witchkillr

[witchkillr]

agatha muse is gone, idk when it will be back, if you would like a similar flavour of unhinged woman you can find me here

i know a lot of yall won't know her but she's very adaptable to various verses! treat her like an oc! love u mean it!

[witchkillr]

agatha muse is gone, idk when it will be back, if you would like a similar flavour of unhinged woman you can find me here

i know a lot of yall won't know her but she's very adaptable to various verses! treat her like an oc! love u mean it!

[witchkillr]

im this close to a mad m.aggie apex le.gends blog and i need someone to grab me by the scruff of my neck and stop me

[witchkillr]

AGATHA ALL ALONG 1.02

[witchkillr]

xoxo agatha

"are you taking issue with the scary part or the femme part? 'cause i've got news for... us."

[witchkillr]

i almost filled this out as also agatha but then realized kathryn would be funnier.

for an incredibly cursed second i thought you meant kathryn ha.hn.

[witchkillr]

this should be good lmao

[witchkillr]

here's another hot take for you. agatha made a mistake when she told lilia about the mechanics of her power. she did it because she underestimated her and wrote her off. it wasn't part of some grand plan, it was a gamble predicated upon the fact that she thought lilia was past her prime, a kook, a nonissue, which is why she chose her to con in the first place. agatha, despite her genius, can be wrong about people. she is fallible.

[witchkillr]

" you're getting blood everywhere, @heirceleste. " not that she minds, really. there's a hunger in her eyes that belies the complaint entire.

[witchkillr]

like for one-liner!

[witchkillr]

THERE IS SOMETHING TO THE NOTION of a starving woman and her endless font: agatha is and has been a desperately feral creature, raised on scraps of this thing, this love, to the point that she evolved to do without. her mother was a woman she lived with, never anything kinder or closer, and she did stop trying after awhile. clever agatha, never one to overstay her welcome, to suffocate under the pressure of fitting a square peg into a round hole.

she has convinced herself that she hungers for other things, and she does, but mura satisfies those urges also - she cannot be killed but she likes to play at it, cannot be drained no matter how agatha takes, and her love, too, is boundless and bountiful like the green situated between her ribs somewhere.

" i like to hear it, " she drawls. if she were someone else, someone to whom this came more easily, she might take the brush now. she might take up mura's task, helping her hair to go smooth and soft, unselfish and dedicated. instead she leans back at an angle, the column of her neck long in the dim light, and turns her gaze to the ceiling. " hang me for my wretched sentiment. "

she does not say it aloud, but here is the evidence of her reciprocation: not looking, she tightens mura's hand in hers, thumbing runic patterns over its back. she is in a loose nightgown, intricate but slipping from her shoulder, baring her soul.

[ and, perhaps most importantly, she is here, still. ]

@witchkillr, making demands.

just admit that you love me .

love hides in the smallest of cracks. apex predator, it sits in the underbrush, waiting to pounce, counts down millennia between heartbeats. love grows on patience like moss on wet soil, and in her chest there is space for a forest. and so when agatha asks - demands - seeks, it settles over her like dew.

the hour is late. mura ( and oh, to be mura again. to exist devoid of artifice, here in this little room, in this place so far from home. to strip herself bare, when for so long her leathers had stuck to her a second skin, and now at last, at last !! she can breathe again ) has undone her braid, hair spilling like rivers of ink across the sheets, a brush in a hand that freezes, motion aborted.

admit that you love me.

has she not ?? mornings find her with her mouth to agatha's shoulder. she has bathed blood from her skin, has sought to undo hurts knotted along her spine, the steady slow stillness of a lake that will not drown her. language feels at times immaterial and vain, crude renderings of a world painted colours with no name. it lives now in the corners of her mouth as she smiles, indulgent, raising so the sheets pool around her waist, sets aside her brush.

❝ have i given you reason to doubt that what i carry in my heart for you is love ?? ❞ teasing, like truth often has to be with her flighty heart. grasping fingers reach for fingers, a kiss planted in the middle of her palm like a seed, safe under the blanket of winter. ❝ i love you. it is as easy and as strange to me as breathing. ❞

[witchkillr]

hi i have a desperate gay need to incorporate this somehow

[witchkillr]

agatha prefers to do most things magically where she can. any menial, mundane task - cooking, cleaning, laundry - that can be completed with a flick of her wrist is time she can dedicate to other, more interesting pursuits. in combat she also prefers to utilise magic for two reasons:

a. the tactical advantage inherent to ranged combat she initiates, and

b. the opponent's likeliness to also use their magic offensively if provoked, which she can then absorb.

HOWEVER, she has a deep appreciation for the elegance and thoughtfulness of most weaponry. she knows how to shoot almost every type of gun you can think of, can fence and otherwise swordfight competently, and... don't ask her about knives, actually. that'll upset her.

[witchkillr]

🍸 A margarita; can be sweet, can be sour, and if you over-indulge you'll likely wake up with regrets.

oh this fucks

[witchkillr]

🍸If my muse was a cocktail, what would they be?

[witchkillr]

[vague choking noises]

[witchkillr]

one thing about agatha is that she is not at all afraid to completely embarrass herself in public