Agatha all along one shots

The icy gift

The cold night air of the Atlantic bit at Agatha's skin as she stood at the bow of the RMS Titanic, her eyes gleaming with amusement. The great ship cut through the water like a knife, elegant and unstoppable—at least, that's what they all thought. She could hear the laughter and music from the grand ballroom behind her, the carefree voices of the passengers unaware that their fate had already been sealed.

Agatha chuckled under her breath. Humans were always so arrogant, thinking themselves invincible.

Tonight, though, was different. There was something almost poetic about it—this great ship, filled with the wealthy and powerful, barreling toward its doom. And all because Agatha, a 400-year-old witch with a penchant for chaos, had decided it would be the perfect anniversary gift.

"Happy 200th, darling," Agatha whispered into the wind, her voice a mix of mockery and affection. She could almost feel Rio's presence already, lurking in the shadows, waiting for her turn.

Rio—Death herself.

Agatha had spent centuries dancing between love and hate with Rio. They were bound together, inextricably linked by the delicate balance of life and death. And while most people would shy away from trying to impress Death, Agatha had always been different. Their relationship thrived on dark humor and twisted affection, and this—well, this was her masterpiece.

She didn't need to look to know the iceberg was drawing closer. She could feel it, her magic swirling through the air, guiding the ship toward its inevitable collision. All it had taken was a simple nudge—a whisper of power here, a subtle push there. The crew had been distracted just long enough for Agatha's plan to slip into place, like clockwork.

And all for the sake of a petty grudge and a dark joke.

She smiled, remembering the reason she'd chosen this particular moment. Earlier that night, a wealthy aristocrat had dismissed her—an immortal witch—as nothing more than an eccentric woman trying to stir trouble among the passengers. He had insulted her dress, called her out of fashion, and even had the audacity to spill wine on her cloak.

Petty? Perhaps. But Agatha never needed much of a reason to stir trouble, and this? This was the perfect way to mark her and Rio's twisted anniversary.

"Enjoying yourself, Agatha?"

The voice was soft, like a breeze sweeping through the night, yet it sent a familiar shiver down Agatha's spine. She turned slowly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Rio stood a few feet away, her form cloaked in shadows, her dark eyes glinting like the endless abyss. She was beautiful in that unsettling, ethereal way—like looking into the void and finding it staring back at you.

"Ah, there she is," Agatha purred. "I was wondering when you'd show up. You're right on time."

Rio's lips curled into a slow, sardonic smile. "On time for what, exactly? The part where you drown hundreds of people just to get my attention?"

Agatha shrugged, nonchalant. "Consider it an anniversary present. A grand gesture, if you will. I thought you might enjoy the influx of souls."

Rio raised an eyebrow, though her amusement was palpable. "So, let me get this straight. You orchestrated one of the greatest maritime disasters in history because some rich idiot spilled wine on you? And somehow, that's supposed to be my gift?"

Agatha grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "You know I never do things halfway, darling. Besides, I figured you could use the work. It's been a slow century, hasn't it?"

Rio shook her head, a dark chuckle escaping her. "Only you, Agatha. Only you would turn a disaster into something so... personal. But I have to admit—this is a new one, even for us."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the icy wind whipping through the air, the distant hum of the ship's engines filling the space between them. Agatha could already sense the shift in the energy around them. The iceberg was near—just a few more minutes, and chaos would reign.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," Rio said after a pause, her voice softer now. "We could've just had dinner like normal beings."

Agatha's smirk faltered for just a moment, a flicker of something deeper passing through her eyes. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, you and I... we don't do normal, do we?"

Rio didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on Agatha. There was an unspoken understanding between them—a bond forged over centuries of being two sides of the same coin. Life and Death, intertwined, always drawn back to each other no matter how far they tried to pull apart.

Agatha glanced toward the horizon. The iceberg was almost there.

"Ah," she murmured, "showtime."

And then it happened. The great ship lurched, the sound of metal scraping against ice piercing the night as the Titanic struck the iceberg. Gasps and shouts echoed from the passengers behind them, the panic beginning to spread.

Agatha watched, her heart oddly calm as the chaos began to unfold. She could already see it—the scramble for lifeboats, the cold reality sinking in as people realized their fate. It was tragic, yes, but there was a dark beauty in it too. In the fragility of human life, in the way everything could change in an instant.

Rio, however, wasn't looking at the ship. She was looking at Agatha.

"You really are something else," Rio said softly, almost to herself. There was no malice in her voice, just an odd mix of affection and exasperation. "Out of all the ways to make a statement, you choose this."

Agatha shrugged, turning to face Rio fully now. "I thought you'd appreciate the gesture. Besides, I've always been a little dramatic."

Rio let out a low, tired laugh. "A little?"

The ship was already beginning to tilt, the water rushing in far faster than the crew could manage. Agatha could hear the screams now, the frantic rush of people trying to escape. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the sound wash over her like a symphony.

"You should get to work," Agatha said, glancing back at Rio. "All those souls aren't going to collect themselves."

Rio's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, and then she nodded, her form seeming to dissolve into the shadows around them. She would do her job—she always did. Death had her role, and tonight, that role was massive.

As Rio disappeared into the night, Agatha took one last look at the sinking ship, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and melancholy. She had orchestrated this for petty reasons, yes—but there was more to it than that. It was a reminder, a dark celebration of the twisted bond between her and Rio. A reminder that no matter how much time passed, they were always bound together in one way or another.

With a final sigh, Agatha turned and walked away from the chaos, the sound of Rio's work already beginning to fill the air.

Happy anniversary, indeed.