Chapter Text
Day 1:
At first, bartending and tattooing were not potential careers for Agatha Harkness. Having grown up in a strict Christian household, with her father as the pastor, Agatha was as white and blank as a piece of paper. Most of her and her siblings’ childhood revolved around the house and the church. Only when she approached high school did her parents finally enroll her in the local public school — probably because of the arrival of her youngest twin sisters. Nine children were barely manageable for her mother; eleven, with two who constantly needed attention, was impossible.
William Harkness distrusted secular American education, but his wife, Evanora, could no longer keep up with the chaos of the household. So it was decided that three of the older children—Agatha and her two brothers, unfortunately named Ezekiel and Lazarus — would attend high school. Agatha didn’t know what words God had whispered into her parents’ ears to make that happen, because William and Evanora firmly believed that a woman’s sole purpose in life was to be a God-fearing wife. Therefore, Agatha attending school unsupervised was nothing short of a miracle.
At school, Agatha discovered something that changed her life forever:
Women who were not her relatives or church members.
She still remembered vividly the first time she saw the cheerleading team at a basketball game. While other girls screamed for Troy and Lucas, Agatha’s eyes locked on Troy’s girlfriend, Rachel, balanced at the top of the pyramid. At first, guilt filled her mind. For everything Agatha had been taught, she mustn’t feel this — the desire swirling in the depths of her stomach. It haunted her at night. She dreamed of plum lips, chocolate skin, the curve of a waist, the tone of a muscled arm. Heat rose between her legs every time Rachel appeared in her dreams.
Then one day, while Agatha was at the library doing another thing she wasn’t allowed to do at home — drawing — her world changed again. She had found a book about witches and started doodling runes and symbols, even scenes of witches being burned at the stake. Things that would probably get her burned at the stake by her own parents. That was when Rachel sat down across from her.
Agatha swore her heart stopped beating for a second. Rachel showed interest in her drawings and, in turn, showed her something Agatha never imagined she’d see in real life — a tattoo. From that moment, Agatha’s life veered off its God-approved path.
A trip to Rachel’s brother’s tattoo studio, disguised as a math tutoring session.
An adventure to the underground bar below, in place of a cramped study night before finals.
And finally, a kiss behind the bleachers on Rachel’s graduation day — her Judas’ kiss.
Fireworks, gunpowder, dynamite, and nuclear explosions were nothing compared to that kiss — and what happened in the bathroom afterward.
From then on, Agatha was a storm. Even the prom king lost his queen to her. Between home, church, and school, she found herself sneaking off to Rachel’s brother’s tattoo studio under the pretense of tutoring, designing tattoos in exchange for cash. Her first tattoo eventually found its way onto her rib cage — a blowing bush of azalea. The rib wasn’t the recommended spot for a first tattoo, but it was the only place she could hide it from her parents. Ironically, it was also the place of Jesus’s wound — the blood that freed humanity from sin, just as Agatha’s flowers freed her from years of oppression.
But what will be, will be. The eldest daughter of an ultra-conservative pastor hanging out at a Black-owned tattoo studio wasn’t exactly a common sight. Rumors spread, and her mother ambushed her one afternoon, right when Agatha’s tongue was deep down a client’s throat. A slap to the cheek and some bible quoting. There was shouting, there was dragging, and there was condemnation. A sight that was hardly seen in a peaceful rural town of Ohio. A moment later, Agatha found herself with a backpack, a handful of tucked-away cash, and a one-way ticket to Cambridge, Massachusetts — the earliest bus she could catch before her father’s car reached the station.
And that’s how she ended up opening a bar with Alice, the first friend she made in Massachusetts, right next to Harvard.
Man, those students could party as hard as they studied. After finals, the bar would always be packed. The finale wrecked everyone — stress, anxiety, hormones, and emotions bottled up inside pressure cookers that took the shape of young people. They needed relief, and what was better than ear-blasting music and alcohol?
The Agatha of today was not the same girl who stepped foot in Massachusetts ten years ago. She was no longer a blank piece of paper but a well-loved canvas.
On her left bicep: a skull resting on flowers and leaves — death from life.
On her forearm: a tarantula, because why not? Beneath it, two scissors proudly screamed her love for women.
On her shoulders: two rabbits, her favorite animal, holding up a tarot card — the Three of Swords — symbolizing rejection from her family.
On her abdomen: the word witch arched over her belly-button piercing, for Agatha's first love always called her a wicked witch, in an endearing term, of course.
Behind her back: a full protective rune, a reminder of that faithful day she doodled witches in that library.
Down her right arm: designs of women and plants that bloomed.
She adored her white streak of hair. She made sure people noticed who owned The Witches’ Brew when they walked in.
“Two beers, please,” a young man asked.
“Coming right up,” Agatha smiled.
“Hey, do you still do full-back tattoos?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“I do,” another boy chimed in, barely eighteen, definitely using a fake ID.
Agatha grinned. “How about we start with something small first, huh?” She handed a beer to the first guy and a Coke to the boy. “Freshman.”
“Is it that obvious?” the boy sighed.
“Learn to shave properly first, will you?” She pointed at the razor cut on his chin. “Then find me when the sun’s still up.”
“Thanks!”
On stage, Alice was controlling the music and the crowd. She sang her heart out, shredding the guitar like it owed her money. They’d first met years ago, when they shared a room above a restaurant kitchen — the same place they both worked. Alice was an aspiring musician just been accepted into Harvard’s music program. Agatha, on the other hand, had nothing but the clothes on her back, $348 in cash, and an unknown future.
They bonded over the heat of the kitchen, cheap beer, harsh cigarettes, and shared gigs, bartending and singing at local bars. By the time Alice graduated, she’d decided not to sell her music to a capitalist producer. Instead, using the remainder of her inheritance from her mother, a former rock star, and all of Agatha’s savings from waitressing, tattooing, and bartending, they opened a bar at night and a tattoo shop during the day together. Alice got a stage to sing on; Agatha got a place to draw.
Enthusiastic humans were singing — screaming — and dancing to the music. Lights flashed like thunder in a bottle. Some cheered for a successful semester; others cried over a failed one. Even a few professors had wandered in, seeking their own kind of stress relief. The air smelled of sweat, beer, and cheap perfume, a cocktail of joy and exhaustion.
The bar was alive, throbbing, pulsing, almost breathing.
And yet, amid all that noise and color, Agatha’s attention kept returning to the figure at the far corner.
A girl sat alone at the farthest corner of the bar, dressed simply — a T-shirt and black jeans. Her hair was tied into a low ponytail, square black glasses perched on her nose. She hugged an empty old-fashioned glass, eyes fixed on her phone, reading. Headphones covered her ears as she bopped slightly to music that clearly wasn’t Alice’s set. Despite the chaos around her, she was in a world of her own.
Interesting, Agatha thought. She shouldn’t leave a customer’s glass empty.
She walked over. “Anything more to drink?”
No answer. The girl was too deep in her own world. Agatha waved a hand in front of her face. Slowly, the girl looked up. Under the bar’s dim lights, her eyes were honey-colored, her skin glistening gold. When she pulled off her headphones, Agatha noticed the small constellation of piercings along her ear. Her T-shirt had a little green dinosaur sitting in a teacup that said Tea-rex. That’s an unusually adorable choice for a night at the bar, Agatha thought.
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your poison, honey?” Agatha asked, gesturing to the glass, the pet name slipping out before she could stop it.
“What?” The girl blinked. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”
Most people at a bar tried to act cool. This girl was too honest, too straightforward for her own good. Cute.
“We call our drinks poisons,” Agatha explained. “The bar’s called The Witches’ Brew, after all.”
“Oh, I didn’t catch that.” The girl smiled awkwardly. “My friends just dragged me here.”
“You don’t like bars?” Agatha leaned forward. “Most people I know run to one, the second the weekend starts.”
“I don’t like loud noises,” the girl admitted. “I like drinking, but the noise bothers me.”
“Hence the headphones?”
“Yeah. They’ve got active noise cancelling. You knows, when the chip iniside of these badass calculates the antiphase of the noises that they ate detecting from the outside to cancel each other out. The process is called destructive interference. That helps a little.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke. “They were the first thing I bought with my own money. I was so tired of all the street noise. These can make construction sound like soft tapping, but not car horns. Gotta hear those for safety.”
Agatha blinked, caught off guard by the flood of information from a cute living wikipedia — then laughed softly.
“Maybe next time I need a pair, I’ll call you,” she said, lingering on you just enough to make it suggestive.
The girl’s innocent hazel eyes met her blue ones. Maybe the hint hadn’t landed.
“Your name, dear. So I can call you next time.”
“Oh!” Realization dawned. Her face lowered and flushed, “It’s Rio.”
“I’m Agatha,” she said, holding out her hand. They shook. “Anything else I can get you, Rio?”
“Maybe another whiskey sour.” Rio nudged her glass, then smiled. “Please.”
“Sure.” Agatha smiled back and started mixing the drink.
“Thanks,” Rio said, slipping her headphones on again and disappearing back into her world.
But throughout the night, Agatha’s eyes found Rio’s more than once — and Rio’s always found their way back.