When subtext becomes maintext.

Guess who’s writing fanfic again?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64133626/chapters/164564005

When Rio made the hardest decision of her life and put her baby up for adoption, she never expected that he would show up in her office nine years later. And she really didn’t expect that his adoptive mother would be the woman she hooked up with the weekend before. As Rio and Agatha try to figure out the world’s weirdest coparenting situation, they know that sleeping with each other is a complication that is clearly off the table. Easy enough, right?

No code needed. Just scroll down to the bottom and click on the thumbnail and the video should start loading 🥰

Just for fun, all of 'em together. This was my original intent, since I've done it before, but felt they could all stand on their own.

“When people first hear how my mind works, they think it’s a gift,” she murmured, her gaze fixed somewhere distant, as if she were speaking to the air in front of her. “It really isn’t. I think… I think it’s a curse.”  

Agatha turned to her, caught off guard by the statement that seemed to come out nowhere, but Rio didn’t look back.   

Agatha could see the tension in Rio’s grip, the way her fingers tightened as if she were holding on to Agatha’s hand as a lifeline, as if she needed it to keep going.   

Agatha squeezed back, silently urging her forward, waiting.  

“When I was thirteen,” Rio began, her voice steady but laced with a strain, “my parents and I were driving back from one of my soccer tournaments. We were hit head-on by a drunk driver. My dad… he died instantly.”   

She paused, a tremor passing through her voice.   

“My mom, though… she was hurt badly. I could see her, but I couldn’t get to her—my legs were pinned.”  

Rio’s gaze drifted, as if the memory were pulling her back.  

Agatha watched as Rio’s free hand drifted to her knee, fingers tracing slow, restless patterns back and forth.  

“Sitting here, in this car,” Rio continued, her voice soft, hesitant, like she was speaking from a place buried deep within, “I can feel it, like I’m back there all over again. The weight pressing down on my legs, the tightness in my chest... the panic clawing its way up, the helplessness…”  

Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her head back into the leather seat, squeezing her eyes shut, her jaw clenched so tightly Agatha swore she could hear her teeth grinding.  

“And I can still hear her breaths,” Rio gritted out, the words strained, as if they were physically painful to release. “Each one... so wet, so— pained .”  

Agatha sucked in a quiet breath, her chest tightening in response to the raw pain laced in Rio’s voice.  

Jesus.  

Why was Rio telling her this? Why was she putting herself through the agony of reliving it?  

A sharp ache bloomed in Agatha’s chest as a startling realization hit her— she hated this.  

 Seeing Rio in pain, watching her struggle through memories that tore her apart piece by piece. Catching Rio quietly wiping tears away in the bathroom had been hard enough, but this… this was so much worse.  

But Rio wasn’t finished. It was as if she were determined to reach the end, to push through this painful memory, as though it held something she needed Agatha to understand.  

“My mom, she… she turned toward me,” Rio continued, her voice trembling, thick with emotion. “Even then, I could tell she was barely holding on. I knew— somehow, I just knew —that she was going to die. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”  

She swallowed hard, her jaw clenched as tears gathered in her eyes, shimmering in the dim light of the car.   

Agatha’s chest ached as she watched Rio struggle to hold back the flood of emotions, her grip tightening around Agatha’s hand in a borderline painful grip.  

“And then,” Rio’s voice broke, barely more than a whisper now, yet so loud in the quiet car.  “She told me… ‘ Close your eyes, mija ,’ she said. ‘ Close your eyes and cover your ears. Can you do that for me, baby? ’”  

After the words crawled painfully out of her mouth, she shook her head, as if trying to shake the sound of her mother voice from her ears.  

“I didn’t understand why she was asking me to do that,” she continued quietly, her voice trembling. “But I was terrified, so I did what she asked. I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and sat there in the back seat, surrounded by darkness and silence that felt like it would go on forever… while she died just five feet away from me.”  

Agatha’s chest tightened painfully, the weight of Rio’s words sinking deep.  

Rio’s words lingered in the silence that followed, as if the weight of them took on a tangible presence, filling the car—pressing against them.    

Agatha held her breath, watching as the tears finally slipped form her eyes and down Rio’s cheeks, silent but devastating.   

Agatha’s throat tightened, as she felt the urge to say something, to reach out and wipe them away, to offer words of comfort, but nothing seemed adequate—she was trapped in this story just as much Rio was.    

Rio took a shaky breath, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, though her grip on Agatha’s hand didn’t loosen.   

“It wasn’t until later, at the hospital that I realized why she told me to do that.  She asked me to close my eyes and cover my ears,” Rio continued, her voice fragile, “because she knew I’d never forget the moment she died. She knew that memory would haunt me. So, she tried to shield me, even then. She died still trying to protect me— protecting me from own mind .”  

Agatha’s heart ached at the depth of Rio’s pain, her fingers tightening around Rio’s hand in silent support. This wasn’t just a story—this was Rio’s way of opening a door to her heart, showing Agatha something she kept hidden from everyone.  

“After that, I learned to keep everything separate,” Rio said, her gaze distant, lost in the past. “To keep my eyes shut and my ears covered—to keep my emotions apart from the memories. It was the only way I know how to survive… to stop them from consuming me.”  

Agatha became dimly aware of the car slowing to a stop, catching a fleeting glimpse of Rio’s street outside the window, but she couldn’t tear her focus away from Rio. She was entirely caught up in the raw, unfiltered honesty spilling out before her.  

Rio hesitated, her hand tightening around Agatha’s, then loosening, then tightening again, as though she were battling with something buried deep.   

Agatha braced herself, sensing that whatever came next was going to be harder still—though she couldn’t imagine how Rio could possibly bear to share something more painful.  

With a deep, aching sigh, Rio finally turned, lifting her gaze to meet Agatha’s. Her eyes shone with a vulnerability so raw that it made Agatha’s heart skip a beat.  

And for the first time since she’d begun speaking, Rio looked her directly in the eye, and Agatha understood—whatever came next held everything Rio had been holding back.  

“But I can’t keep my eyes closed with you, Agatha,” Rio whispered, her voice breaking, the words trembling on the edge of something raw and unguarded. Her gaze held Agatha’s, as if searching for a safe place to land.  

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around Agatha’s as though trying to ground herself.   

“It just hit me out of nowhere.  And suddenly I... I feel everything ,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. “And I don’t know how to shut it off.”  

What "All Roads Lead to Me" Looks Like for Agatha:

A reminder that Kathryn Hahn and Aubrey Plaza are human beings. Just because they share a safe space to support/be apart of the LGBT community, it does not mean to invade their personal life.

Stalking, publishing their personal information, and suggesting they both need to file divorce from their husbands is beyond disgusting!

As much as I love what we are receiving from them both, it’s equally embarrassing to see the community and those who are in stance with the community, become a form of parasite that fall deep in the hole of parasocial relationships, fetishizing, and losing a form of morals for these people to fit your narrative.

Do NOT try to find the playlist they created. If they decide to share it, it should be on their own time.

Do NOT invade comments of how they need to leave the men because you want them to fuck each other to fit your weird fantasy.

Do NOT be them down for not having the physical attributes of other sapphic beings.

Do NOT forget that the entire problem with the all Marvel fandom(s) create a self destruction because people become entirely disgusting when they can’t accept a boundary drawn between them as fans and the actors.