Chapter Text
--The Golden Globes --
"Are you sure about this?" Agatha whispers, clutching the sealed envelope Rio just handed her. They’re seated at table 14, surrounded by Hollywood's elite, and Agatha is nominated for Best Actress in a Drama Series.
"When have my speeches ever let you down?" Rio smile innocently.
"That's what worries me. Remember the Emmy's last year?"
"The interpretive dance number was a hit!"
"The entire front row had to dodge my spinning."
Before Rio can defend her creative choices, the presenter approaches the microphone. Agatha’s hand finds Rio’s under the table, squeezing tight. Rio watches her face as they read the nominees, that perfectly maintained neutral expression that only Rio knows it means she's nervous.
"And the Golden Globe goes to... Agatha Harkness!"
The room erupts in applause. Agatha turns to Rio, half-panicked, half-excited. "If this speech makes me do anything involving backflips, we're getting divorced."
She kisses Rio quickly and makes her way to the stage, unopened envelope in hand. Under the bright lights, she finally breaks the seal and unfolds the handwritten speech.
Her signature deadpan expression cracks immediately into a grin.
"First of all," she reads, "I'd like to thank my wife for writing this speech, which I am reading for the first time right now, like a hostage video." The audience laughs. "I would also like to thank my rabbit, who watched me practice my scenes every night and only ate my script twice. A significant improvement from last season."
-- The SAG Awards --
"You look nervous," Rio noted, adjusting Agatha’s tie as they waited for their car.
"Last time your speech had me speaking in French halfway through."
"That was performance art!"
"The headline was ‘Agatha Harkness Possibly Possessed During Award Speech.'"
"All press is good press, babe."
At the ceremony, Rio hand her another sealed envelope. Agatha eyed it suspiciously. "Does this one require any exorcisms?"
"No demons. Probably."
When they announce her win for Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor, Agatha looked more nervous about her speech than she did about winning. On stage, she opens the envelope with theatrical caution.
"Wow," she reads, then pauses, squinting at my handwriting. "According to this speech, I'd like to thank the academy, but more importantly, I'd like to thank the ghost that lives in my dressing room. Martha, if you're watching – and I know you are because you're literally always watching – thank you for only slightly moving my props between scenes. Your subtle gaslighting really helped me get into character."
-- The Emmy's --
They were getting ready for the Emmy's when Agatha confronted Rio in their bedroom.
"Just tell me one thing," she says, putting in her earrings. "Will this speech require any acrobatics?"
"Would I do that to you?"
"Yes. Repeatedly. With joy."
At the ceremony, she's nominated for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series. As they sit through the other categories, she keeps eyeing the envelope in her clutch like it might spontaneously combust.
"Stop worrying," Rio whispers. "This one's tame."
"That's what you said about the Critics’ Choice Awards speech that had me performing a one-woman reenactment of The Godfather."
"The critics loved it! Hence, Critics’ Choice."
When they call her name, she gives Rio a look that's equal parts 'I love you' and 'I might kill you later.' On stage, she opens the envelope with dramatic flair.
"Oh no," she says into the microphone, getting her first glimpse of her speech. The audience laughs nervously. "Apparently, I need to start by addressing the rumour that I'm actually three raccoons in a trench coat. While I neither confirm nor deny these allegations, I would like to point out that my craft services rider specifically requesting trash pandas was purely coincidental..."
Later that night, curled up on their couch still in our fancy clothes, Agatha scrolls on her phone. They were trending on Twitter:
[Agatha’s wife's speeches are the gift that keeps on giving]
[Petition for her to write ALL award show speeches]
[The raccoon theory actually explains so much???]
"You know," Agatha says, kicking off her heels, "most people's spouses just write normal, sappy speeches."
"Most people's spouses are boring." Rio grins. "Besides, you love not knowing what chaos awaits you on that stage."
She tries to maintain her deadpan expression but fails. "Maybe. But if the next speech involves any more supernatural summoning..."
"No promises."
--The Oscars--
The Academy Awards. The pinnacle of film recognition. And there they are, Agatha in a stunning black tuxedo, trying not to panic.
"You look extra suspicious tonight," Agatha whispers as they take their seats.
"I have no idea what you mean."
"You've been smirking since we left the house."
"That's just my face."
"You're a terrible liar." She pulls out the envelope Rio gave her. "Should I be worried that this one's heavier than usual?"
"I would never sabotage your first Oscar moment."
The category approaches. Best Actress in a Leading Role. Agatha’s hand finds Rio’s, squeezing tight. When they call her name, the room erupts. Through tears of joy, she makes her way to the stage, clutching the envelope and her composure with equal desperation.
Under the spotlight, she opens it. Her eyes go wide.
"Oh my god," she says into the microphone. Then starts laughing. Inside the envelope, along with her speech, is a tiny puppet made of folded paper.
"According to my wife's speech," she begins, setting up the miniature stage, "I need to perform this acceptance through interpretive puppet show." She pauses. "The puppet is drawn to look like our rabbit Señor Scratchy."
For the next three minutes, Agatha, newly minted Oscar winner, performs an elaborate puppet show about her journey to the Academy Awards, the audience loses their minds.
The final line of the speech reads: "And that's why you should never let your wife write your speeches unless you're prepared to perform puppet show at the Oscars while wearing Alexander McQueen."
--The Tonight Show Revelation--
"So, Agatha," the host leans forward, grinning, "we NEED to talk about these speeches. They've become legendary. How did this tradition start?"
Agatha gets that look – the one that means she's about to tell a story that will probably end up viral.
"Okay, so," she settles into her chair, "it actually started before we were even married. I was nominated for this small indie film award, nothing major. And I was SO nervous about giving a speech that I was practically catatonic. My then-girlfriend, now-wife, offers to write it for me. She hands me this sealed envelope right before the ceremony, very dramatic, very 'Mission Impossible.'"
The host nods encouragingly.
"So I win, right? I get up there, open the envelope, and it's... it's a step-by-step guide on how to make the perfect sandwich, but every step is actually a metaphor for my acting career." She starts laughing at the memory. "Step one was 'Choose your bread carefully, like how I chose to play a possessed nun in that one movie.' By step four I was crying laughing on stage, the audience thought I was having a breakdown, and I knew right then I was going to marry her."
"And now it's become your thing!" he holds up various headlines about her speeches.
"Yeah, but here's the best part – she writes them the morning of each ceremony. She says inspiration needs to be fresh. So, I never know what I'm walking into. The puppet show at the Oscars? She made that in our hotel room that morning. I found bits of paper and glitter in our bed for days."
"Do you ever get nervous about what she might write?"
"I'm terrified every single time. But also?" Agatha’s face softens. "It's become my good luck charm. Every speech she's written has won. Even that time she had me speaking in French at the Golden Globes."
"Can you speak French?"
"No! That's the point! She puts these impossible things in the speeches and somehow..." She shakes her head, grinning. "Somehow it works.”
--The EGOT Moment--
The Tony Awards. The final frontier. If Agatha wins this, she'll achieve EGOT status - Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony. The pressure is immense, the stakes astronomical.
"This envelope is concerning," Agatha whispers, holding up what appears to be a manila folder that's barely containing whatever's inside.
"Is it?"
"It's practically a printer paper ream." She narrows her eyes at me. "What did you do?"
"You seem nervous."
"Last time you gave me a thick envelope, I had to perform an entire one-woman show about the secret life of our dishwasher."
Before Rio can defend her creative choices, the category is announced. Best Leading Actress in a Play. The room goes silent. When they call her name, history is made – Agatha Harkness becomes an EGOT winner.
She takes the stage, clutching the massive envelope. Under the spotlight, she begins to unfold it. And unfold it. And unfold it.
The paper keeps going. The audience starts giggling as she continues to unfold what appears to be an endless document. She has to take several steps back to accommodate its size. By now she's fighting laughter herself.
Finally, after nearly a full minute of unfolding what's become a paper larger than she is, she squints at the centre.
The laughter bubbles up before she can stop it. She has to take a moment to compose herself, wiping tears from her eyes.
"My wife," she manages between giggles, "wrote me a speech for this historic moment." She holds up the massive paper, now almost as big as the backdrop. "It says, and I quote..."
She pauses for dramatic effect.
"Thank you."
The audience loses it. Agatha completely breaks character, doubling over with laughter. Through tears, she continues:
"That's it. That's the whole speech. She made me unfold this entire thing for two words." She's practically wheezing now. "I've been dreading this all night. I thought I was going to have to do a full Broadway number with backup dancers."
From her seat, Rio can see her trying to figure out how to fold it back up. She gives up after two attempts.
"I'm just going to... leave this here," she says, carefully laying the giant paper on the stage. "Thank you, and especially thank you to my wife, who somehow managed to make the shortest speech of my career take the longest to deliver."
As she makes her way back to her seat, the paper is ceremoniously carried off stage by two very confused stagehands. Agatha collapses into her chair beside me, still giggling.
"You're evil," she whispers, kissing Rio’s cheek.
"I had to top the puppet show somehow."
"Only you would think making me unfold a paper the size of a small country was the way to do that."
"I considered writing 'thank you' in even smaller font so it would take longer to find."
"We're definitely getting divorced this time."
"No, we're not. You love my speeches too much."
She tries to maintain her deadpan expression but fails. "Maybe. But the next one better be normal sized."
Rio smile innocently.