed the stairs out of the basement, feeling it cool beneath your fingertips, short of any warmth from whoever held it before you did.

The living room was empty.

You went into the kitchen next, where pot of water stood forgotten on the stovetop, no longer sizzling but still warm. So she’d went to make tea. You looked around. There was a mug on the table, not one hers but one of yours, and it stood empty with a single, untouched tea bag inside it. You wiped your eyes again, and wrapped your arms around yourself.

If the intended goal was to scare you she’d failed. All you wanted to do was talk to her now. You left the kitchen and went into the hallway. Her keys were still there, so she hadn’t left the house, but the door to her room was closed. You stayed quiet and stopped in front of it.

Listened.

There was silence.

You couldn’t push the look on er face before she left away from your head. It kept floating back to the forefront of your mind, the look in her eyes. Guilt. So much guilt. But that wasn’t right, because she didn’t do guilt. Maybe that was what you wanted to see. Proof that you were right and she cared.

You didn’t knock, but quietly opened the door.

She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, and Señor Scracthy in her lap. Her nose was pressed into his fur, breathing slow and steady like some quiet, grieving mother holding a babe.

You didn’t move for a moment.

She looked almost… vulnerable.

Unguarded.

No, she looked-- sad.

“Agatha?” you made out quietly.

Her head moved slightly, and she turned and looked at you. Her eyes were that familiar pale blue, reminding you of the stormy sea. Or clouds. Had she been--

No.

She wasn’t crying.

She didn’t do tears, either.

But you, as it turned out, did. You blinked again, more wetness in your eyes, and it was not what you were thinking, far from it, but you asked her,

“Can we go back to the lesson?”

You blinked.

Señor Scratchy stirred in her lap, ears twitching.

She seemed so genuinely baffled by your question that her expression matched your own confusion over your words.

“What?” she said.

“The- lesson. I only managed to block you like twice, and… I thought we could finish it, um, properly.”

She just stared at you as if you said some insane thing.

“You really have no self preservation instincts, do you, kid?”

She wasn’t smiling, but it made you laugh, and it came out like a strangled sob.

You shook your head. She was right. You’d probably let her destroy you before leaving her side willingly.

It was your own fault. There was just something about her- something so-- so pulling and fascinating, worthy of admiration that made you want to stay with her and learn from her and just--

She sighed and bowed her head.

It was an odd gesture for her.

And you tried to tell her you were fine, that it didn’t matter, that can you please just go back to learning, but you were crying. And she beckoned you over. Slowly. You approached the bed, sniffling and looking up at her and she-

She set a hand on your cheek. Gently. Slowly. So slowly. Like someone scared of breaking you.

As if you wouldn’t let her.

You sank into it. Into the soft touch, so eagerly and honestly, as if you couldn;t pretend that this was what you wanted, that this was all you wanted from her. Just some affection, just some proof that she did care about you, that you were more than just some kid who’d followed her and--

“I’m not good at this.” she said.

You shook your head. Sniffled. She sighed.

“You should be scared of me, kiddo.” she murmured softly. “You should be running for the hills after that stunt I just pulled. Grown witches have, after I did less. Wouldn’t blame you.”

You shook your head again.

And scooted closer. She clearly wasn’t expecting that. Her hand faltered slightly. Then she pulled away entirely. You felt cold.

“You can’t-” you started, wavering, “please.”

She looked hurt.

Genuinely.

Not just hurt- lost.

Like she wasn’t sure of what to do.

“Please.” you said again. “Please, Agatha-”

You felt her resolve crumble, the way her shoulders slumped when she nodded to your words, and kept nodding because she didn’t have the words. You lowered your head. Down. Sniffled again. And laid your head on her lap. Señor Scratchy pressed his snout into your hair and started sniffing. You heard Agatha chuckle from above you, and relaxed as soon as her hand found its way to your hair. You closed your eyes. Focused on her fingers caring through your hair. Her bed was so soft, and Señor Scracthy was so warm and she was warm and her room-- you’d realized you hadn’t even been there, and felt the sudden urge to get up and go around and just look at things because she definitely had some to have some interesting trinkets around her space.

But you didn’t move.

“Okay,” you felt her murmur above you, “it’s okay…”

You’d never heard her- no, felt her be so comforting towards you, and you melted into it, the words, her tone, the soft, gentle neverending patterns her other hand was lightly tracing over your back, it was heaven. It was everything you wanted from her. To feel cared for. To feel like a part of something. A coven. A family.

You weren’t crying anymore, and after a while you slowly raised your head, angled it upwards and blinked up at her, watching her watching you with so many different emotions on her face. What do three hundred years of betrayals and betraying do to a person? You’d felt what they felt today, but all you wanted was to stay in her arms and let her soothe the worry away, the neverending, constant nagging fear or what if you failed? What if she made you leave?

But something told you she wouldn’t, now.

Her hand patted your arm. You looked up.

“Get up.” she said. “C’mon.”

You reluctantly sat up.

She looked back down at the rabbit, still nestled happily next to where your head was.

“I won’t do that again.” she said. She didn’t have to say for you to know what she was talking about. You didn’t say anything.

Apologies weren’t something she did, something you’d ever heard from her at all, but the way her voice sounded while saying it, you could tell that even if it wasn’t the right words, she meant it.

And then, as if to confirm your thoughts,

“I promise. I…”

If her words were supposed to be I didn’t mean to scare you they would’ve been a lie. But now that you were looking at her and she wasn’t looking at you you could see for the first time that there was genuine regret in her eyes. You weren’t imagining it.

“There’s tea in the kitchen.” she said. Then she waved a hand.

You tilted your head.

She didn’t explain, and it took you took long to realize she had probably turned the stove on for the water to boil.

You didn’t say anything. Now that you were looking at her she seemed more awkward, something you also rarely saw from her.

“So uh,” she finally said, “since you insist on staying and learning from me because I’m so amazing,” she briefly tossed her hair back, “as you should,” she added, “I suppose it’s too late to go back to pretending like I’m not—” she stopped, and despite the recent events you had to stifle a small laugh, she was visibly struggling-

“Like I’m not somewhat-- fond of you.” she finally said. “And I’m clearly not the best at- uh, dealing with that. No one’s been pathetic enough to actually stay even after I—”

She cleared her throat.

You didn’t move.

She gestured at you as if shooing something away. “Go drink your tea.” she said. “You need to restock for all those tears.”

Slightly embarrassed, you got up and scurried into the kitchen.

You weren’t sure what had just happened, but you knew one thing for sure. Something had changed. Something was different.

When she joined you in the kitchen moments later, pouring herself a very strong coffee, you saw the way her posture was back to being composed and formidable. But you didn’t miss the way her steps softened when she walked past you later that evening, the way she was overall gentler than she had been before. It wouldn’t be enough for anyone. But it was enough for you. For now, knowing was enough.

A/n: title from (yet again) Forwards Beckon Rebound by Adrianne Lenker. Yes, I'm starting to firmly believe I'll use all the lyrics at some point in the future. if the lyrics are lyricing then use em. or something. I am so tired I had college, I was sick this week (still sorta am) and then was writing part 2 of scare me up but kinda ended up on this and idk what this is i like the middle, the beginning i actually wrote like 2 weeks ago, and then idk, I really should go to sleep cause I have to be up at 6am and it's like 23pm rn. You all are amazing and thank you for reading and blast me with your best (or worst) agatha thoughts or ideas or literally anything, and thanks for reading. i already said that. oh well. sorry for any mistakes i promise i'll proofread this tomorrow (probably in class oops) have a great day/night y'all <3 goodnight.

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

[gallifreyan85]

Agatha Harkness:

also agatha harkness:

[gallifreyan85]

Just asking how are you doing :)

Hii :) I'm doing good, thank you. Tumblr has been a bit glitchy with my inbox last few days so y'all feel free to send an ask again if you think something got lost. That said I do have one Agatha fic request I'm working on, I'm currently on a trip and not home so it's a bit crazy and my birthday's on Thursday, but I'll get to it when I have the time I promise.

Also regardless of chaos I love hearing your opinions or headcanons or anything else on characters so feel free to send in ideas or your thoughts if you wanna share, I'll always reply as soon as I can.

<3 thanks for the question (I got to rant a bit) and hope you're doing well too 💜

[gallifreyan85]

My darling followers, especially y'all from the taglist 💜, and my lovely review anon

🤍✨️send this to ten other bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going✨️🤍

Right back at you <3 🥺

[gallifreyan85]

And From the Dark Into the Light

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

summary: part 2 (and last) of the bring your mentor back from the dead mother's day fic. gifts, grief and overdue hugs + lots more.

A/n at the end, I rambled. enjoy!!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

When you stepped back into the house, you could've sworn it felt warmer. You could hear children playing somewhere outside, soft laughter and chatter from down the street, a quiet, normal evening in Westview. Even though you knew it was everything but. Agatha had just closed the door behind the two of you, looking around her home in what seemed some kind of quiet contemplation. You tried to keep holding her arm, fingers twisted into the fabric of her sweater, but at some point she stepped away from you and gave the living room another glance.

“You really let this place gather some dust, huh?”

You pressed your lips together, ignoring the urge to reach for her hand again. You kept wanting to make sure she was really still there, still alive. Part of you was expecting her to drop to the ground and go back to being a ghost, or worse, just stay dead. But all she did was sigh at your lack of answer, and lock the front door.

Senor Scratchy peeked out from behind the couch at the noise, curious of all the commotion, then sniffed in her direction and made his way over to her. She paused, and you caught her split second of hesitation, how her eyes went your way briefly as if checking whether you were watching before she bent down to pick him up, cradling him in her arms.

“Hey there mister.” she murmured softly, one hand moving to pet his soft fur, “Did you miss me too?”

There was something soft in her expression.

You fought down the urge to step over there and join in. Try to get her to hug you again. You weren’t going to be jealous of a bunny for hell’s sake. No matter how much something in your chest twisted every time her hand went over his head, soothing and gentle.

“We both missed you.” you said, forcing yourself to look away.

“You’re about the only ones.” Agatha replied, gently plopping the rabbit back onto the carpet. You watched him sniff at her shoes and then hop off, scurrying into the kitchen. Agatha glanced at your backpack on the couch, and you felt a jolt in your stomach as you remembered what was in there. Before you could panic any further about giving your mentor a Mother’s Day card briefly after successfully bringing her back from being dead-- or at least from being a ghost-- she interrupted your internal panic by sighing loudly, and in that all-too-familiar Agatha manner you so desperately missed, tossed her hair back and said after a loud eugh and a huff,

“I look like I just rose from the grave,” she frowned, and pointed a finger at you before you could say that she technically just did.

You fell silent.

“I need a shower.” she said, turning around disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your slowly increasing nerves. “And so do you, by the looks of you clothes.”

You looked down at yourself, jeans patched with streaks of green from the backyard lawn and the occasional splotch of freshly dug earth, dirt, and your own sweat.

She was right. You did need a shower.

You stood there for a moment more, listening to the sound of her room door closing and drawers opening. The bathroom faucet turned on. Then the shower too. Senor Scratchy knocked something over in the kitchen, snapping you out of your reverie. Sighing, you picked up and unzipped your backpack, rummaged through it until you found the mug, still in the same box you’d left it, purple bow and all.

You undid the ribbon.

Opened the box.

Stared at the mug, emotions swirling in your chest, anticipation coursing. Then you closed the box and hastily redid the bow.

It was fine. This was fine. You’d just--

Give it to her.

Approach her, smile, tell her the truth, tell her thank you. You had so much to thank her for. You weren’t expecting a huge reaction, she wasn’t too big on the touchy feely stuff, always covered it up with the snark and attitude, but you knew she cared. You only wished you could tell her just how much you did, too. You set your bag down in the kitchen, gave Senor Scracthy some fresh food and water, and went down the hall into your room. It was just as you’d left it. Clothes strewn over the place-- you picked out a clean outfit and dumped the rest into the hamper.

Agatha was right- the house was dusty, and you had yourself to blame, but you couldn’t find it in you to come back while she was gone. You should’ve, should’ve stayed behind to set things straight and clean up and look after the damned rabbit instead of the neighbors, but you couldn’t. Coming back alone was too heavy. Grief was heavy. You pressed a knuckle into the corner of your eye, wiping away tears that had gathered there again.

You had to pull yourself together.

It was a good day, a happy one, you brought her back and she was fine, so you were too.

Right?

You dismissed any further thoughts of tidying your room and went into the bathroom to clean up. Then, in fresh clothes and with a foe smile, you stepped back in front of the mirror to tie your hair back loosely. Fixed it. Tugged a few strands loose. Then untangled the tie from your hair and threw it off to the side. You took a breath.

When you came back into the living room you were surprised to see that she was already out of the bathroom, lilac sweater on, soft clothes and wet hair spilling over her shoulders like a curtain of dark brown. She seemed... softer, somehow. More approachable. More vulnerable.

Unlike herself.

You simply stood for a moment, watching her sitting on the couch, sipping from a mug. It was a scene so normal and familiar to you yet somehow so far away from what you were used to, from what used to be routine.

She looked up ahead, but you knew she knew you were there.

“I see you made sure to leave a pot of lukewarm coffee for me as a welcome back present,” she said, voice nonchalant as ever, “could’ve at least warmed it up.”

It was a joke and you knew it, but it was hard to laugh for some reason. You tried to smile. Maybe you failed a little. If she noticed she didn’t say, simply took another sip and sighed into the quiet space.

“That’s uh, mine.” you said eventually, a little awkwardly. “I made it while I was digging up... your…”

You stopped. She didn’t seem too bothered that you were apparently talking about digging up her previously dead body in her own backyard, and instead set the mug down. You fought the brief urge to pick it up and smash it across the floor. How could she be so casual about this? About being gone, being--

Did she not know how hard it had been for you? The damned chaos everything was in after you’d stormed off and left her here with Billy? Of course, she didn’t, she couldn’t, because she wasn’t here, so she couldn’t have known how hard it was for you when you came back that same day later, came into the empty house, tried to get back to a normal life without her there and cried in your room for hours. The way you’d curled up in her bed, face pressed into her pillow, trying your best to find comfort in the faint ever-lingering traces of her presence there, in the echoes of her perfume, her scattered things, her sweater you held and clutched as you cried yourself to sleep. It was hell, knowing the one person you so deeply cared about, considered family, your only family, was now gone, and there was seemingly nothing possible you could do to bring them back.

You supposed to her, after so many years of being used to everyone wanting her dead, seeing your grief and sorrow and despair was too foreign of a concept. You didn’t blame her for that. They asked you to join them, her and Billy, expected it even, and you just stormed off and left, not wanting to face the facts that were then true. Now they weren’t anymore. You watched as a droplet of water slid down one of her dark curls and fell onto the armrest of the couch.

“Where did you go?” she asked suddenly, voice soft and low, but also curious. “After you left, where did you go to?”

You glanced away.

“Just stayed with a few people. Asked around about some spells.”

That was a very big understatement of the truth. Yes, you stayed with some friends. Yes, you asked about spells, but that asking was more of a you banging on every known witch’s door demanding they share all their gathered-thus-far knowledge of bringing people back from the dead, every spell, every charm, every enchantment involving chaos magic or potions or rituals or sacrifices. You hoped you wouldn’t get to the last part, and fortunately you hadn’t in the end, but the nights you didn’t spend crying into your pillow you spent staring up at the ceiling or out the window, wondering quietly to yourself how far you’d go to do this. Would you end up like her too? Earn yourself a reputation for the lengths and sacrifices you were willing to achieve to get what you wanted, what you needed?

And most importantly, how would she react? You thought maybe she would be proud, but then later you started to wonder of she’d secretly feel disappointed, because she didn’t want you to be like her.

Either way, it was all irrelevant now. She was here and she was back. Once and for all.

You circled the coffee table to sit next to her on the couch, a little space between you, enough for you to see one of her fingers tangled in the thin gold chain of her brooch.

You hesitated.

Glanced at the clock in the kitchen.

It was almost ten at night, later than you’d thought. You both lost track of time.

“Thank you.” her voice startled you a little, and you turned abruptly.

“Uh- I—”

“For bringing me back.” she said, tilting her head a little, “Must’ve took some real magical effort, and I’m here without any missing pieces so I guess that means you did well.”

It was a clumsy was of saying she was proud of you, but you took it with grateful want in your heart. You allowed yourself to smile a little.

“You’re welcome, I guess. It was- well- I just-”

“Really wanted to earn my favour?” she smirked, “I’ve seen other witches go to great lengths, toots, but this—”

You laughed a little. “Shut up.” but you were already feeling lighter. You glanced briefly to the kitchen. To your backpack on the floor. Bit your lip.

“One second,” you said, quickly getting up and going into the kitchen, leaving her with a muttered “Okay, whatever…” still in the living room. You knelt down and unzipped your backpack before you lost the nerve for it, and took out the box and card. Holding both in a slightly shaky grip, you went back over to her, both items hidden behind your back. She gave you a very obvious and suspicious look.

“What?”

“I, uh. I have something for you.” you blurted.

She blinked. Looked you up and down once and set down her mug.

“Is it a decent cup of coffee? You’d think being dead earns you one, but apparently-”

“No. It’s- um. It’s-- for today.” you practically winced when she gave you a confused look, “I know you probably don’t, uh, but...just- here.”

And you shoved the card into her half-outstretched empty hand.

She paused. Stared at the card, stared at the text on it.

Happy Mother’s Day.

She didn’t say anything.

And suddenly you started to panic. Why did you even think this would be a good idea? Like, at all? Giving your mentor-- who is also Agatha Harkness-- this? And calling her like a-- a mother-- when you knew she had-

That she was once-

An apology was half-ready at the tip of your tongue when she opened the card. And started to read. You had half a mind to snatch the thing from her hand and bury yourself in the yard in the hole from her grave. This was so much worse that you thought-- what if she-- if you- if-

You saw her eyes skim over the words once, then again, more slowly. She read your scribbled text, and you fought to try and forget the exact wording you’d used. Something like thank you Agatha, for being the best and most awesome and chaotic and witchy mentor ever, and also sort of a mother-figure--

Or had you written for teaching me about more than just magic and how to hex someone--

You wanted to hide behind your hands. Brace for a hex sent your way. Something. Anything.

All you got was just-- silence.

You couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad kind of silence, but Agatha, for once in her three-hundred-and-fifty years of life and death and being a ghost and then life again, had nothing to say. No snarky comment. No teasing smirk. No mocking remark. Nothing.

And that perhaps scared you more than all those sleepless nights combined.

You swallowed.

“Um… Agatha?” you tried hesitantly, your own voice rather frail and tentative.

“Are you, uh-”

“You got this… for me?”

You nodded.

“Today?”

Another nod. “Yeah, cause it’s… I wanted to-- today, cause-” you fumbled, “I mean of course I would’ve gotten you back anyway I just thought- today- cause- it’s… yeah.”

She didn’t reply.

“I also got you a gift.” You blurted again, cursing yourself for it internally, because you weren’t even sure if you were just making this worse, whatever this was, but when you held the box out she took it.

You watched her deftly open the lid and pull the mug out.

Best Mom Ever, it said.

It was Easter sales. It was cheap. It had some silly spring themed design on it but there was a bunny that made you think of her, and you chose the one with the text in purple that just matched her robes.

“I was gonna go for ‘best mentor’, but they didn’t, uh, have those.” you said pitifully.

Agatha opened her mouth, still staring at the mug, then closed it again. She turned it over. Tilted her head at the little brown and white bunny painted on it. Turned it back over in her hand. And you were suddenly wishing you’d never done any of this.

It had been a bad idea. She was just back from being a ghost, back to being alive, and what if you made things weird now, what if she--

You blinked, fought the tears back down again.

But this time they wouldn’t listen to your will. Instead they gathered in your already glassy eyes and spilled softly once you blinked, silent as a feather. You turned to leave but she held up a hand, and you stopped. You didn’t have it in you to disobey her right now.

You opened your mouth. “It’s just…” your voice was shaky and soft, “You were gone for s-so long and I- I never got to tell you thank you- I just-”

You forced yourself to take an uneven breath.

“You don’t have to- to say anything about this, ever again, just- don’t throw it away please. I...”

Those weren’t the words you’d had in mind but it seemed your heart had chosen now to be openly vulnerable and pitiful and every bit as needy as she’d always jokingly described you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from spiraling further.

Agatha finally sighed softly. She shook her head a little. And huffed.

“As if I’d throw away something as pathetically sentimental as this. Pfft.”

You felt a tearful laugh bubble out of your throat.

You watched her turn the card over once more, eyes briefly skimming over the text.

“Guess I’ll have to find somewhere to hide this,” she said, a faint smirk back on her face, “or it’ll ruin my fearsome reputation. Can’t have everyone thinking I’ve gone soft now that I’m back, but…”

You looked up, so evidently hopeful.

“But?”

She smiled. “But... I suppose it’s not too bad that you think of me as a-- as—”

And you realized her stopping wasn’t to tease you, it was because she was flustered.

The Agatha Harkness, flustered over a Mother’s Day card. Your life was something special, with the things you got to see.

“Do you like them?” you asked, so shyly and hopefully that even she couldn’t hide a hint of fondness in her eyes that shone through.

She sighed like it pained her to say so, but gave a sort of half-nod, half-shrug.

“It’s my shade of purple.” she said, glancing back down at the mug. “Card’s a bit tacky, but I suppose your sappy writing inside adds to the overall value.”

She smiled. “You can stop holding your breath, toots. I find it embarrassingly endearing. Both the card and this.”

You felt as if the weight of the world was off your heart.

And then you couldn’t hold back any longer and hugged her.

She stumbled back a bit against the cushions at your half-tackle, both hands balancing (adorably) to keep the mug from knocking into anything as you hugged her. Then she somehow set it down onto the nearest sturdy surface, and carefully hugged you back with an exaggerated sigh.

“I suppose this is my punishment for being overly influencial in your life.” she exhaled woefully, patting your back.

You just smiled and hid your face into her shoulder, inhaling that familiar lavender-and-magic scent of her perfume, feeling the dampness of her still-wet hair against your cheek, the everlasting safety and comfort you felt every time you were wrapped in her arms. You buried your head deeper. Closed your eyes, feeling more tears falling freely.

“I really missed you.” you mumbled, “It was so quiet without you, and so lonely, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here- I just couldn’t-”

She sushed you gently, softly, warm hands never faltering in gliding over your hair.

“Don’t apologize.” she murmured. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I should’ve been here—” you sniffled quietly, “To- to take care of Senor Scratchy a-and-”

“He’s a tough cookie.” she said, voice firm but still soft. “And so are you. You’re strong. More so thank you believe.”

“I don’t feel strong.” you mumbled.

It was true. You didn’t. At all. All you wanted was to stay in her arms and cry and have her comforting you until your tears all stopped and your heart felt full, and then have her promise to never, ever, ever leave you again. You didn’t think you could take it. Couldn’t take the loss of her.

You felt her lips brush against the top of your head as she spoke her next words.

“You know, I don’t always feel strong either.” she said, quiet as the night.

You looked up. Frowned a little. Of course it was true, you supposed no one could always feel strong all the time, that was impossible, but hearing her say it was just…

“Of course you can’t tell anyone that, it’ll ruin the fun, but…” she sighed softly, blue eyes meeting yours, finally making you feel reassured. “I think you’ve gathered my mother wasn’t the best at… anything remotely relating to care. Sometimes I worry that I’m becoming just like her.”

You opened your mouth instantly to argue but she shushed you.

“But when you go ahead and do sweet things like this…” she gestured vaguely to the card and mug you’d given her, “it’s when I think that I must be doing something right. Even if I don’t say it often. I do care about you, hun. So much.”

“I love you too.” you mumbled, tucking your face back against her sweater. You felt her still against you, her breath stuttering in her chest for one brief moment.

“You do, do you?” she murmured back.

And too exhausted to care, you simply nodded against her, because it was the truth. You did love her. She was your scary, chaotic, witchy mentor and your only family, and you loved her in a way you never loved anyone else. Maybe because you never had anyone else like that, but maybe because there was no one else like her. She was so greatly, chaotically unique, and she’d chosen to teach you, to let you stay, to let you in. It made you feel so special that you didn’t even care if she’d say it back to you of not.

So when she said in a soft whisper, “I guess I love you too, then. You little menace.” you couldn’t think of a response that conveyed your happiness, and just closed your eyes.

You stayed like that for a while. You wrapped tightly in her arms on the couch, clinging to her because she was finally, really, actually back, and then listening to her list of threats of hexes that she would cast if you ever uttered a word to anyone of what she’d just said to you. But your smile never faltered. Your relief finally didn’t dim. And after reluctantly letting go of her so she could disappear into the kitchen while she ordered you both takeouts-- you really had to go to the store someone soon to get food-- you took her teasing when she came back in a few minutes later, reappearing with a fresh cup of coffee in her new mug that she was now claiming was cheap and too suburban and basic, but you didn’t miss the genuine smile she tried to hide every time her eyes went over the words.

And later, when you went to say goodnight and stayed for another hug because you had to make up for all the time she was gone, maybe you glimpsed that card somewhere in her room, high on a shelf enchanted to repel dust, or tucked away in a desk drawer that only held some of her most important, valuable trinkets and possessions. When you drifted off to sleep that day, Westview now quiet and soft against the backround, nothing but the sounds of magic thrumming in the air around the house and the occasional cricket in the Azalea bushes outside, you felt ready to start the rest of your life again, everything and everyone now safely back into place where you needed them most. Finally, after what seemed a dozen nights of tears and sleepless thoughts, poring over spellbooks and centuries-old tomes, you let yourself rest, and softly fell asleep.

🐇.•*¨`*•.¸ 🐇.•*¨`*•. 🐇¸.•*¨`*•. 🐇

A/n: ...phew. took me 2 weeks-ish to start writing this, and then i wrote most of it yesterday in ungodly hours of the night and went to bed. With college and everything i probably won't be able to post as much as I did before but i'll try to keep at it whenever a new idea strikes, and i always love reading yall's opinions or anything else, so if anyone sends in an ask pls know i'll get to it as soon as i have time (i always want to make sure i reply properly to y'all and not just write something hasty in the moment.) This was not proofread, I'm sorryyy. When she mutters 'okay whatever' i see it like in ep2 after Jen comes in and Agatha's like 'i don't care, do whatever she wants...' all grumpy and- anywayy. Title is from Soft Universe by AURORA. I try to match the song to the vibes of the fic and when I saw the lyrics for this one it was perfect. Hope you have a wonderful day and happy Easter holidays to everyone who celebrates!! 🐰🐇🐰🐣💐 side note: you all always write the best comments, i wanted to say thank you for always making me smile :-)

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

[gallifreyan85]

thinking about these headcanons and plotting new fic ideas

hello again! here’s some headcanons for both arms cradle you now, since i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. i love it more and more every time i reread it.

you can’t help but notice how much more she seems to stick around, even when she isn’t teaching you. you would never complain about it, spending time with her was rare in the early days of your training, but lately, it’s become so much more noticeable.

it’s not that she’s become overprotective, no, she’s very confident in how she’s taught you, seeing how you’ve advanced with your magic recently. not to mention, she’s agatha harkness, the Witch Killer, she knows she can keep the two of you safe.

to you, it’s just the two of you sharing spaces more than before. 

you’re in the living room playing video games? she’ll come sit with you while she reads or sews. it’s only a matter of time before she puts her activity on hold and asks you to explain whatever it is that you’re playing.

before your kidnapping, there were a handful of nights where agatha would take her dinner down to the basement with her, stating that she needed more time to finish working on something, and gently reminding you to not stay up too late. post-kidnapping, you’re both working hard in the basement until evening, and when you stretch while sitting in your chair, agatha surprises you by putting a bookmark in her spellbook and declaring that you’d both done enough work for the day. you haven’t had to eat dinner alone ever since.

if you fall asleep on the couch for a nap, you’ll wake up to a blanket laid over you and lingering remains of her presence in the room, like her sweater that she’d left on the chair, her half-full mug of tea, or even señor scratchy sitting in her usual spot.

to her, it’s her acute awareness of the bond between the two of you, and a determination to give you the steady, quiet love that she never felt while growing up. she knows you fairly well, but after you got kidnapped, she feels sick at the thought of not cherishing every moment.

she insists on tucking you in for bed, often telling you stories and combing her fingers through your hair while you drift off. she’s given up on saying that she isn’t doting, instead, she tries to memorize the way you jokingly say “okay, mom,” and how her chest feels a little bit lighter when you do. she tries not to think about your sleepy mumbles, from a place between wakefulness and dreams, calling out “mom?” nor how you only seem to settle down once she softly coos that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

you don’t comment on how her hugs are tighter than before, how they last longer than before, or how she plants a kiss on the crown of your head whenever they happen. you know that even if you were the one taken hostage by some unknown witches, it scared her too.

mentor!agatha will hold a special place in my heart, and i really loved exploring her character like this because her love language is so quiet and yet so meaningful, like if she can’t get the words out, she makes sure her actions count. take care!! - review anon

Hi againn!! I'm so sorry for how long it took to answer this, my weekend was a bit hectic and busy.

I really liked all of these and especially what you said about how she's confident in what she's taught us. Also it fits perfectly for the fic because one of her main points was her not doing the work for you, but teaching you the right spells and how to do them yourself. That being said I absolutely think she knows the line between that and when you really need her- when she drops everything to go help you, comfort you, etc. The clinging to her coat or sweaters!!! I have this in my mind as a fact also, like the vague scent of her perfume is so comforting- and the things she leaves around are just another reminder that we're not alone. Calling her mom is definitely a thing for her, because she acts like she brushes it off or makes a teasing comment but internally she's melting and panicking just a little because she doesn't think she would be a good mother figure- she doesn't want to be like her mom, but she very much is. When Agatha worries it's a quiet but very loud kind of love through actions rather than words. Though she lets herself slip off the mask and be soft when you need it. She's very caring when she wants to be- protective charms, wards around your room, making you tea or coffee while you're studying...

I really loved these, and as always your message made me smile, and I'm happy to say this maybe gave me a little push to get back to writing (took a tiny break cause of no inspiration and volunteering at a thing for college) and hopefully when I get home and have a bit of time I can finally finish Scare me up pt.2 and maaaaybe some other fics. Thanks again for the lovely ask, hope you have a wonderful day!!

[gallifreyan85]

Agatha Harkness moodboard - Mother

🍀☁️ 🌼🌹

[gallifreyan85]

Wrapped All In Time And Tweed

Pairing: 11th Doctor x reader

Summary: one lonely day in your bedroom, you get your dream come true in the form of a blue box materializing in the middle of the room. along with a certain bowtie-wearing, fez-loving Time Lord with two hearts. things spiral from there.

A/n at the end, I had a lot to spill.

Warnings: hinted depression, angst with hurt/comfort, fluff

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I knew it the moment the sound reached my ears. I knew that it was real. Maybe it was the subtle closeness, something about the wheezing that I grew to love over the years made me able to recognize how similar, but also different it sounded.

I felt the wind next. The light blowing breeze as it materialized in front of me, fading into reality. That blue box. The one I've been dreaming about since I was a little girl.

And there it was. Right in front of me.

And yet for some reason, I drew back. I didn't move at all for a good few seconds after, as if to make sure I wasn't dreaming. But I wasn't. I knew it, with certainty, the moment the TARDIS stood still.

I stared at it-- at her, in awe. She was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. But that also meant that--

Before I could even raise a hand to knock the door opened halfway, and he peered out.

It was him. Oh God. It was him.

He pushed it open all the way and stepped outside - inside for me, and looked around. Then his eyes fell on me. He stopped, fixed his bow-tie, and I maybe stopped breathing for those few seconds, and then he smiled, and waved a hand in greeting.

"Hello." He said, slowly coming closer until he was right in front of me. Just a few feet away.

Just a few feet between- between me and--

"I'm the Doctor." He glanced around again. "Is this your bedroom? Sorry, my ship, she must've..."

His eyes caught mine. He stared at me intently, just for a couple of seconds, but I felt as if he could see right through me. As if he could see every emotion I was feeling and every secret I had.

"Are you alright?" He asked, voice slightly softer.

And then I wanted to cry, because he was there and he was asking me if I was alright, which I really actually was up to that point, but seeing him-- standing so real in front of me, made some deeply hidden sadness dig itself up and consume me whole.

I nodded. Or, tried to. Christ. It was really hard to do anything when he was right there. The man I admired so much. Owed so much.

He didn't even know.

I nodded again, for real this time, and I was about to ask why he was asking me that, but then I realized my cheeks were wet with tears.

I wiped them away quickly.

"I'm okay." I said.

"Are you... really here?" As soon as I saw him I knew, but my brain was still catching up with me, and I needed to make sure this wasn't a dream.

"Here?" He smiled inquisitively.

"Are you real?" I qualified. For who, I wasn't sure exactly.

"Well, of course I'm real!" He answered swiftly, making a quick spin around as if to demonstrate that he was telling the truth. "We're both here, both real." He dug a hand into his tweed jacket, pulled out the sonic and gave it a quick buzz, "You too. Definitely real."

I stared at him. After a moment or two while he patiently waited - I noticed that too and then I wanted to cry again, because he was so nice - I slowly extended a hand towards him.

He took it, gently, and shook in a handshake.

I really wasn't sure if I was crying or not at that point, because my God, it was him, and he was there and he was shaking my hand.

As the realization hit me I pulled away.

Then I finally said what I was thinking all along.

"Oh my God you're actually here. I know you're probably so confused as to why I'm freaking out because I really am. I'm totally freaking out because I've wanted this to happen for so long, I- I dreamed of this happening to me of all people, so I really don't understand why me, I mean I'm no one special I'm just-- oh God."

I took a deep, long breath after that. It was the only thing I trusted myself to do then. Breathe. And he- the Doctor, The actual Doctor was looking at me with a mix of concern and confusion, and I really wanted to apologize because the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was crazy and actually leave.

So I did apologize.

"I'm sorry." I said quietly, regretfully, "I know that made no sense but I swear I can explain. Please don't leave..."

And then he was walking towards me again, and I could feel my hands heating up, my heart hammering away in my chest.

"It's okay. I'm not leaving. See?" He gave a little twirl, "Still here."

He was trying to make me laugh because be could see how sad I was, and that alone made me feel somehow nostalgic, and even more sad.

I chuckled through my tears. God, I was happy. I was happy, and sad at the same time, and probably a little scared also.

"Thank you." I whispered.

My voice was slightly hoarse, but I packed all of my emotions into those two words, and hoped that he would understand.

And somehow, before I even said anything, I knew he would.

"It's okay." He repeated, sitting down at the foot of my bed. I carefully sat next to him.

"I'm Y/n." I said quietly. "Sorry, for not saying that earlier, I'm still a little--"

Scared? Confused? Grateful? Thankful, amazed, completely in-awe and happy and sad and---

"Lovely name." He said in return, "It's nice to meet you, Y/n."

I nodded. Then, I had an idea.

"Um, so--" I stared hesitantly, but continued when I saw him nod in reassurance - God, he was so kind and I was a complete stranger. It made me wonder what it was like to be his friend.

"You can like-- read minds... right?"

He looked at me curiously. "I can. How did you know that?" His eyes narrowed, and suddenly I felt a little bit nervous.

Even more so than before.

So I spoke quickly.

"This is gonna sound weird but it's a very long story and I don't even think I could explain it right now-- so could you maybe like, read my mind? To know what's going on. Because I really can't. It's really hard to explain right now but I swear it'd be so much easier that way."

He thought for a quick moment.

Contemplated it, I think.

"Okay." He said, and turned towards me, and then I was really, really nervous.

Because it wasn't everyday that you let your childhood hero whom you though wasn't real but it somehow turned out he was - into your head. Into your thoughts. Memories. Everything.

He seemed to notice my hesitation.

"Don't worry." He told me softly, raising both hands to the side of my head, "This won't hurt a bit."

I knew that, from before. I knew that show back to front. "I know." I still said aloud, more to myself than to the Doctor.

His fingers pressed against my temples, his touch feather-light, and instinctively I closed my eyes.

And then he was there. Inside my head. Going through my thoughts. So I thought.

I thought long, and hard, and I tried to remember every detail about everything that was going on.

But then I felt myself drift. Away from the show, and fantasy, and to what was definitely real, but sometimes I didn't want it to be.

My life.

Well, not exactly. But all the little things. Things forgotten and things I remembered and things I didn't want to remember. I don't think he saw all of that. Just some bits. Just the blips that sometimes crossed my mind when I was alone for too long.

Memories.

Friendships.

Family.

Loneliness.

"Stop." I sat up, a little too abruptly, and wavered. Then I opened my eyes and he was still there.

I wanted to say something, but he spoke first.

"I understand." He breathed.

I frowned a bit. "You-- you do?"

But then he smiled at me, and jumped up from the bed, eyes glinting with a familiar gleam. "Yes! Of course I do. Don't you? Come on---"

I blinked. I didn't understand.

Of course he was a thousand year old alien from another planet and I was just-- me-- but--

"It doesn't matter." He told me when I shook my head.

"No, but -- won't you tell me what's going on? Won't you explain--?"

And again he smiled, turning to face me.

"No, no, don't you see? That is the explanation. It doesn't matter how I got here. Or why. Or anything. What matters is that you're here-- and I'm here, and we're talking!"

He did a little victory gesture, waving his hand in the air. It made me laugh. But then my smile faded.

"We're talking..." I told myself. He nodded.

"Does that mean-- well. You're..." I really forgot how to talk goddammit. Deep breath. He was still listening.

"You've traveled... for so long. And I always felt like I could-- if I ever met you, that is, that I'd be able to tell you anything and you'd sort of understand." I tried. "Because you've seen so much. I thought maybe you could help-- me?"

The Doctor met my eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."

He said it so sincerely that it made my eyes water. Because hearing him say it felt so special for some reason. And after the first few tears slipped from my eyes, I couldn't stop crying.

"Hey, hey, Y/n..." he stepped closer, clearly worried, and reached out a hand in an attempt to calm me down.

But his voice. The concern on his face. It just made me cry harder. I sobbed. Then, still sobbing, I came nearer and accepted his outstretched hand, taking it in my own.

He took that as a sign that it was okay to come near me. And as soon as he did I flung myself at him, uncaring of the fact that I only just met him. I felt as if I knew him for years now. And it it was anyone who could maybe fix this, it was the Doctor.

I hid my face in his jacket, still heaving with sobs, and felt him stumble slightly, but return the hug nevertheless.

I closed my eyes again.

He held me close, let me cry and cry until I simply couldn't anymore, all the while gently rubbing by back. His other hand cradled my head, and I never felt safer.

I cried some more. Then I stopped. And angled my head up to look at him. He didn't say anything. Neither did I.

"Thank you..." I murmured quietly.

He hugged me a little tighter. "You're so very welcome, Y/n. Hey," his fingers brushed against my cheek, wiping away the tears there, "you're going to be okay. I'll make sure of it. Even if it means I have to drop by for a visit every now and again."

I piped up at that, gazing at him incredulously. "Really? You'd do that?" I knew he would. I still asked. He nodded.

"Of course I would. Y/n, listen, I know what you're feeling, alright? I know what it's like, right now. But I promise it's going to get better. I promise."

It was such a cliché but coming from him I believed it.

"Thank you." I said again. He just smiled at me.

"For everything." I added after a while. If this was really real I might as well tell him everything I've always wanted to.

"When you save the planet from whatever destruction... and it seems to happen a lot, most of the time people don't even know. But you never ask for gratitude you just.. save the world and fly away."

I take a breath. "You saved my life." The words ring truer than I can explain but I don't think I could, not without messing up the context. So I say,

"You didn't just save my life, you saved us all. So many times. And you probably will again, too, and no ones ever stops and says thanks." I told him, determined. "I know I'm not the whole of eight billion people or- however there is today, but on behalf of everyone here, I'd like to say thank you."

He studied me for a moment silently, and the look in his eyes made me momentarily worry I've touched on the wrong subject, but them he smiled, eyes crinkling warmly.

"That was probably the nicest thank you I've ever got." He grinned, almost childishly, with an excitement that seemed more real than through any screen I ever glimpsed it through before. Though there was something in the look he was giving me that made me want to give him a hug, for him this time.

This man, I thought, he just tries to save everybody, and the universe owes him more than he gets back. I probably do too.

"It would be nice to hear a thank you here and there, you're right about that." He added with a smile. "So your words are greatly appreciated."

I got the feeling that I should say more, because he deserved it, but I just beamed.

“Are we really going to talk again? Is that even- possible? I mean, fixed points-” I asked, hopefully. If the show was real then all the things about fixed points and time being rewritten were true as well. I wasn’t sure what else to say but the prospect of having this, this conversation, with him, I didn’t think I could go on knowing it would never happen again. Experiencing something like this and having it taken away after would be a loss I wouldn’t be able to cope with. He seemed to notice the expression on my face, or maybe I had said all that outloud, I wasn’t sure. I looked up at him then, desperation on my face, but he smiled softly.

“It’s possible. Time can be rewritten.” The words felt like a warm hug all over again. I let out a shaky breath.

“You promise?” I asked quietly.

“I promise. Cross my hearts.” he made an x gesture across his chest and I felt tears prickling in the corners of my eyes again. He really does say that. I opened my mouth but no words came out.

“I-- can’t even explain how much-” talking was hard again. He waved off my attempts at gratitude.

“You don’t have to say anything.” he reassured, “I understand. You showed me, remember?” He spoke as his fingers softly tapped my temple.

I nodded. I did show him, right. He was in my head, and now he was here, still. There was just silence for a moment. Then he got up abruptly, jumping to his feet and offering me a hand. I took it, without hesitation.

“Where are we going?”

He grinned. “Everywhere. Now that we said all of that I think it’s time I take you on a proper adventure. Come on!”

I let him pull me up and towards the TARDIS, which was still there, parked and standing in all her blue glory. With is free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny silver key. I paused before he opened the doors, though. My heart felt warm, same as my hand in his. He looked back at me, pausing as well.

“Everything okay?” he asked, gently.

I nodded. “Yeah. I just-” I paused, and thought. Just what? It was hard to explain, what I was feeling then. So much relief and hope, all at once, and a joyful sort of giddiness I hadn’t felt for a long, long time now. When I raised my head again he was still standing there, watching me patiently with a mix of curiosity and concern behind those eyes that saw so much.

“I’m okay.” For once I spoke those words with no lie behind them.

I was going to see it all. The universe, adventure, the running-for-your-life parts I was sure would scare me but leave me wanting for more, and everything else I’ve always imagined. All the questions I had. I would ask him for advice, because who better to ask. I would probably cry more, and tell him things I never meant to tell anyone in my life, because it was him. I saw he was waiting for a slightly better conformation on my part. I smiled. “I’m okay. I was just- I wanted to make sure I remember this part. All of it, but… this. You know?”

He look on his face was a reply in itself, and I was slightly surprised when he, after a moment’s thinking, stepped away from the door and stood back. I frowned, curious and a little confused.

“You open it.” He said softly, a determination in his voice. His hand urged me to come closer, and I did, tentatively touching the key in the lock. When my fingers brushed against it it felt exactly how I always imagined it. Warm, metallic yet somehow more alive, and it felt like home. I turned the key. The lock clicked. The door opened, and with an almost subconscious deja vu I pushed it forwards, ignoring the ‘Pull to Open” sign on the door.

“It’s…” I had to say it. Everybody did. Everyone always does.

He only smiled as I uttered the words.

“It’s bigger on the inside.”

He looked around, as if seeing it all for the first time. “It would appear so, yes.”

I giggled, now giddy with excitement. I watched him go to the console in the middle, still watching every single detail that caught my eye, all dipped in a warm orange glow. I held the railing and practically skipped up the glass steps, and ran a hand over the metal of the controls.

He seemed to be watching me, enjoying my evident excitement. For a moment I thought back to what he told Amy that one time, about his friends helping him see the universe as if for the first time. Was that what I was going to do here? Was I going to be that person? For him? It would be an honor, if that was the case, and I got the notion that it might be. After thoroughly examining all the controls I watched as he finally joined me at one of the panels and flicked a few switches, seemingly at random but it was with such an easy precision that it seemed he’d done it a thousand times before. With his hand on the final lever his eyes met mine, and I nodded slightly, a conformation, a smile on my face.

“Geronimo.” He said.

I couldn’t help but grin as the word left his mouth, and as the lever moved so did the whole room. Everything shook, in a sort of safely chaotic way, and I held onto anything I could, unable to help the laugh that bubbled out of me. This really was a dream come true. The Doctor laughed along with me, enjoying the ride as much as I was, and I knew when we landed, not knowing where, or when, or why, that he was right after all. It didn’t matter what I did to make it all happen, if it even was me, and I had the feeling it wasn’t. What mattered was that hearing that beautiful noise, the one that brings hope wherever it goes, it made me realize that there was still a part of me that hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to be happy.

I closed my eyes, letting my ears fill with the noise of wheezing breaks, a metallic creaking and groaning I only ever yet heard over the TV. The TARDIS landed with a thud, and I smiled, feeling more lucky than ever before, as I followed the Doctor down the glass steps and to the door, to the awaiting adventure I knew I would never, ever forget.

A/n: There's a much longer (and more honest) a/n on ao3 where this was originally posted. Link is on my masterlist. While I like to think my writings improved over the years, I wrote this in early 2021, in the middle of lockdown and everything else, while I was in high school. If I were to write this fic over again, I would definitely change some things, but for now I'll leave it as it is, I think it's only fair. This was a very personal thing to write for me, but I thought it might help someone else the same as all the fics I read helped me when I needed it most. The title comes from Halia Abdel Meguid's beautiful lyrics to Mad Man With a Box. 💙 💙

P.s. same as for Agatha, I'm making a taglist for Dr Who, so if anyone wants a tag when I post a new fic please comment or let me know <3 have a wonderful day!!

[gallifreyan85]

Might post one of my older Dr Who fics on here (from my masterlist but it's on ao3) cause I got nostalgic and watching a few s5 episodes.

Also new Agatha fic is in the making. Sort of. It's chaotic.

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