#I have to post this or I can’t go to sleep
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ofbatsandballads · 2 days ago
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please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.
There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.
You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.
You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.
You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:
To whom it may concern,
I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.
Best regards,
Someone who loves your son.
Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.
You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.
You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.
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signanothername · 2 days ago
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I wanna say I'm really happy to see you explore non romantic relationships with the skeles.
As with most fandoms there is a strong focus on romantic relationships and sexual attraction (not a bad thing at all! I also enjoy that) and less on relationships that exist outside of that. I think it's hard for some people to grasp that you can have the same amount of love and devotion, if not more, for your best friend even if you two aren't ever going to be romantic or have sex.
But there is so many types of relationships out there that aren't expressly romantic or sexual in nature. So many ways people exist and care for each other that.
It's just a nice change of pace to see, so thank you!
Awww thank you!!
And yep, I completely agree!
Unfortunately romance/ sex is highly over glorified (something that I had witnessed with some comments on my own art in the far past)
So many people seem to just.. get stuck on very basic ideas about relationships
And it’s especially clear when it comes to physical affection, god forbid you have a character be openly affectionate with another character by holding hands or kissing each other’s foreheads/cheeks or cuddles, or nuzzling noses or foreheads and them actually be platonic with zero romance or sex involved
It’s like.. there’s this genuine problem with people being unable to fathom that you can be extremely affectionate with another person and it be strictly platonic
It’s actually such a big problem that I sometimes hesitate to post certain artworks/comics, cause I know people just can’t fathom that love can run so deep and it still be platonic
But this is exactly why I take it upon myself to show that sort of love and devotion and it strictly be platonic, I want to see siblings kissing each other’s cheeks and nuzzling noses, I want to see friends sleeping in the same bed, I want to see characters be extremely affectionate, and love each other so deeply without it having any romantic or sexual undertones
Just friends, family whether biological or found and their love and affection, their willingness to go far and beyond for who they love, and showing it in all the different ways they can
Anyway I’m extremely passionate about strictly platonic relationships, they make my heart warm inside and I’ll forever be the platonic enthusiast lil guy in the dark corner of this vast space we call the internet <333
Have some more artworks I never shared of my fave blorbos loving each other so much and being affectionate cause yes
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dipperscavern · 3 days ago
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Okay your post about Cregan being a father has got my little heart growing three sizes and I'm even more in love with this fictional man.
I do wonder what your take would be on how he'd react to a partner's interaction with Rickon, his one year old son in the books during the dance.
Your posts are giving me life though the new season is disappointing me. ❤️❤️
Hope you are having a wonderful day!
An in love witchy anon. 🌒🌕🌘
omg stop :(( it could even be something small, like teaching rickon how to make and throw a proper snowball.
you had grown up with siblings in the north — and both hands weren’t enough to count the times you had an all out war the day after fresh snow. walking back indoors afterwards, sitting round the fires’ hearth while recalling with laughter how your brother had slipped on ice, or how you and your sister had managed to sneak up on your eldest sibling. yes — snowball fights were something all northerners looked back on with fond nostalgia.
and with or without siblings, you intended for rickon to learn all about such matters.
i can picture it sooo vividly. you and cregan, freshly married, going about your separate ways during the day — and him stumbling upon quite a sight in the afternoon.
perhaps he wanted to spend the small free time he had with rickon, or you for lunch. perhaps it was just coincidence that brought him upon the courtyard the day after fresh snow.
but here he was; and here you were.
rickon, giggling madly as you shaped the snowball in his small hands. cregan could hear your voice, laced with childlike glee, ordering your sworn shield to remain still. if brought before the gods, cregan would attest to the twitch of the knights lips — to the faint smile upon them.
it is a clumsy throw, brought about with untrained muscles and even less coordination. but your knight remains dutifully still, and it lands upon his lower visage.
cregan feels much like the knight now. a smile wears itself on his lips, and cregan could not tell you when it appeared if his life depended on it. love doesn’t explain itself like that.
he watches just long enough to see rickon tackle you with a fierce hug, and for you to return it without the faintest trace of hesitancy. he’s now aware of his smile when he walks away — and he makes no effort to wipe it from his features.
and when you both tuck rickon into bed later that night (he specifically requested you with his father), as he tells cregan of his day in the snow, you have the faintest blush on your cheeks. that same very smile returns to his lips; it seems intent on not being kept at bay.
you both whisper goodnights to the little lordling as you close the door, and as soon as you do — turning to cregan — his mouth captures yours in a kiss so sweet it reminds you of the pastries stolen from the kitchen by lord & lady stark when sleep can’t be found. you sigh into him, and it somehow makes cregan fall even more hopelessly in love with you.
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apteryxparvus · 2 days ago
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AITA for exposing my pro volleyball player boyfriend's monster addiction on r/fridgedetective?
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Pairing — Suna Rintarou / Reader
Word count — 2,046
Content warning — none
Summary — When you accidentally expose your boyfriend for hoarding an ungodly amount of Monster energy drinks in his mini fridge, the internet takes it and runs wild.
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You don’t think twice when you head to your boyfriend’s mini-fridge. Suna always keeps a stash of snacks and drinks in there for late-night movie marathons, and you’re desperately craving a fizzy hit of Ramune soda. But when you open the fridge…
Monster Energy. 
Monster Energy everywhere.
You don’t even spot the soda you’re looking for. Just rows upon rows of neon cans stacked like Tetris blocks, along with an alarming number of Chuupets squished in the corners. Who needs this much caffeine and sugar?
The fridge hums ominously, as if judging you for your surprise.
Naturally, you take a picture and post it.
For science.
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You don’t expect much. Maybe 10 or 20 upvotes, and a couple of comments from bored strangers confirming that, yes, Suna’s energy drink consumption is borderline criminal. After all, it’s just a silly post on a silly subreddit, nothing to lose sleep over.
But when you groggily check your Reddit account the next morning, your notifications are wild. It’s not just a handful of upvotes—it’s thousands. Your post isn’t just trending on r/fridgedetective; it’s made the Reddit front page.
There’s an overwhelming flood of comments, many of them calling out your boyfriend by name. A part of you wants to laugh—because, really, how did they guess so fast?—but another part of you is too scared to even open Twitter or any other social media platform. You just know someone has screenshotted it and blasted it across the internet; probably with a wild caption like: “Suna Rintarou EXPOSED by his own partner”.
The sheer absurdity hits you like a train. Your boyfriend’s unhealthy obsession with energy drinks and frozen treats has gone viral. Your boyfriend has gone viral.
And, at this point, you’re not sure if you should wake him up to warn him, or just quietly pack your things and go into witness protection.
Among the chaos of Reddit notifications, your phone buzzes with a few messages. A quick glance tells you it’s from two very predictable sources.
Kita: Just empty the fridge and restock it with healthy food. He’ll grumble, but it’s for the best.
Atsumu: WOW I CAN’T BELIEVE U TATTLED ON MY BOY LIKE THAT 💀💀💀
You sigh, rubbing your temples. Against your better judgement, you open the Inarizaki High alumni group chat—and immediately regret it.
Atsumu is clearly living for this. You should’ve known better.
He’s on a rampage, flooding the chat with screenshots from Twitter.
"Suna's fridge contents have NO BUSINESS being this cursed."
"Suna Rintarou EXPOSED for his crimes against hydration."
"Monster sponsorship when???"
It’s one caption after another, each one wilder than the last. You groan, burying your face in your pillow, as if that could block out the chaos unfolding on your screen. You can practically hear Atsumu’s wheezy cackles through the text, and his twin brother, Osamu, is doing nothing to help—just spamming the chat with popcorn emojis like he’s front row at the circus.
You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you prepare to grill Atsumu for being the absolute worst at 7 AM. But before you can type a single word, the bed shifts.
Suna groans softly, stirring beside you. His arm slides over your waist, pulling you closer as he burrows his face into the crook of your neck.
“Mm, what’s with all the buzzing?” he mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Nothing,” you lie, way too quickly, throwing your phone across the bed like it’s radioactive. You lean in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry, just go back to sleep.”
It almost works. Almost. But your phone keeps vibrating obnoxiously—no doubt Atsumu is still spamming the group chat with screenshots and whatever unhinged commentary he’s decided to add. You curse yourself for not muting him earlier, but now it’s far too late.
Suna groans again, this time with the exasperation of someone who just wants five more minutes of peace. He shifts, reaching for the phone you so desperately tried to avoid.
“Why’s Atsumu spamming the group chat so early?” he asks groggily, his thumb already swiping across the screen.
“No reason!” you blurt out, sitting up too quickly. “You don’t need to check—”
But it’s too late. The moment Suna opens the chat, his expression shifts. His sleepy indifference hardens into something sharper. 
Betrayal.
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Two days later, you’re settled into your couch, blanket wrapped snug around your shoulders, laptop propped up on your knees. Kodzuken’s stream is set to start in fifteen minutes, and if you’re going to survive whatever chaos the streamer’s chat is inevitably bound to bring, you’re going to need a heavy caffeine boost.
Your eyes slowly drift to the mini fridge in the corner.
You’ve been trying to avoid it ever since the whole incident. But you cannot deny the itch for something cold and fizzy to keep you awake. There’s a moment of hesitation as you chew on your lip, before you finally stand up and pad over.
“Okay… alright,” you mumble to yourself, hand hovering over the handle. “It’s just a fridge. How bad can it be?”
You pull it open.
And the sight nearly makes you drop to your knees.
Gone is the chaotic hoard of neon green Monster Energy cans and suspicious, almost-melted chuupets. Instead, the shelves are pristine, almost squeaky white, gleaming as if the fridge belongs to some sort of soda commercial. And every single slot has been replaced with your favorite soda flavor.
Each glass bottle has a sticky note attached to it, the handwriting unmistakably Suna’s—slightly tilted to the right and a little lazy, like he couldn’t quite be bothered but also cared just enough.
The first note you pick you reads: “I’m doing this for you, even though it hurts 💔💔.”
Shaking your head in disbelief, you pick up another bottle, the condensation slick against your palm. This note reads: “Please don’t post me online again 😔💔.”
A third one in the far back reads: “I hope you’re happy. My dignity is in shambles.”
You choke back a laugh, clutching the bottle to your chest like it’s some sort of love letter.
Everything is just absurd. Dramatic. Completely unnecessary.
But so him.
Kenma’s notification pings from your laptop, reminding you his stream is starting soon. But for a moment, you just stand there, bathed in the soft glow of the fridge light, staring at the ridiculous display of Ramune bottles and heartfelt stickies.
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Dinner is a quiet affair, save for the occasional clink of chopsticks against bowls and the soft fizz that Suna’s Ramune soda makes as he takes a long, dramatic sip. You can’t help but glance at him as your phone buzzes with another notification from the group chat.
The #monstersmvp hashtag Atsumu created is still going strong.
You unlock your phone, and cover your mouth trying to stifle a laugh—Atsumu’s latest spamming spree is a trainwreck you cannot look away from.
“What now?” Suna asks, voice flat as he picks at his food.
“‘tsumu keeps sending the eulogies from the hashtag. Ready to hear the best of the best?”
 “No,” your boyfriend deadpans, taking another slow, deliberate sip of the fizzy drink.
Ignoring him, you start reading anyway. “Okay, here goes,” you clear your throat, holding the phone up dramatically. “Rest in power: Gone but never forgotten. Suna’s energy drink hoard was a beacon of poor nutritional choices and excessive caffeine addiction. Taken from us far too soon by the merciless hand of justice (a.k.a. his girlfriend). May its legacy live on in vending machines and gas station coolers everywhere.”
Suna rolls his eyes, but you can see the corners of his mouth subtly twitching, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Wait, wait,” you say, scrolling further. “It wasn’t Suna’s blocks that made him a true legend. No, it was his fridge full of Monsters. The stash stood as a tall, proud monument to his dedication to caffeine and chaos, but alas, all good things must come to an end. In lieu of flowers, please send Ramune soda.”
He takes another slow sip of his soda, gaze fixed on you over the rim of the bottle. “These people are unhinged.”
“You mean your fans are unhinged,” you correct, waving your phone at him. “You brought this on yourself, you know.”
He sets the bottle down, resting his chin in his hand as he smirks at you, that lazy, infuriating smirk that makes your heart skip a beat even when you’re annoyed with him. “You’re awfully invested in this for someone who caused the whole mess.”
“Excuse me, you’re the one who kept a hoard of energy drinks like some kind of cryptid!”
“And you’re the one who made it go viral.”
Suna shakes his head, clicking his chopsticks. “If I ever get my stash back, I’m putting a padlock on that fridge.”
“Sure,” you tease, scrolling through the wall of text messages. “But you’ll have to bribe me first.”
The morning after starts with the doorbell buzzing like it’s got a personal grudge against your sleep. You groan, burrowing deeper into the blankets as Suna mumbles incoherently beside you.
“Are you gonna get that?” you ask, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Nope,” he replies, eyes still closed.
The buzzing continues, persistent and annoying, until you finally throw the blankets off with a groan. “Fine, I’ll do it. But if it’s Atsumu, I’m kicking him.”
Shuffling to the door in your pajamas, you swing it open, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind. Instead, you’re greeted by two delivery people dressed in head-to-toe Monster Energy attire. Hats, shirts, gloves—even their shoes have the Monster logo.
“Delivery for Suna Rintarou?” one of them says, all too chipper for this ungodly hour.
Behind them is a massive, industrial-sized fridge wrapped in black and neon green, the Monster Energy logo glowing ominously on the front.
You blink. “You’re joking.”
“We’re not,” the other delivery person says, already wheeling the monstrosity closer.
You stand frozen as they maneuver the fridge through the door, parking it in the middle of your living room like it belongs there. By the time Suna wanders out from your bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the delivery people are gone, and the fridge looms like some sort of otherworldly deity.
“What the hell is that?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.
“Your consequences, clearly,” you grumble.
“You think it comes pre-stocked?”
You stay quiet, keeping your distance from the fridge as if your glare alone might short-circuit the thing. If you got too close, you’d be tempted to whack it with something—like the baseball bat you keep by the door in case of emergencies.
Suna, unbothered by your lack of answer, wanders closer, hand lazily brushing against the neon logo before gripping the handle. He looks back at you with a smirk.
The door creaks open.
Even though the fridge isn’t even on, it’s packed to the brim with dozens upon dozens of Monster cans. Shelves sag under the weight of every imaginable flavor—there are classics, tropical blends, tea-infused hybrids, even some cans with foreign text that scream exclusive import.
“How is this fridge even stocked? It’s not on.” You can’t hold back the groan. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Look at this,” Suna says, picking up a can with a holographic label. He holds it up like it’s some kind of treasure. “I didn’t even know this flavor existed.”
“Put it back,” you say, your voice sharp. “I’m gonna set it on fire, I swear."
He doesn’t listen. Instead, he grabs another can, then another. “They’ve got the white pineapple, the tea blend... oh, and the zero-calorie peach! This is insane.”
“I’m gonna lose my mind.” You bury your face in your hands, trying to process the sheer audacity of the situation. “Who does this?!”
“There, there,” Suna teases, patting your back. “Want a sip?” he asks, cracking open a random can.
You glare at him, contemplating the consequences of slamming the door shut on both the cans and his smug face. Instead, you stomp to the couch, plopping down, and muttering, “I’m calling ‘tsumu. This has his name written all over it.”
Suna’s laughter echoes through the living room, followed by the distinct hiss of him opening yet another can.
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Author's note: phew, editing the Reddit posts took ages 🤧 please ignore any discrepancies between the profile pictures of the users pls
i’ll marry whoever buys me a fully stocked redbull fridge, no questions asked
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achilles-rage · 2 days ago
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hiiii hope im not to late to your prompt party.
how about “tracing a finger across your lover’s scar” and “kissing your lovers forehead or knuckles” for Buck
because I’m a cool lightning strike scar truther 🫙
yess i’m so glad i got a fluffy prompt request!! i was expecting mostly smut ones, so i love this!! this is also an idea i've had for a while, but never got around to writing, so i'm glad i finally got to write it!! also, i know these scars wouldn’t last that long, but just pretend<3
"tracing a finger across your lover's scar" and "kissing your lovers forehead or knuckles" from this post
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you still remember the night there was a knock on your door. you weren’t expecting anyone, which was the first red flag, but when you looked through the peephole and saw the familiar fabric of an lafd uniform, you knew something was terribly wrong. 
you could barely look at buck shirtless for weeks; the lightning scars across his torso too painful of a reminder of when you saw him in the hospital. of when his heart stopped. 
3 minutes and 17 seconds.
when buck had finally noticed what you were doing; turning the a/c up so it was too cold for him to sleep shirtless, and always coming up with excuses to either of you taking off clothes during sex, he finally pieced everything together.
“baby, what’s going on? why don’t you want to see me anymore?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest as he stands in front of you in your shared bedroom.
you blink slowly, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you take in his hurt expression. you don’t want to tell him the truth, you don’t want to make it into a big deal. and you especially don’t want to face that he had died. not again.
“i can’t look at those scars everyday, buck. it fucking hurts.” you tell him, voice cracking. 
his brows furrow as he studies your face, and then his expression falls, realization dawning on his face.
“what, you think they’re ugly? you don’t think i’m attractive anymore?” you can see the tears in his eyes, and you shake your head quickly, closing the distance between the two of you and cupping his cheeks in your hands.
“oh, baby, no. of course not.” you assure him in a soft voice. you can’t believe yourself; you’ve put your needs completely over his. you didn’t even think of how this would look to him. “it’s just that, all i think about when i see those scars is how you left me. you died, buck, and then you were in a hospital bed, in a coma. you have no idea what that was like for me. for a while, we didn’t even know if you’d even wake up.” 
he lets out a shaky breath as a tear runs down his cheek, nodding slowly at your words. it’s true, he doesn’t know what that was like, and he feels an odd sense of guilt filling his belly.
“i’m sorry. i just thought that-” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours as he lets out a long sigh.
you shake your head, smiling sadly as you keep his face right against yours, feeling a tear fall down your own cheek.
“don’t you dare apologize. i’m sorry. i didn’t think about how you’d take what i was doing. your scars aren’t ugly. at all. you’re still you, and you’re still as handsome as you were without your scars, i promise. it was only ever about the memories attached to those scars.” you tell him, voice firm enough for him to believe you, yet soft enough to know that you’re not upset in any way. 
you feel him nod against your forehead, and you finally pull back from him and place a kiss on his forehead, lips lingering on his skin for a second or two longer than normal.
“i love you.” you whisper when you pull back, smile softly as you see the sadness and uncertainty melting from his features. “now take off your shirt.”
he raises a brow, a glimpse of his usual self coming back as he smirks down at you and places his hands on your hips.
“are you trying to get me naked, pretty girl?” he teases, and you laugh softly, shrugging.
“just your shirt, lover boy. wanna see you.” you tell him with a smile, turning him around and pushing him down to sit on the bed. 
he pulls his shirt off quickly, and when it’s off, you’re quick to straddle his lap and push his back down onto the bed. you let your fingers drag across his skin, tracing the patterns of the scar littering his torso. your eyes follow the path of your fingers, touch feather-light as you take in every dark patch of skin. 
buck can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you, eyes darting between your face and your fingers as his hands squeeze your hips, keeping you firmly in place.
when you finally look back up at him, you smile, fingers still pressed against his chest.
“beautiful boy.” you whisper, then lean down and begin to press gentle kisses to his scars, starting at the tips of each lightning strike, then moving up and kissing where each branch of lightning separates from the other, moving in different directions across his tan skin.
he doesn’t know what to do as he relishes in your touch, your attention to his scars feeling so overwhelming and mind numbing. he hadn’t told anyone, but he’s a little insecure about his scars. everyone tells him how cool they look, but he just doesn’t see it. it just reminds him of what happened to him, and what he could’ve lost.but, now, he doesn’t feel bad about them at all, because you like them, and that’s all that matters.
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iamconstantine · 1 day ago
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arcane characters as college staff
Mel
History professor 
Refers to all students by (honorific) (surname)
Nothing but praise on ratemyproffesor
“I didn’t like history until I took Professor Medarda’s class” 
Doesn’t write scholarly articles, just giant ass books that she pumps out almost every year somehow
Quickly responds to emails. No response = its in the syllabus 
“Is there any make up work I can do to get my grade up—“ Absolutely not
But if you go the writing center you can get extra credit
Every year her students ask for an extension on the final project and every year she gives a long and furious rant about how the project was visible online from Day 1 and they had all semester to work on it
She has a beautiful office that looks like a miniature library and she only sees students by appointment
Jayce
Physics professor
Is a prolific author but somehow can’t figure out how to set up the course online
Prints cheesy physics memes 
Every zoom meeting begins with 1000 messages saying “professor Talis we can’t hear you your mic isn’t on” every. time.
you can come see him in his office any time, door’s always open
but his office is so messy you probably won’t be able to sit because he has a stack of papers on every chair
“Everyone got this question on the exam wrong so I’m going to give everyone credit because that means i didn’t teach it properly”
Always throws an end-of-year party at his place 
Caitlyn
English Literature professor 
would win best dressed of the staff, always shows up in the slacks-and-blazer fit
“To understand why the narrator wears red shoes, we need to take a look at the sociopolitical state of Edinburgh in 1864.”
if you reply to a discussion board post with just “I agree” you’re not getting credit and it isn’t up for discussion 
Never reads contemporary fiction. The “newest” book she’s read is The Great Gatsby
“We’re not having a party but if you want to bring snacks and soda to the last day of class that’s fine”
Covers a lot of authors but it somehow always comes back to Emily Dickenson
Is that teacher that assigns 400-page books every week
Constantly publishing in lit journals (rumor has it she writes steamy open-door romance books under a pen-name but no one has confirmed this)
Ekko
Art professor 
You have to actively screw up to get a bad grade with him
He wrote thousands of letters to the board until they caved and gave the class a proper kiln
“Write a three-page essay explaining why AI art is not art and insisting otherwise is spitting in the face of humankind. Double spaced. Due Friday 11:59”
Throws back coffee. Has a coffeemaker in the studio. Two of them. 
“Hey guys some of you are submitting assignments at 2 in the morning. It can wait until the next day. Please get some sleep.”
He’s created awe-inspiring pieces but if you just wanna paint a frog wearing a hat he’ll say “that’s cool”
Says he knows who banksy is but will never tell
He gets way too deep in the zone. Once reached for his coffee cup while painting, drank paint water instead. Didn’t notice.
Jinx
Chemistry professor 
If you email her the response will be “k” or “no” and nothing else
Waits until twenty minutes after the class begins to email everyone that class is canceled 
Never wears a coat, goggles, or gloves. But will call out students if they don’t
takes 5 years to post grades
“Look I’m not remembering any names. Too many. If I’m talking to you I’ll just point”
Puts a meme on the projector every day. Mostly incomprehensible. Picture of a horse on an beach and it just says “Zimbabwe”
lowest score on ratemyprofessor
someone creates a website called ratemystudent and administration has no proof that it was her because technically the students with bad scores being the same students that get bad grades in her class can be coincidental 
Viktor
Biomedical engineering professor 
Only professor who still uses chalkboards
First day of class is first day of class. No reviewing the syllabus, turn to page 34 in your textbook.
Puts things in the syllabus to catch people who use ChatGPT. If you’re caught, you’re removed from his class. Immediately. You will not get to plead your case.
Most of his cited sources are himself
Literally begs students to thrift their textbooks online instead of buying them from the school. Provides free PDFs as often as he can.
He reads journals every day and will write personal letters to authors he disagrees with
If a student asks a particularly dumb question he’ll step out of the room for ten minutes to compose himself and then resume teaching like nothing happened
Vi
Not a professor, works at the on-campus gym and leads clubs
Constantly curses without batting an eye. Students will leave class with their very uptight professor then come to the soccer club where vi walks in like “sorry I’m late guys i had a motherfucker of a headache this morning”
Please don’t ask her about anything that isn’t club or sport related. If you ask for directions or how to get in contact with student services she’s got nothing
If she refs for a game and you’re on the opposing team you’d better watch yourself. She will rip you a new one if you break any rules. One time a player grabbed one of her member’s mask during a game and he left crying after Vi was done with him
Students run into her at the local hangouts a lot but it’s never awkward. just reminds you not to party too hard before the game tomorrow 
Leads pretty much every club but dance. Wouldn’t admit it but she has no sense of rhythm and refuses to even do it as a student
You can call her coach or captain or just Vi, whatever you want. But if you call her Violet she’ll stare you down until you correct yourself
Heimerdinger
Anthropology professor 
Spends the first day of class getting to know everyone. “We’re going to go around and give our names and a fun fact about ourselves!”
Gives the “Nacirema” assignment and can’t wait to tell everyone the catch
His classroom is filled with artifacts. Don’t ask about any of them because it will take up class time
If you can’t make it to class he sends really nice responses saying he understands, then checks in when you come back
The only thing that puts him in a bad mood is the “why do anthropologists study dinosaurs if anthropology is about people” question. He’s old and tired 
Keeps thinking about retiring, keeps changing his mind
Silco
Political science professor
His classroom is bare and blank. No life. Just fluorescent lights and chairs.
Brags about how few people pass his class
Very strict on attendance. Too many absences and you’re out. 
If the assignment is due at 11:59 and you turn it in at 12:00, it’s late
“I am quite interested to hear why you believe you are deserving of a higher grade when you’ve spent less than thirty minutes attending all of my classes combined. Please, continue.”
Will straight up roast other professors no problem. Encourages students to pass it along
He encourages debate but the only thing students debate about outside of class is whether he’s hot or creepy af
Final project is a choice between A) A ten-page essay on why there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, or B) a presentation on why the country is doomed
Vander
Education professor 
Makes his own series of Crash Course-esque videos
Comes to class in jeans at best. Sweats, sometimes. 
He has one coffee mug that says #1 Dad and he refuses to use anything else
He puts fun questions on his exams, like riddles. If no one gets it, he actually gets sad
Whenever he erases the whiteboard he always misses a spot. He’s that professor.
If he catches you plagiarizing, you get one pass before he reports it. But you have to come to his office so he can tell you how disappointed he is and how much potential you have
He gives a seminar about how worried he is for the future of education and the wellbeing of the next generation and everyone leaves feeling guilty. Everyone.
Make a pop culture reference in class and everything will grind to a halt so you can explain it to him. Visuals help.
Sevika
Librarian
If you play music in the library she’ll walk up to you and just go “are you joking”
Have a phone call on speaker and she’s hanging it up for you
There’s signs telling you to be quiet every three feet
If you see her outside of school no you didn’t
She’s in charge of leading classes on accessing academic databases and she fucking hates it
Somehow knows where every book is down to the shelf. She’ll tell you what you’re looking for before you can finish your sentence
technically she’s supposed to do a walkthrough before closing for the night but if you can’t read the library hours on the signs it’s your fault if you get locked in
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toughtink · 1 day ago
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regarding dandadan’s creepy aliens:
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saw this screenshot floating around bsky (full text below) a bit ago and had to go find it again because i keep thinking about how poignant this breakdown of dandadan’s first ep is. i keep seeing people pronounce the series “problematic” and even going so far as to say the alien probe threat was encouraging rape culture. it’s like they can’t hold the idea of something being funny and scary, sexual but not necessarily titillating, at the same time. at least, i didn’t read it as being meant to erotically excite, especially since most people seem to have just been thoroughly creeped out. there’s definitely a moment where it feels like we’ve fallen into the beginnings of some hentai, but then the action starts going and roundhouse kicks that notion right in the face. it felt like purposeful expectation setting to me: “we’re gonna have things get creepy and toe that line of sexual horror and humor, but this story is going to focus on our protagonists leveling up to defeat these creeps.” in that sense, it’s nice to see when people make the informed decision to nope out if the story or style isn’t something they can enjoy.
[full text of screenshot, a forum post by Asterite34:
“It has occurred to me that the big spooky/problematic scenes here most closely resemble adolescent sex nightmares, with all the accompanying symbolism and externalization of personal anxieties. Neither experience has the tone or visual language of "realistic" sexual assault, nor the feel of lurid monster hentai or whatever. They have that feeling of disjointed surreal unreality that makes everything scary, sure, but also just sort of confusing and maybe actually slightly funny if it wasn't by all appearances actually happening to you. They're wet dreams with a side of sleep paralysis.
Okarun has an experience going into a dark tunnel and being confronted by vague sexual advances by an old woman who chases him down an endless corridor and traumatically (yet painlessly) castrates him. This is classic fear of women and anxiety about being impotent and emasculated and isolated, which certainly tracks with him being a bullied shy nerd who just met a girl who vaguely humors his nerdy interests for the first time ever.
Momo is wandering around in an abandoned building until she's captured by vaguely-featured salarymen clones who paralyze her and go on to calmly, smilingly explain that they're going to violate her with spiked phallic instruments and harvest her banana organs. This lines up with a conflict between adolescent sexual desire in the abstract and also a fear of loss of autonomy due to social pressure, which seems to be on her mind after her dickhead boyfriend broke up with her for not putting out.
It's only when the two dreams merge that each of them starts to get over their subconscious fears, with Ken subsuming his sense of isolation and owning his curse to become a monster that righteously emasculates his once-hoped-for alien friends/stand-ins for his bullies, and Momo overcoming her fear of being ostracized to roundhouse kick the symbolic boyfriend trying to take advantage of her.
And in the end, Okarun makes a connection with someone who won't abandon him even at his most pathetic and emasculated, and Momo connects with someone who clearly desires her but treats her with implicit respect.
In summary, communication is important, especially to teenagers.”]
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sasheemo · 2 days ago
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When We Collide
Chapter 14
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Chapter Summary: You wake to Agatha's unsettling yet impossibly grounding presence, unspoken questions threatening to unravel a fragile moment. And just like that, walls begin to crack.
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N (very long, sorryyy): I still can’t believe it, but here we are. After exactly one month since the last chapter was published, I’m officially back! I can’t promise the creative block I’ve been struggling with for When We Collide is completely gone, but I’m really trying, and I’m so happy to continue this story.
Before you dive in, I just want to take a moment to make a small dedication:
Over the past week, I’ve received an overwhelming amount of love and support that I never expected. Moots, strangers, and even anonymous readers stepped forward in the comments of my update posts on Tumblr or slid into my DMs to show their appreciation and encouragement. You know who you are. It’s because of all of you that, in just over 24 hours, I managed to write an entire chapter after being stuck for a whole month. You gave me an incredible boost of energy and motivation. So, this chapter is for you. To my moots, followers, and each dedicated reader of When We Collide. To everyone who messaged me privately or left a comment on a post or a fic. To those who, even without reaching out directly, have always supported me with their thoughts and good vibes, waiting patiently for an update and never abandoning this story. What you’ve done, and continue to do, for me is amazing. You’ve filled me with so much love and support, and I truly hope this chapter (and the ones to come—yes, they’re coming, hehe) can serve as a proper thank-you.
It’s true that writing should primarily be for yourself, but when you receive this kind of support and encouragement, it becomes something truly special to write for others too.
Let me know what you think of the chapter, and thank you from the bottom of my heart! 💜
PS: Spoiler—I literally felt my heart break while writing a certain piece of dialogue. Had to pause, pick up the pieces, and keep going. Sorry y’all, I couldn’t resist 💔
Chapter Index
Read on AO3
You stir awake to the faint glow of the early afternoon, the light filtering softly through the edges of the curtains. For a brief, suspended moment, your mind lingers in the haze of sleep, the kind where nothing feels quite real, and you’re not entirely sure where you are. Then the weight registers.
The warm, undeniable weight of someone pressed against you.
Your breath catches, your body locking in place as you become acutely, painfully aware of Agatha’s head resting on your shoulder.
Her dark hair brushes against your neck, faintly ticklish, while her arm lies draped across your waist.
You don’t dare move. Not even a twitch.
Every nerve in your body stands at attention, screaming for you to do something. But you lie there, frozen, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure it’ll wake her. The thought of turning your head to look at her fills you with a mixture of terror and curiosity, and you’re too paralyzed to face either.
You try—really try—to focus on the practicalities. How did this even happen? You’d climbed into bed hours ago, stiff as a board, determined to keep your distance. You’d stayed on your side, curled up awkwardly, staring at the wall like it held the answers to every question you were too afraid to ask.
But then sleep had come. Or at least something like it—a restless tangle of half-dreams and unconscious movements, shifting and turning under the weight of the night’s tension. 
At some point, the gap between you must have closed. At some point, her arm must have found its way across you.
A thousand excuses rush through your mind, each more fragile than the last, as if rationalizing the moment could make the closeness disappear. But they all crumble, leaving behind one undeniable truth: you don’t want to move. Not really.
You tell yourself it’s fear. Fear of waking her. Fear of the look on her face if she realized the position you’re in. Confusion? Annoyance? Disgust? The thought twists your stomach into painful knots. But beneath the fear, another emotion lingers, quieter and far more dangerous.
It feels… good.
You hate how much you notice it, how your senses seem to betray you with every passing second. The softness of her hair brushing your neck, the heat of her body radiating against your side, the faint pressure of her arm resting on you—it all feels far too natural, far too easy, like some cruel joke the universe decided to play.
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to move, to shift, to put some distance between you. But your body doesn’t listen. You’re too hyper-aware of every tiny detail, of how close she is, of how safe she feels.
A shaky exhale escapes you, your chest rising just enough to disturb the delicate stillness between you. Agatha stirs slightly in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips as her arm tightens instinctively around you.
Your heart practically leaps into your throat.
You swallow hard, trying to convince yourself that this is normal. That there’s nothing strange or inappropriate about lying here like this. That it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just an accident, a coincidence. That’s all.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except it’s not. 
Because no matter how much you want to believe that this is accidental, that she’s completely unaware, a small, traitorous part of you wonders what it would mean if she wasn’t.
You try to focus on the ceiling, on the faint creak of the house settling around you, on anything other than her. But it’s impossible. Because no matter how still you stay, no matter how hard you try to quiet your thoughts, Agatha’s presence fills every corner of the room—and every corner of you.
Your breath hitches as you finally, finally let yourself turn your head. It’s tentative at first, a small, hesitant shift of movement. 
Your chin almost brushes her forehead, and the nearness of her—so close you could count the faint freckles scattered across her skin—leaves you utterly undone. 
For a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The sight of her like this, her face so close to yours, is enough to send your thoughts spiraling.
Your gaze moves carefully, tracing her features as if each one might dissolve into smoke if you looked too quickly.
Sharp and soft. The words loop in your mind like a mantra, and you can’t stop staring. The sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones, the delicate curve of her lips—they blend danger and allure in a way that leaves you off-balance, like she was never meant to be anything less than both.
Your let your thoughts drift, unbidden, to what you know about her. And, perhaps more troubling, to what you don’t.
You’ve spent all your life in the same coven, shared the same spaces, breathed the same air, yet she’s always been distant. A figure just out of reach, admired and feared in equal measure by most.
You sift through your memories, trying to piece together fragments, to make sense of the person sprawled across you now.
Everyone has been speaking of Agatha’s power in hushed tones since you were children—the raw, unpredictable force of her magic. How it brims with potential but defies control. Even the older witches have always been wary of her, watching her like a storm poised on the horizon.
And then there’s the story. The one no one speaks of outright but that lingers in fragments, carried around by rumors and half-truths.
It was just over a couple of years ago. One of the daughters of your mother’s friends—a girl you barely knew, though her name still echoes through the village homes and halls—was found dead in the woods. Cold, lifeless. Drained.
The whispers said it was Agatha.
They claimed she had taken the girl’s power, siphoned it like a flame devouring a candlewick. That she left her there, alone in the woods, to die. 
But that girl wasn’t just anyone. She was Agatha’s best friend.
The rumors painted it as a calculated act of power, a way to send a message and solidify her place as the rightful heir to the coven’s legacy. They said her magic demanded sacrifice, and she hadn’t hesitated to give one.
But that version of the story never sat right with you.
Even more so now, with Agatha asleep beside you, her head resting on your shoulder, her breathing slow and even in sleep. The idea of this Agatha—the Agatha who clings to you in her slumber—being the monster the rumors describe feels impossible to reconcile.
You’ve always wondered if there was more to the story. If the truth had been buried beneath layers of fear, jealousy, and Evanora’s carefully orchestrated manipulations. 
Because if there’s one thing you know about Evanora Harkness, it’s that she’d burn the truth to ashes to protect her image.
The slow rise and fall of your chest brushes faintly against Agatha’s arm, jolting you back to the present. You exhale shakily, your gaze locking once again on her face.
She looks so… harmless. The thought slips into your mind unbidden, and you can’t stop yourself from clinging to it. Here, now, in your bed, tangled against you, she does look harmless. Innocent, even.
And yet… the stories remain. The danger, the sharpness, the fury—it’s still there, lurking just beneath her momentary serene exterior. 
You should move. You really should. Break the moment, pull away, regain the distance you’re supposed to have. But you don’t. You can’t. Because for all the danger and mystery that surrounds Agatha Harkness, there’s something else, too.
Something that keeps you rooted in place, your gaze drinking her in, feeling her presence in every breath you take.
The stillness is interrupted by a faint shift. Agatha stirs against you, her body shifting slightly as her fingers twitch where her hand rests near your waist. Her breathing changes, no longer the even, steady rhythm of sleep but something shallower, more conscious.
You freeze, your own breath caught in your chest. Her head lifts just a fraction before settling again, her hair brushing against your neck in a way that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. For one agonizing moment, you wonder if she’ll pull away.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, Agatha lets out a soft exhale, her lashes fluttering as her eyes blink open, slow and heavy with sleep. There’s a beat—a single, suspended second where her gaze adjusts, flitting from the faint light of the room to you.
Her arm remains draped across your waist, though her fingers flex slightly, testing their place. Her lips twitch, just barely, into something resembling a smirk.
“Is this how you treat all your guests, or am I just special?” she murmurs, her voice husky and rough from sleep, the teasing lilt sharp enough to make your stomach flip.
The words pull you from your haze of panic into full-blown mortification, heat rising to your face as you open your mouth, then close it, scrambling for a response. 
“You—you asked me to stay!” you stammer, your voice breaking as you shift just a little, glaring at her. “Don’t twist this into—”
Agatha cuts you off with an expression so faux-innocent you want to scream, her tone light but laced with mockery. 
“Did I?” she muses, her brow quirking as though she’s genuinely pondering it. “Hmm. Doesn’t sound like me.”
Your jaw drops. 
Your heart hasn’t stopped pounding since she stirred, and her smirk only makes it worse. The audacity, the smugness. She’s so calm, like waking up tangled together is just another morning for her.
For you? It’s a waking nightmare—or at least, that’s the excuse you cling to as you try to suppress the heat that is completely taking hold of your whole body. Your fists clench at your sides, and your frustration boils over. 
“You did! You said—” you stop yourself, huffing in exasperation as her smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Ugh, you’re impossible.”
“And you’re far too fun to annoy.” she counters shifting slightly, her arm sliding away from your waist as she props herself up on one elbow.
You bite back another retort, your face burning as you turn your head to look anywhere but at her. She’s infuriating. Smug and sharp-tongued and—close. Too close.
The silence stretches for a beat, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. 
It doesn’t help that she’s still watching you, her gaze a quiet weight against your skin. You can feel it without looking—how her smirk lingers, how her eyes flicker between amusement and something unreadable.
She shifts again, finally breaking the silence. 
“Well,” she says softly, her voice still carrying that teasing lilt, “if this is how you handle all your guests, I can’t imagine they stay very long.”
Your breath hitches, and you glance at her despite yourself, catching the faintest flicker of something beneath her grin. She’s teasing, sure—but there’s an edge to it, a quiet discomfort she’s trying to mask.
You huff again, crossing your arms and refusing to let her get the last word. “Maybe they don’t. But you did ask me to stay, so if you have complaints, take it up with yourself.”
Her grin softens slightly, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back a little, her hand brushing against the blanket as she rests her weight on her palm. Her gaze flickers briefly to the window, her expression almost thoughtful.
You watch her for a moment, your own irritation ebbing away as curiosity takes its place. She’s still infuriating, still impossible—but there’s something else, too. Something quieter. 
You should let it go. The tension, the moment—it’s already too much and you both literally just woke up. But the question lodges itself in your throat, unspoken words buzzing like a swarm. You don’t even mean to say it. It just… slips out. “What really happened that day?”
Agatha’s head tilts slightly, her eyes cutting back to yours in a sharp, measured motion. 
“What?” she asks, her tone casual, but there’s a sudden wariness in her gaze, the edge of a blade being drawn.
You hesitate, regretting the words almost immediately, but it’s too late now. 
“The girl.” you clarify, your voice quieter than you intended. “The one they say you… killed.”
The room seems to still, the air shifting as the words settle between you. 
Agatha doesn’t move, her expression unreadable, but the flicker of something raw flashes behind her eyes—a shadow that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.
Her lips curve into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 
“Really?” she drawls, leaning back slightly, the picture of feigned nonchalance. “That’s what you want to talk about? Here? Now?”
Your stomach twists at the sharpness of her tone, but you don’t look away. 
“I just…” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I just want to know the truth.”
Agatha lets out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks away again. 
“The truth…” she mutters, her voice low, almost mocking. “You’re the first person to actually ask me for it, you know?”
The words hit you like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. 
“Wait.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No one’s ever—?”
“No.” Agatha cuts in sharply, her tone laced with dry amusement that barely conceals the bitterness beneath.“Why would they? They already think they know. They don’t need my version.” 
She scoffs, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk.
Your chest tightens painfully at the words, the weight of what she’s said settling over you like a heavy fog. If no one’s ever asked for her version of the story, if no one’s cared enough to hear the truth… then everything you’ve heard—the whispers, the rumors, the stories—might not be true. Or at least, not entirely.
Agatha’s gaze flickers back to you, piercing and unreadable, as if she can sense where your thoughts are heading. 
“I know what they say.” she continues, her voice quieter now, colder. “Some of it’s lies, some of it’s not.”
Your breath catches, her words hanging between you like a challenge, daring you to press further. And you do. 
“But if not all of it’s true…” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, “… then why?”
You hesitate, the question twisting in your chest before it finally escapes. “Why do you let them believe those things about you, hmm?”
That stops her cold.
Her gaze locks on you, her expression sharp and unyielding, but there’s something flickering beneath the surface—something fragile and dangerous and far too human.
For a moment, you swear you see something shatter behind the mask she wears so flawlessly. And when she finally speaks, her whispered answer tears through the silence like thunder.
“Because the truth is too awful.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at her. The rawness in her voice, the vulnerability she so desperately tries to hide, steals the breath from your lungs.
But you don’t back down. Not now.
“Maybe.” you say quietly, your voice softening but steady. “But I don’t think it’s worse than the lies, than the stories people tell.”
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease, but there’s something in her gaze—a flicker of hesitation, of consideration.
“You’re persistent.” she mutters, the edge returning to her voice, though it’s quieter now.
“And you’re exhausting.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual despite the knot in your chest tightening with every passing second. “But since it looks like we’re stuck together—and you’re literally in my bed—you might as well tell me.”
You know the truth, though: you’re not really stuck together. Agatha could leave anytime she wanted—she’s clever, resourceful, and probably already thought of four different ways to slip out unnoticed, if she needed or wanted to.
But you also suspect that getting Agatha Harkness to open up requires more than simple patience. She needs to feel cornered—not with malice, but with intent. She has to know that someone is paying attention, that someone cares enough to ask, and that walking away won’t make the questions disappear. So you hold her gaze, refusing to let the moment slip away.
Agatha exhales sharply, the sound laced with frustration as she rubs a hand over her face. For a long, agonizing moment, you think she might retreat entirely. But then her hand falls, and she looks at you again.
And just like that, the walls begin to crack.
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damianwaynephd · 3 days ago
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i actually wanna write out my headcanons for all of the batfam’s drugs of choice so here
bruce is an old school functioning alcoholic . i think it was normalized for him growing up at galas/gotham academy and on top of that he naturally has a pretty high tolerance.. he’s sober on-and-off until jason dies and then he spirals p bad . doesn’t really deal with his underlying issues until .. dealer’s choice either when tim becomes robin or post jason resurrection. i think if he can’t/doesn’t get sober until jay comes back it adds to tim’s inferiority complex bc he’s like “well b never got sober for me 😐”
i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: cokehead dick grayson ❤️ BUT this fic is so fucking good that it made me see him getting into downers as a real possibility (extra points if he does them with roy). i think he doesn’t get into hard drugs until college either way and it’s part of his rebellion against bruce, but its also just bc he’s a fun guy and likes to have a good time! i don’t see it becoming A Problem until [insert Big Nightwing Trauma here] and even then i think he manages to quit without Too Much trouble (i.e he doesn’t have to go to rehab) basically bc i don’t think he at heart has an addictive personality
i don’t rly think jason would do drugs like. ever BUUUUUUT if he did become dependent on anything i think it would be alcohol. i hc willis and bruce are/were both alcoholics so ~generational trauma~ and i think he can delude himself into being like “it’s not drugs so it’s fine.” he would enjoy the buffer it gives him to everyday life/crimefighting. same w cigs! when he decides to quit everyone encourages him to go to rehab but he thinks it would be too triggering for him + he has a weird complex where he’s like “i’m strong enough to climb out of the bottle myself motherfucker” so he tries to do it on his own which … whether or not that works is. a toss-up. either way i think he’d find AA really helpfully for his own addiction + dealing w his childhood trauma
tim is one hundo percent an uppers guy. i lowkey hate when fics give him outright caffeine addiction but then don’t deal with it at all lollll. but yeah i think he’d be ur typical adderall snorter (“snorting it doesn’t make me a junkie it’s just the most efficient delivery method to the central nervous system. it’s science”) and he’d really only get into pills bc as long as it’s prescription it’s not illicit in his mind.. so he’d prob use addy in combination w xans or other benzos to come down/get to sleep when he needed to. he absolutely has to do the whole rehab stint (maybe multiple) to unlearn his preconceptions about addiction/addicts and his deep rooted belief that he only has worth when he’s productive lol.
damian is straightedge like this kid will not take tylenol. he doesn’t drink caffeine either and gets like really into herbal tea and supplements when he’s older
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larry-is-my-anchor1 · 2 days ago
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Season 3, episode 18 of 911, I loved how protective Buck was of Christopher who Eddie mentioned wanted to go to sleep away camp for two weeks.
I hated seeing Abby again. To Buck she transformed his life. To Abby he was just someone to try to get over Tommy with. And Buck gives with his entire heart and still tries to save her present fiancé, Sam. Even how Abby left Buck. I love how Eddie tried to stop Buck from getting further hurt emotionally and physically by telling Cap who the victims they’re helping are.
Abby knew Buck’s heart though and knew he would save Sam.
I have already watched and posted on this episode. But I tend to rewatch the show. I can’t recall if my observations are new or old.
Regardless, thank you for reading.
I’m really hoping for Buddie for 2025 but I really don’t see it happening. Show runners are dicks.
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animeomegas · 3 days ago
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I can just imagine Belphie with a baby that will not sleep by any means and it drives him absolutely crazy. I think he would become so agitated all the time, along with battling his post-partum brain :( he’d def blame it on his alpha (whom would of course step in and try their very best to take care of their very sleepy mate and insomniac baby) .
Maybe Belphie would harbor some guilt as a parent ? He would be happy to get his sleep but I think he might feel a little inadequate as a parent if he sees his alpha working so hard to take care of both of them and he can’t get it together. Especially if he didn’t want a child in the first place, I think he’d struggle even more .
He... would go insane. It would be a nightmare of epic proportions.
Especially because the baby is not human, so the newborn phase is like... idk at least a few years long.
I think the stress, the sleep deprivation, the regret, the hormones, and the guilt stir into a horrible cocktail that leaves Belphie struggling a lot. He probably breaks down into tears, dissociates completely, or becomes angry multiple times a day.
The saving grace in this situation is that there are six uncles on hand at all times.
Lucifer is extremely taken with the baby and will take the baby in the evenings several times a week. He has a little rocking crib put by his bed which he rocks with his foot while he does paperwork.
Mammon gets on a bit better with toddlers and older, but he still adores his nibling deeply! He's not exactly a reliable babysitter to a newborn sometimes, but he has a surprising amount of patience with the little one. He walks around the house for hours at night sometimes, just rocking the baby until they fall asleep. He likes to talk out loud with them, and if you ever overhear him, you'll hear him promising to teach and protect them.
Levi is extremely out of his depth with a newborn, but in a midnight emergency, he's always awake. He will fetch whatever you need, heat up milk, or wash bedding. Sometimes that kind of help is a lifeline.
Satan feels strange at the way the family dynamics have changed, but he is a surprising baby whisperer. If the baby won't stop crying, you can hand them to Satan, and they'll fall asleep for a least two precious hours.
Asmo is definitely the kind of uncle that promises to babysit all the time but is actually easily overwhelmed by a baby. He won't take his nibling over night, no way, but his photoshoots for Devilgram take quite a bit of time, so you can sneak some sleep in while he's busy. Also, you and Belphie never have to buy any clothes, because Asmo has bought more than enough.
And Beel, of course, sweet Beel. He is entirely mystified by his new nibling, his twin's baby. He's in love in every way. He takes the baby all. the. time. He learns how to do everything he can to take care of his nibling, but he never forgets to look after his twin either. He makes sure Belphie is bathing, sleeping as much as he can, and eating enough.
With the uncles around, Belphie and his alpha get some moments to curl up together. They can barely stay awake but they both manage it just long enough to apologise for the snapping and irritable moods, to reassure each other that they haven't made a horrible mistake, and that they love each other.
And then they can fall asleep together and recuperate, while the pup is getting passed around each uncle and showered with love.
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irrealisms · 2 days ago
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this is still true of me (that i am more sensitive around therapsychiatry stuff recently) and it’s. idk. it can get really isolating to be a psych survivor. it feels like there’s medication and therapy positivity everywhere sometimes. and I don’t want to begrudge that because I know it helps people—hell, it’s helped me immensely! but it hurts for it to be everywhere. it feels like there is a megaphone aimed at me going JUST KEEP TRYING. DON’T GIVE UP. MAYBE THE PAST TEN YEARS OF THERAPY AND MEDICATION HAVENT FIXED YOU BUT ITS JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVENT FOUND ~THE ONE~. well maybe i want to give up. okay? maybe i want to give up. there was a good post I saw recently about physical disability and choosing not to go to PT and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. but also just. idk. i had what i think might have been my first real FlashbackTM at about the same time as i made the above post. a week and a half ago I almost ran away impulsively to a different state bc I was convinced if i came home they’d be waiting with handcuffs to take me back to the hospital. since last august my life has been going incredibly downhill. negative spiral. I know why for some of it but I don’t know why I started getting more sensitive abt therapsych stuff in November. but what am I supposed to do with that when all the advice is “have you tried therapy/meds?” YES! and one of my biggest fears is trying them again!!! they fucked me up and— I can’t even say “you can’t make me go back” because it’s not true, it would be pretty easy to make me go back, but—I don’t want to. okay? I don’t want to. and it’s unfair of me but it hurts sometimes to see people who were uncomplicatedly helped. It’s all jealous resentful upset maybe even angry. I don’t want to call seven therapists who all turn me down for being too complicated a case for them and then the eighth I go every week and stare at the wall for an hour and come home in tears because im too scared to talk to them and then as soon as I open up they baker act me. I can’t do that again. Im tired of it being the only choice I have if I ever want to feel better or even just “not suicidal”. I don’t want to hear anymore about how helpful it is. I know that’s bad but I don’t care right now. Im tired of therapy and meds being everywhere and I can’t avoid reminders without also avoiding things that help me and/or bring me joy. Normally this is the sort of thing I put in private discord vent channels but for whatever reason I’ve been posting on tumblr today? So you all get this. I don’t know. I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep and I’ve been physically sick for a week and I’m not getting better so you all get my ventblogging. can someone invent a world that doesn’t have therapists in it
i've been....notably more sensitive and easily upset around therapsychiatry stuff recently and i am genuinely unsure why. i haven't been in therapy in significantly over a year now. it's coming up on two years since my hospitalization. today i got upset over three different things about this and i think this is to some extent me being more easily upset than normal and i don't know why. well other than "i've been more easily upset about literally everything recently". but it's been notably worse wrt therapsych stuff! my next post is gonna be another more serious and thoughtful post but first i just want to do a more emotional "idk why this has been more of a sore subject recently and i wish it weren't" :/
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skellytheskeleton · 6 months ago
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Undertale x Poppy playtime au
Call that ship poppytale or something.
Cast list(up for interpretation)
Frisk is still Frisk cause deflate character or whatever.
Chara is Oliver maybe
Flowey is poppy or something
Toriel is Kissy Missy
Paps and Sans are DogDays and CatNap
For sure Gaster has to be the prototype
Idfk figure the rest out yourself
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The thing no one ever considers while writing up character analyses about Merlin is that. he must have been sooooooo sleepy.
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hollys-fairy-hell · 5 months ago
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I just want Peri to go back and be Devs babysitter. Knowing Dev lost his memories and trying to do right by this kid. Trying so hard to not make the same mistakes.
But I also want Dev to be scared to tell Peri he remembers because what if Peri has to leave then or if Jorgon comes to actually wipe his memories. Ao Dev doing his best to act like he did before he had his change of heart.
Basically Peri desperately trying to be a better god parent and Dev desperately (and failing) to be a bad ungrateful kid. (It’s how he sees his past actions)
Then we get guilt of Peri seeing how much of Devs happiness was lost with his memories and how much of a set back this is gor Dev while Dev seeing how mean he is to Peri and how miserable he is making him, which is worse this time because hes doing it on purpose. Dev now knowing Peri really does care but feels forced to be mean so not to slip up and loose Peri again. And Peri now having seen how bad at this he is. Seeing how he is still failing Dev at every turn. But neither willing to give up the other because they know what could have been. Peri knows Dev is a good kid. Dev knows Peri cares about him.
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yea-baiyi · 6 months ago
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translation of the “true form” conversation is as if hua cheng gave xie lian a fake name when they first met, so when xie lian asks “so what’s your real name” and hua cheng panics it’s bc he thinks xie lian is asking for his dead name but actually xie lian was just asking for his real chosen name because he wants to fuck him
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