#Physical Injury

[d-z20]

Saved from the Dark

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You get kidnapped and tortured by witch hunters, but luckily Agatha has a soft spot for you and will not rest until you are safe in her arms again.

-OR-

Agatha is a bad bitch on a mission to save you (and then play nursemaid)

Warnings: dark fic, violence, kidnap, torture, death, hurt, comfort

Words: 2.2k

A/N: The witch hunter's magic is more of a Dr Strange type beat in this if you get me. Read the request that inspired this :)

AO3 | Masterlist

You hadn’t seen it coming. You never expected them to be so efficient and precise in their attack. One moment, you were gathering herbs in the quiet part of the city, lost in the tranquillity of the night, and the next, you were surrounded. The witch hunters had been tracking you for weeks, and now they were closing in. Before you could react, they were upon you, using both magic and technology to bind you. Their enchanted restraints sapped your energy, stripping you of your powers and leaving you vulnerable. No amount of magical strength could help you now. They overpowered you with force, shoving you into a van, and darkness swallowed you whole.

Agatha Harkness had always lived in the shadows, watching the world unfold from a distance. Her magic was vast, her knowledge unparalleled, but she preferred to remain hidden. She had her reasons—trust wasn’t something she gave lightly, especially not in a world that feared and hunted witches. But then there was you. You were different. You had a kindness about you, an openness that Agatha couldn’t help but be drawn to. Despite her usual detachment, she found herself watching over you, protecting you in subtle ways. You and your magic were the complete opposite of her: gentle and compassionate. Agatha could never let anyone harm you.

When the witch hunters began to make their presence known, Agatha was wary but confident in her own ability to stay undetected. She had lived too long and become too powerful to be caught. But when you failed to come back after your usual late-night walk through the city, Agatha felt a strange sense of unease gnawing at her. Her instinct was always right. Something was wrong.

—

The first thing you become aware of is the sharp, aching pain in your head. It feels as if the world is spinning, though you can’t tell if it’s your body or the room itself that’s unsteady. You’re lying on a cold, metal floor, your arms chained to the wall. The weight of the cuffs around your wrists makes it hard to move, the magical inhibitors in them pulling away your ability to summon even the smallest spark of power. You breathe through the nausea, forcing yourself to focus on one thought: Agatha will find you. Agatha always finds you.

But the darkness around you presses in, suffocating and endless, until a voice cuts through it.

“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” A man sneers. His voice is cruel, heavy with derision. “Running around with your magic like you’re something special. But look at you now—trapped. Helpless. Powerless.”

His words sting, but you don’t respond. You can’t. You feel his footsteps approach, his presence looming over you like a stormcloud.

The first blow comes without warning. A punch lands squarely on your face, making your head snap back. The jarring sound of a chair scraping against the concrete floor grates in your ears as another figure steps closer.

“Tell us what we want to know,” someone else demands, their tone sharp and impatient.

You grit your teeth, ignoring the sharp sting spreading across your cheek. I won’t tell them anything. You repeat the thought like a mantra, clinging to it as they strike you again, this time a vicious kick to your ribs. The pain ripples through your body, but you refuse to cry out.

Then they escalate. Rough hands grab you, their grip bruising, and a sharp needle pierces your skin. Icy pain radiates from the injection site, making you shudder as the potion floods your veins. It burns, cruel and unrelenting, designed to strip you of strength and magic while forcing you to remain awake and aware.

“Let’s see how long you last,” one of them jeers.

—

They force you to stand for hours, your legs trembling, the chains biting into your wrists. Every muscle screams for relief, but you refuse to give them the satisfaction of your screams. When they press a glowing sigil in front of your face, its blinding light sears your vision, disorienting you and leaving your thoughts muddled. 

Each hour blurs into the next. The pain is unpredictable and deliberate. They are methodical, breaking you piece by piece. They demand names and locations—anything that could give them power over the witch community—but you remain silent. The only thing keeping you going is the thought of Agatha.

When you still refuse to answer, they change tactics.

They drag you to a machine humming faintly with unnatural energy. The cold metal is laced with glowing runes and wires that pulse like a heartbeat. You try to pull away, but they force your hands into place, clipping small, sparking devices onto your fingertips.

The moment the circuit completes, searing pain shoots through you. The machine vibrates, drawing the essence of your magic from your body. The sensation is unbearable—burning and crackling as if your veins themselves are being syphoned dry.

“You feel that?” one of the hunters taunts, his voice dripping with malice. “That’s your power. You’re nothing without it.”

They twist knobs and flick switches, each adjustment sending fresh waves of agony through your body. It’s more than pain; it feels like they’re tearing away a part of your soul, unravelling the very threads of your identity.

“You’re pathetic,” another spits. “All that power, and it can’t save you.”

The world becomes a fog of pain and confusion, but you cling to the hope that Agatha will come. She has to.

—

Agatha moves through the shadows with precision, her anger burning hotter with every step. She had been tracking the faint echoes of your magic for hours, each pulse weaker than the last. The hunters were clever, masking their trail with layers of enchantments and misdirection, but Agatha was older and far more powerful. She unravelled their spells one by one, her determination unrelenting. When she finally found the building—a run-down warehouse cloaked in wards meant to deter magical detection—she didn’t hesitate. The faint flicker of your magic inside made her breath hitch. I’ve got you, she thought. Hold on just a little longer.

Her entrance is swift and deadly. The first guard falls without a sound, a flash of purple light dissolving him into nothingness. Another tries to raise the alarm, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. There’s no room for hesitation, no space for mercy.

She finally reaches the room they’re keeping you in and stops in the doorway, her breath catching. You’re lying on the floor, still connected to the machine, your body slack, your face pale and lifeless. The wires pulse with what remains of your magic, twisting it into something unrecognisable. The sight sends a cold fury surging through her veins.

From the shadows behind you, the hunters emerge, their eyes gleaming with malice. “Well, well, if we’d known this was all it took to lure the great Agatha Harkness, we’d have done it years ago,” one of them sneers.

Agatha’s voice is low and dangerous. “You shouldn’t have touched Y/N.”

The fight is brutal. Agatha moves like a force of nature, her magic slamming into the hunters with a ferocity she rarely shows. One by one, they fall, her anger giving her no room for restraint. “You dared to hurt them?” she shouts, her voice echoing as she sends a hunter crashing into the wall. Another disintegrates in a flash of violet light as she hurls a spell with deadly precision. Her fury is as unstoppable as it is justified, every attack laced with her rage and anguish.

—

The room is quiet now, save for the hum of the machine still feeding on your magic. Agatha rushes to your side, her hands trembling as she frees you from the clips and chains. You slump into her arms, your body too weak to hold itself up.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” she murmurs, her voice soft but urgent. Her hands cup your face, brushing away strands of hair. Your eyes flutter open, hazy but still searching for hers.

“Agatha…” Your voice is faint, but it’s enough to break her.

She lifts you into her arms with ease, holding you close. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I should have been here sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you rasp. “You found me. That’s enough.”

Agatha’s lips tremble as she smiles, her protective instincts taking over. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

—

The moment the two of you cross the threshold of your shared home, the adrenaline that has kept you upright vanishes. Your knees buckle, but Agatha is there, her strong arms catching you before you hit the floor. She doesn’t say a word, just holds you close, her cheek resting against the top of your head. After a moment, she whispers, “Come, darling. Let me take care of you.”

She leads you to the bathroom, her hand steady on the small of your back, guiding you as if you might drift away. The familiar space, once a refuge of routine, now feels foreign in your state of exhaustion. Agatha waves a hand, and the bathtub fills itself, the water shimmering faintly with a soft healing magic.

Agatha helps you sit on the edge of the tub, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins undressing you from your torn, bloodied clothing. You flinch when her fingers brush against a bruise on your arm, and she freezes, her eyes searching yours with worry. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll be gentle,” she murmurs, her voice soft as a caress.

When you’re finally settled in the warm water, it takes a moment for your body to adjust. The heat seeps into your muscles, loosening the tension, though your heart still races from the memory of what you’ve endured. Agatha kneels beside the tub, dipping a soft cloth into the water before running it over your skin. Her touch is featherlight, avoiding every cut and bruise with care.

She works in silence at first, her focus entirely on you, but then she begins to hum—a soothing, lilting melody you’ve never heard before but feel as though it has always been a part of you. Her voice wraps around you like a blanket, grounding you as she gently cleans the grime and dried blood from your body. Every now and then, she whispers words of reassurance. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. No one will hurt you again.”

As Agatha reaches your hands, brushing the cloth over the tender, raw skin where the chains had bitten into you, something inside you breaks. Tears well in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. Your shoulders begin to shake, and you let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with shame. “I should’ve been stronger, but I couldn’t—I just—”

“Shh, no,” Agatha interrupts gently, setting the cloth aside and leaning over the edge of the tub to pull you into her arms. The water soaks her sleeves, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You were strong,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your temple. “You survived, sweetheart. That’s all that matters.”

You cling to her, your tears soaking into her shirt as sobs wrack your body. Every emotion you’ve bottled up—fear, pain, helplessness—pours out of you in a torrent. Agatha holds you through it all, her hands stroking your hair and trailing soothing patterns down your back.

“It’s over now,” she whispers. “You don’t have to hold it together anymore. I’m here, my love. I’ll always be here.”

Her words are an anchor, grounding you as the storm inside you begins to subside. The safety of her embrace makes the world feel bearable again, even if only for a moment.

—

After the bath, Agatha wraps you in the softest robe you own, bundling you up like she’s shielding you from the world. She carries you to your shared bedroom, settling you onto the bed as if you’re the most fragile thing in existence.

She climbs in beside you without hesitation, pulling you into her arms and tucking the blankets around both of you. Her warmth surrounds you, her heartbeat steady against your ear. “Close your eyes, darling,” she murmurs, her voice like honey. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You let yourself relax against her, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. Just as you begin to drift off, you hear her humming again, the same soothing melody from before. It wraps around you like a spell, lulling you further into sleep.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your forehead. “No one will ever hurt you again. You’re mine to protect.”

Her words stay with you as sleep pulls you under, the fear and pain replaced by the comfort of her love. Even as your consciousness fades, you feel her hand stroking your hair, her presence anchoring you to the safety of home.

[bardic-tales]

Tumblr Games: OC Deep Dive

Thank you so much for the tag, @captain-kraken. You can find the clean template beneath.

I decided that I will do this for Bianca Moore, my protagonist in my passion project. She is the daughter of Asmodeus, the hellish Prince of Lust.

This is an OPEN Tag.

Content Warning (Alphabetical): Abandonment, body horror, death, experimentation, graphic violence, manipulation, misophonia, obsession, overbearing relationships, past trauma, physical injury, possessiveness, self-sacrifice, skinned alive, trauma-induced behavior.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Bianca had witnessed the death of two mates at the hands of her father, Asmodeus. Due to this, she is afraid of abandonment. It is this fear that pushes her to support her S/O's antagonistic actions to end the world.

Do they have any pet peeves?

She has a couple of things that she considers pet peeves. People who are overly cheerful, slurps their noodles, and mindlessly confirms are high up on that list. It could be said that she has a slight form of misophonia.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

She has black silk curtains, a black comforter and red sheets, and a modern circular, white vase with red roses sitting on the bed-stand next to her side of the bed.

What do they notice first in a person?

As Bianca has enhanced senses, she notices someone's scent. In Fantasy Worlds Collide, every animal and planet has an unique scent attributed to them. Angels / Demons can sense these underlying smells.

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Before Asmodeus awakened her celestial and infernal blood, her pain tolerance was around a 5. Seeing as her wings were concealed by her skin and they sort of burst from her body, it became around a 7 or 8. She almost died at his hands twice.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

This evolved over the years. When she was younger, she was taught that the correct response was flight. During her 20s, her 1st guardian was teaching her how to defend herself and control her powers, allowing her to become confident in those abilities but she froze in danger. By the time that she was captured by humans and experimented upon, she was fully able to fight. During her escape, she slaughtered several infantry men, scientists, and super soldiers, showing that her natural instinct was always to fight.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Bianca's father sired the incubi, so she comes from a huge family. However, she never met any of them, as Asmodeus is the antagonist in FWC. She is a family person. She wants to marry and have a child or two but is hesitant.

What animal represents them best?

As Bianca is intensely devoted, loyal, and a bit mysterious, the animal that represents her the best is a raven. Bianca has a love for ancient texts and forbidden knowledge, which is usually represented in such an animal.

What is a smell they dislike?

Bianca has a dislike for anything that is overly artificial. She has enhanced senses, such as a sense of smell. Synthetic floral perfumes will often overstimulate her senses and give her a migraine.

Have they broken any bones?

Throughout all of her life, she has been subjected to injuries that would kill a normal person. Her father almost skinned her alive to awaken her celestial and infernal blood. There was a scientist, Diana, in another universe that ended up infusing her with alien DNA and experimented upon her. All angelic beings, including fallen angels, have almost instant healing abilities. She was visected by Diana, which means her ribs were broken, etc. When she arrived on Gaia from her original world, she fell through a cosmic portal after she was injured by her father. Her right wing had a compound fracture.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

A stranger would, most likely, find Bianca charming. She can be very manipulative if it means furthering her goals. However, if the stranger is a threat to her or her significant other, Bianca is often mysterious, intimidating, and cold. Due to her duality, her presence can be both captivating and unsettling.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Bianca is a night owl. She prefers the twilight hours and will usually use these hours to go about her duties in protecting her significant other's regenerating body, study, and sometimes just taking a stroll through the desolate landscape she lives in with the dark dragon that had become her protector.

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Bianca has no love for sweet foods. She hates foods like donuts, but one of the flavors that she absolutely hates specifically is caramel. On the other hand, Bianca loves savory foods. She loves steak, especially when it is 'blue' and mash potatoes with lots of gravy.

Do they have any hobbies?

She likes to study ancient texts, explore dark and mysterious worlds, craft artifacts, compose poetry, and star gaze. One of her favorite activities is to spar with her significant other, learning how to master her powers as the harbinger of the Omniverse. She still has a way to go for that.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Bianca had a very traumatic childhood and young adulthood. She hates surprises and will likely react with a mix of annoyance. If the surprise party is thrown by someone she is close with, she will begrudgingly appreciate the gesture but would rather them to skip the surprise part of the party.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

No. She does not wear jewelry. She never seen the point of it and would rather wear clothing that will help her live in the landscape that she is currently living in or a ribbon for her hair which was given to her before her significant other lost himself to madness.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

As she grew up on the run from the cult devoted to her father, Bianca tries to be precise in everything she does. She loves calligraphic. Her handwriting is neat and meticulous, showcasing the need to be in control in everything she does.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Bianca experiences obsessive devotion and determination. She is very loyal and relentless in her pursuit of her goals and her significant other. She is not afraid to manipulate and give up her very identity for him if it meant that she will succeed in making him a god.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Bianca loves fabrics like silk against her skin. As Asmodeus is her father who is the Prince of Lust, she loves fabrics that highlights her form, teasing her silhouette to others. Her favorite silks tend to be dark in color or those that fit her color scheme: silver and black. She is also partial to shiny leather.

What kind of accent do they have?

Bianca has a slow, sultry voice. There's a huskiness to it when she talks. Her cadence is very deliberate as she is always in control of the conversation. The accent is very neutral but is refined. The best description of it would be like Jessica Rabbit from Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

The Clean Template.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Do they have any pet peeves?

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

What do they notice first in a person?

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

What animal represents them best?

What is a smell they dislike?

Have they broken any bones?

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Do they have any hobbies?

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Do they have a favourite fabric?

What kind of accent do they have?

[fieriframes]

[There are much more terrible things than physical injury.]

[furiousgoldfish]

Thank you so much for running this blog, never forget you're an awesome and very kind person that deserves good things in your life.

I have brain damage, though I don't know how bad it is. It's from when I was younger and it was never checked on after the event (I had other injuries that were worse and more important). My skull was fractured and brain damaged on the back left and top part of my head.

I have "brain glitches" and difficulties with processing things and other stuff, but I don't know how much of my life is impacted by the brain damage or if I fully recovered and am not like, a genius/these are normal non-brain damage related stuff lol.

I wanted to ask if brain damage impacts how someone experiences trauma? I've gone through traumatic stuff and have neglectful and emotionally abusive parents. I struggle to feel my age, is this possibly due to brain damage? Could I be developmentally behind?

Sorry if these aren't questions you can answer, thanks so much for any help you give :)

It must have been utterly horrible for you, if brain injury wasn't a priority. I am sadly, not an expert on brain injuries, so I have no clue how exactly this could have affected you. I think it depends on what areas of your brain were affected, but if you get glitches it's obviously harder to deal with anything.

I hope you can ask a doctor, or a neurologist these questions, because they might have scientific or study-collected data that you're looking for, I don't know anyone with a brain injury, so I can't even assume what it would or wouldn't affect. If you have access to healthcare, I would recommend trying to get even just a conversation or send a question in an email to see if anyone can answer it for you. Since you are having problems with processing things, it's possible that you need to get this damage looked at and assessed, I don't know how dangerous brain damage is, but it sounds serious.

I can tell you that abuse can sometimes make it very hard to process things, and make it hard to feel your age. It also can make you feel developmentally behind, because you miss out on a lot of social development while you're stuck in abuse, or dealing with severe and dangerous life circumstances.This also stops you from gaining a lot of knowledge and skills people your age usually have, so this can make you feel like you're behind as well. However, all of these can be made up for, and with a bit of looking up tutorials, socializing, learning and trying out skills, you can catch up easily, this is not a non-solvable problem, this can be remedied just by gathering knowledge and experiences.

I am so sorry you are dealing with all of this. I can't tell if your brain damage affected all of these problems and made it worse, but it's clearly making you very worried, scared and concerned. I hope you can get to a point where you know exactly what is happening with your brain, and how to feel more normal. You don't need to feel your age at all times, a lot of people don't, even when they're not traumatized. You can write very clearly, and don't seem developmentally behind at all, from what I can tell. (though I'm only assuming from this message, I don't know what your age is).

[moremlptales]

Here he is. The bully boy turned cop. The character I dislike the most. Teddy.

Teddy started off as your typical elementary school bully, with Sweetheart by his side even at a young age. The rest of Sweatheart's friends never liked or trusted Teddy much, despite occasionally putting aside their differences for Sweetheart's sake. Teddy grew to study law enforcement in university and emerged out the other side as a fully fledged police officer. Suffice to say he's burned all his bridges with childhood friends, save for Ace, who tries to talk sense into him from time to time.

More below.

Remember when Sweetheart and Teddy broke up and Patch was there to comfort her? Sweetheart had told Patch that messing with Teddy wasn't worth it. However, outraged that Sweetheart had been treated this way for so long, Patch later confronted Teddy. One black eye and a few scrapes later, Teddy promised to never go anywhere near Sweetheart again.

After fighting with Patch, word spread of Teddy's injuries and Ace saw fit to try and talk to Teddy in the hopes of convincing him to recognize the harm in his actions and own up to his past wrongdoings. No success. Teddy is just as stubborn and hardheaded as ever, and you can't change ponies that don't want to change themselves.

[fangsofwhite]

I've been trying to learn how to do vent art. It's actually very unnaturally for me to express negative emotions in my art and I'm really trying to get out of that.

I actually do like this so may come back to it again both because it's visually interesting and because I never realized how physically broken I am until I stopped and drew it out. Trying to visualize the pain I have strangely helps to dull it a bit.

I have... a LOT of chronic pains from past traumas, mostly from my childhood. I'm not very old now but physically I struggle some days. My legs and ankles especially give me problems as they can randomly re-injure themselves even when I'm resting.

There is just always a level of pain somewhere.

I actually didn't realize how abnormal it is to just always be in pain until my doctor asked me to rate my pain, and he actually stopped and explained the pain rating chart he used. I've gotten help, did some physical therapy and still do the exercises they gave me. For all this though, there is just not much else to do. Some injuries just can't be repaired if they aren't treated proper when they first happen.

I'm OK though. Pain is just apart of life.

[opin88]

He had a bad day

One of my cats got the tip of his tail stuck in a door frame that a roommate was closing. The roommate didn’t realize what was going on and ended up pinching his tail...

The skin came right off. I didn’t take any pictures of him in that state, but there was exposed bone! He was missing a solid 1-1.5 inches! So of course, I took him to the vet emergency and got it taken care of. He had to be overnighted for surgery to amputate the part of his tail that he got caught in the door frame. I picked him up this morning and took him home.

I don’t know how the cone is supposed to stop him from licking and picking at his tail. He can still reach it! I’ve taken to spraying a little bit of air freshener on it (he HATES air fresheners) whenever he tries. Basically, I’m just making sure it smells bad enough for him to avoid licking it. But that probably won’t be an option when the bandage comes off. So I’m going to have to figure out a different solution for when that time comes.

[drowningwavez]

7 years since my work injury resulting in my second emergency spinal surgery in 12 months. I was only 26 when I had my first surgery & got drop foot. My back has failed me so badly. There’s so much grief around this. Not having been able to return to work is so fucking hard and depressing. People think it would be amazing not working but it isn’t. I’d give anything to work again. To give back to the community. To have a purpose. Have money.

[the-earth-priestess]

new fic drop :3

they look like this btw.

[the-prophesied-disco-gay]

Okay this question is probably gonna get me hung and shot and set on fire and renamed Rasputin but I lack the cognition to figure out how to google it correctly and I keep getting results that are nothing like what I'm looking for.

Is it possible to acquire a cognitive disability? Like a learning disability or processing disorder? For instance, if one ends up with a compound brain injury, brain damage from a medication mixup/overdose, or damage to brain tissue from another disease process, something like that, does the damage and resulting reduction of cognitive skills count as a cognitive disability? Or is there another name for that type of damage/those circumstances? Is a cognitive disability exclusively something you are born with?

I am trying to figure out which terminology to use to describe my experience with cognitive decline caused in adulthood, but ironically cannot figure out how to find/confirm that info and I feel like I'm losing it :/

[d-z20]

What We Have Left

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: After surviving the Witches' Road, you and Agatha find solace in caring for each other as you navigate the aftermath—her haunted by nightmares and you recovering from near-fatal injuries. (canon-divergence)

Warnings: physical hurt (R), emotional hurt (A), comfort

Words: 1.4k

A/N: Another request fic :) It took me so long to figure out how Agatha and Reader could survive without taking away from Agatha's character arc so it's as close to canon as possible.

AO3 | Master List

After the chaos of what happened with Rio and Billy, you don’t know exactly how you survived. The last thing you remember is the weight of magic swirling violently around you, the air crackling with danger. Agatha had been ready to sacrifice herself, a final act of redemption that would have consumed her completely. But something had shifted in the moments before her fate was sealed—your desperate magic, unpredictable and wild, surged in response to her intent. In a flash, it felt as though time bent, reality warping around you both. A surge of energy, as if the universe itself had decided you were both not yet finished, had pulled you from the brink of destruction.

But it had also sent you flying backward. 

You’d crashed into a jagged outcrop of stone, your already fragile body sustaining more injuries. A deep wound had opened along your side, nearly severing you in half, and your chest felt like it was caving in with each strained breath. It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was the real fear that you wouldn’t make it. You were too close to death, the darkened edge of your vision creeping in, when Agatha’s hand in yours had pulled you back from that final brink. You weren’t sure how, but it felt like she was holding you together in those final moments before you slipped into unconsciousness.

—

Your injuries keep you from being able to get upstairs, so you spend your days and nights on the couch trying to recover. Agatha promises to stay close, swearing she’ll sleep in the armchair beside you. But every night, you wake to find her pacing instead, her movements restless and agitated, her silhouette framed by the faint light above the stove.

The house is quiet tonight, save for the rhythmic sound of Agatha pacing in the next room. The soft creak of the floorboards betrays her unease, a subtle sound that feels much louder in the stillness. You know the routine by now—she doesn't scream out or cry, but she can’t seem to stay still. She’s trying to outrun something, her breath coming quicker, hitching in the air as though there's a monster that won’t let her rest. The nightmares are worse tonight. You can feel her anxiety through the walls—a tension in the house that makes it hard to breathe.

You lie back on the couch, a thin blanket draped over your legs, shifting carefully to avoid pulling at the bandages wrapped around your ribs. The dull ache is persistent, a reminder of what the Road has taken. What it has demanded.

“You’re awake.”

Her voice startles you, and you turn your head to see her standing in the doorway. She looks dishevelled, her hair wild and her lips chewed raw. Agatha Harkness, once a picture of control and sharp wit, seems smaller these days. Her sharp, calculating eyes are clouded now.

“So are you,” you reply softly, watching as she crosses the room and lowers herself into the chair beside you.

She looks at the floor, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “I didn’t mean to wake you. The dreams... They’re worse tonight.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing hers gently. “You didn’t wake me. Couldn’t sleep from the pain anyway.”

Her eyes flick to your bandages, her gaze lingering on the blood seeping through them. Her face tightens in frustration, but there’s something darker beneath the surface—a flicker of panic in her eyes. Her hands tremble as they hover near your side, as though she wants to help but is afraid to make things worse. She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling with each uneven inhale. “You’re still in pain.”

“It’s manageable,” you lie, though you know she can see right through you. She always does.

Agatha stands abruptly, her movements sharp. “Let me change the dressing. It’ll help.” She doesn’t wait for you to agree, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with the first aid kit.

She kneels by your side, her hands surprisingly gentle as she helps you sit up, unwrapping the bandages with practiced precision. Her fingers linger on the jagged cut running along your side.

“This one’s healing slower than the others,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

You wince as she cleans the wound, but you keep your focus on her face. Her brow is furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line. She is concentrating, but you can see the tremor in her hands.

“Agatha.”

She doesn’t look up. “Almost done.”

“Agatha.” Your voice softens. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her hands still. For a moment, the only sound is your breathing, uneven and shallow. Then she shakes her head. “It was, though. I led us there. I put you in danger.”

“And we both survived,” you counter. “That’s what matters.”

She finishes rewrapping the bandage in silence, her hands lingering on your side before pulling away. She sits back on her heels, staring at the floor.

You reach for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitates, her eyes flickering toward the window as if searching for an escape. But then her gaze softens, and she looks back at you. “I see them, you know,” she says quietly. “In my dreams. The ones we lost. Lilia, Alice, Mrs. Ha—Sharon... I see them; I hear their voices.”

Her voice cracks, and she quickly looks away, but not before you catch the glint of tears in her eyes.

You lean forward, wincing as pain flares in your ribs. “They don’t blame you, Agatha. None of them do.”

“How would you know?” she whispers, her tone tinged with bitterness. “You can’t know.”

“Because I know you,” you say firmly. “And I know you did everything you could.”

Her expression crumbles, and for a moment, she looks so much younger, so much more fragile than you’ve ever seen her. The indomitable Agatha Harkness, finally undone by the weight of her own guilt.

You cup her face with your hand, your thumb brushing away a tear that slips free. “Agatha,” you murmur, your voice soft. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“And what about you?” Her eyes open, sharp and searching. “You’re the one who nearly died, and you’re still acting like you have to take care of me.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say simply.

“I’m not sure I deserve it,” she murmurs, her voice cracking. Her hands shake slightly as she tugs at the hem of her sweater, the fabric clutched too tightly in her fists as if trying to steady herself. She won’t look at you, but you can see the tremor in her jaw. It’s a subtle thing, but you know that she’s fighting against something much bigger than just guilt. There’s a panic beneath it, a fear that maybe she can never escape what happened, that the person she is now—the one who’s failed so many—is someone who doesn’t deserve forgiveness, or love, or even peace.

“Too bad,” you say with a weak smile.

Agatha’s hand comes to rest over yours, holding it against her cheek. “You’re a stubborn witch,” she says, a hint of her usual wit breaking through.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, your smile growing.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but filled with something softer.

“I didn’t actually know what I wanted from the Road,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Agatha’s eyes open, and she looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I wanted knowledge,” you admit. “Or power. Or maybe to finally understand myself.” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “My magic’s always been... all over the place. Never strong enough in one area to fit anywhere. Protection spells don’t hold long, potions are hit or miss, divination’s a disaster... I thought the Road could give me something to make me belong.”

“And did it? Since Billy’s maybe made it real and all that,” she asks softly.

You nod your head. “Yes. It gave me you.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, you think you’ve said too much. But then she leans forward, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it makes your heart ache.

It isn’t a kiss born of desperation or passion. It’s something quieter, something fragile. A shared promise that, no matter how broken the two of you might be, you’ll face it together.

When she pulls back, her hand lingers on your cheek. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmurs.

“You do,” you say firmly.

For a long moment, she’s silent, her lips pressed together as she absorbs your words. You can almost see her mind racing behind her eyes, calculating the weight of your reassurance. Her expression shifts just slightly, and for the first time since the Road, you see a flicker of something like peace in her gaze—a brief, fragile relief that she doesn’t have to bear the whole world’s weight on her shoulders alone. It’s like she’s finally starting to believe it. Then she exhales a shaky breath and stands, pulling the blanket up to cover you more securely.

“Get some rest,” she says softly. “I’ll be here.”

“And you?” you ask, catching her hand before she can pull away. “Will you sleep?”

Her lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you tease gently.

She sighs, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ll try. For you.”

She stays by your side that night, her hand clasped in yours as you drift into a fitful but comforting sleep. Whatever the Road has taken from you, it has left this: a bond forged in fire, unshakeable and enduring.

[a-salty-alto]

Reblog with where you're from (USAmericans if you're willing to specify state too that would be great)

I need to know if my suffering is just because my school district hates students or if it's a common thing

[anftherapy]

✨Sceptics, who doesn’t like them?

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[labsportstherapy]

Physical Sports Therapy – Evaluation Therapies and Rehabilitation

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[nightmaretour]

Anyway, people with brain damage I love you. People who have had strokes I love you, especially if you're told you were "too young" to have one. People who acquired your brain damage by less common means such as infection, lack of oxygen at birth or degenerative disease, I love you. People with moderate and severe brain damage, I love you. People who lost their sight or hearing or ability to speak because of their brain damage, I love you. People who have paralysis from their brain damage, I love you. People with amnesia and severe cognitive issues from their brain damage, I love you. People with rare and unusual symptoms from their brain damage, I love you.

You are not a punchline, you haven't lost your humanity, your thoughts and opinions are as valuable as anyone else's. We deserve respect.

[ID: a dark red banner with the words "This post is about physical disabilities, do not derail." in grey font. Either side of it is a lighter grey wheelchair user symbol with the user leaning forward with the arms raised and back, giving the appearance of wheeling fast. End ID.]

[valtsv]

they should hire me as like a stunt double but for when they need someone to express screaming and falling to their knees and tearing at their clothes levels of grief in movies and shows. not only would i be great at it but i think that a regularly scheduled cathartic wail would do things not even the best medication and therapy money can buy could for my mental health. you wouldn't even have to pay me i'd just show up ready to go like a working dog finally getting an opportunity to fulfil its life's purpose.