#Physical Injury

[d-z20]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha goes up against the Scarlet Witch in a fight and refuses to back down until the end, no matter what it may cost her. Her injuries are severe and you tend to her them, providing comfort into the night

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt (A physical & R emotional but not by each other), whole lotta comfort, protective reader

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Fic is based off this request. I should clarify that I actually don't watch MMA so I'm really sorry if there's inaccuracies, I gave myself a crash course for Heavy Hits so I'm hoping it's all okay.

AO3 | Master List

The atmosphere is tense

The lights in the arena shine brightly, casting a dramatic glow over the octagonal cage at the centre. The crowd roars as “The Scarlet Witch” is announced, Wanda Maximoff striding confidently into the ring. Her crimson gear matches the fierce energy in her eyes. Across the ring, Agatha Harkness, your girlfriend, is a vision of defiance.

It’s deafening, the crowd’s energy crackling like electricity in the air. You stand just outside the octagonal cage, gripping the metal fencing as though it might somehow hold you upright. The referee is giving final instructions, but your eyes are locked on Agatha. She stands tall, her lean frame wrapped in a sleek purple sports bra and matching compression shorts, her hands taped beneath her open-finger gloves. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly into a braid, leaving no distractions. She looks lethal—confident and determined.

But you know her better than anyone. Under her stoic expression, there’s always a flicker of doubt before a match, one she’d never admit to. As her partner in and out of the gym, you’ve seen her highs and her lows. And this fight? This one feels different. Facing Wanda Maximoff is like stepping into a storm. Wanda has a reputation: precision, aggression, and devastating power.

You’re here as part of Agatha’s cornermen. Not just her girlfriend but her trainer, sparring partner, and the person she trusts most to see her through battles like these. It’s your role that allows you to stand so close to the cage. Still, you hate being this near. You hate feeling so helpless.

“Let’s go, Agatha!” You shout as the bell rings, your voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd.

The fight begins cautiously. Wanda moves like a predator, light on her feet, her red-and-black shorts glinting under the arena lights. Her punches come fast, jabs testing Agatha’s defences. Agatha responds in kind, her kicks snapping out sharply, keeping Wanda just out of reach. For a moment, it looks even. They exchange blows, neither landing anything decisive. Your heart races every time Agatha ducks or blocks a strike—so far, so good.

But as the first round wears on, Wanda’s strategy becomes clear. She isn’t just fighting to win; she’s fighting to break Agatha down. Her strikes grow heavier, targeting Agatha’s ribs and legs. Agatha manages to return fire, her high kick glancing off Wanda’s temple, making the redhead stumble. You surge with hope, pounding the cage wall in support.

“Beautiful! Keep her on the ropes, Aggie!” you yell.

But Wanda recovers too quickly. She counters with a vicious combo—an uppercut followed by a low kick that makes Agatha’s stance falter. The bell rings to signal the end of the first round, and you rush to her corner.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your hands gentle as you wipe sweat from her face with a cool towel.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her breathing is laboured, and you can see the faint beginnings of a bruise forming on her ribs. “She hits like she’s trying to kill me, though.”

“Stick to the plan. Keep moving. Don’t let her back you into the cage,” you say firmly, holding her gaze. “You’ve got this.”

The second round is brutal. Wanda turns up the aggression, landing a spinning kick that sends Agatha staggering. You clench your fists, shouting at the top of your lungs, willing her to keep going. Agatha fights back fiercely, landing an elbow that opens a small cut above Wanda’s eye. But it isn’t enough to slow her down. By the end of the round, Agatha is clearly hurting. Her breathing is ragged, and she’s clutching her side.

“Let me call it,” you plead as the medics check her during the break. “Agatha, you’ve done enough.”

“No,” she says sharply, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m finishing this.”

The third and final round begins, and you hold your breath. Agatha gives everything she has, landing a solid right hook that makes Wanda stumble. For a moment, you dare to hope. But Wanda is relentless. She unleashes another devastating combo—a liver shot, followed by a spinning backfist that sends Agatha crumpling to the mat. The referee steps in immediately, waving Wanda off and calling a technical knockout.

You don’t wait for permission; as soon as the match is over, you’re in the cage. The sight of her lying there, blood trickling from her lip and her face already swelling, breaks your heart. She’s clutching her ribs, her breaths shallow and ragged.

“Agatha, my love, I’m here,” you say, your voice trembling, dropping to your knees beside her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and she manages a weak smile. “I totally won that, didn’t I?”

“Always the joker,” you whisper, brushing her damp hair back. “You fought like hell, sweetheart.”

With the help of the medical team, you carefully lift her, her weight pressing against you. Her arm is draped over your shoulders, and you wrap your arm securely around her waist. Every step out of the cage is agonising, her quiet whimpers slicing through you.

Back in the locker room, you lay her down gently on the physio bed. The medics confirm a fractured rib and multiple bruises but assure you it isn’t life-threatening. As soon as they leave, you stand at her side, holding her trembling hands.

“Agatha, why do you do this to yourself?” you ask, your voice breaking as you clean her up. She hisses in pain when the antiseptic touches her skin, but she doesn’t complain.

“Because I love it,” she says softly. “And because I have you to patch me up.”

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, but your touch is gentle as you bandage her ribs and ice her swollen cheek.

—

The drive home is quiet, the weight of the night pressing heavily on both of you. Agatha leans against the car window, her face pale beneath the faint streetlights. Her breath hitches every time you hit a bump, and each sound twists like a knife in your chest. You’ve never felt so desperate to wrap her in safety, to shield her from the pain she insists on enduring for the sport she loves.

When you finally pull into the driveway, you turn off the engine and sit for a moment, just looking at her. Her eyes are closed, her brow slightly furrowed even in rest. You reach over, gently brushing your fingers over her cheek. She stirs at the touch, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“Caught staring?” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but teasing.

“As usual,” you reply softly. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll carry you inside,” you insist.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but there’s no bite in her words, only affection.

“I don’t care,” you reply. “You’re not walking.”

Despite her protests, she lets you carry her up the driveway, the weight of her in your arms a grounding reminder that she’s still here, still whole despite the bruises and fractures. You settle her carefully onto the couch in the living room, arranging pillows around her and draping a blanket over her lap. She sighs as she sinks into the cushions, her body finally relaxing a fraction.

“Stay,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering open to find yours. “Don’t run off.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But you need food, Aggie. You haven’t eaten since before the fight.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, but the corner of her mouth quirks up as you disappear into the kitchen. You rummage through the fridge and cupboards, settling on her favourite comfort food—a simple grilled cheese sandwich with a cup of warm tomato soup. It’s nothing fancy, but you know it’s exactly what she’ll want.

When you return, her eyes light up at the sight of the tray. “You spoil me,” she says, her voice laced with affection.

“Rotten,” you tease, kneeling beside her as you set the tray down on the coffee table. “Now, eat. Slowly.”

She obeys, though her hands tremble slightly as she leans forward to pick up the sandwich. You watch her carefully, ready to step in if she needs help. Between bites, she keeps glancing at you, as if grounding herself in your presence.

Once she’s finished, you clear the tray and return with a glass of water and the prescribed pain medication. She tries to wave you off when you fuss over her, but you catch the way her eyes soften every time you adjust her blanket or tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Movie or book?” you ask once she’s settled again, her head leaning back against the cushions.

“Book,” she says after a moment of thought. “Something soft. Something... distracting.”

You nod, disappearing into the small shelf by the window. You pick a collection of short stories about witches you know she loves; its worn cover is a testament to how many times you’ve read it together. Returning to her side, you slide onto the couch, gently easing her to lie back against you. She winces slightly as she shifts, her body pressing into yours, but once she’s settled, her sigh is one of contentment.

“Comfy?” you murmur, wrapping your arm carefully around her waist, mindful of her ribs.

“Perfect,” she whispers, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

You begin to read, your voice soft and steady as you let the rhythm of the words wash over you both. Agatha’s breathing slows, her body melting into yours as you turn each page. Occasionally, she murmurs a comment about a line she likes, her voice laced with sleep.

By the time you reach the third story, her eyes are closed, her head tucked beneath your chin. You let the book fall to your lap, your hand shifting to stroke her hair gently. The tension from earlier in the night begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that feels like home.

—

Later, as the night deepens, you coax her into the bedroom. She protests faintly, her voice slurred with sleep, but you’re firm. “You’ll rest better in bed,” you say, kissing her forehead as you guide her to the mattress.

You tuck her into bed, piling pillows behind her to keep her comfortable. She looks so small, so fragile, and it breaks your heart all over again. You climb in beside her, pulling her carefully into your arms.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I hate making you worry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say, stroking her hair. “Just... let me hold you, okay? I need to feel you’re here.”

She shifts, pressing her weight into you, her head resting on your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. “You’re stuck with me.”

You hold her tightly, the warmth of her body melting away the fear and tension that have gripped you all night. She’s here, safe in your arms, and you’ll never let her go.

To anon who requested it: I hope you enjoyed :)

[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.

[priestess-of-yuri]

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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ANF Devices are designed for medical professionals to provide a non-invasive, chemical-free therapy option that harnesses specific frequencies to target and optimize the body’s cellular, glandular, and organ systems.

These wearable devices, made from a blend of polymers and a carbon/crystalline composite, are infused with frequencies to stimulate the body’s natural healing processes. They offer benefits such as pain and inflammation reduction, enhanced healing and performance, and support for a wide range of conditions including chronic pain, injuries, and neurological disorders.

[labsportstherapy]

Physical Sports Therapy – Evaluation Therapies and Rehabilitation

We offer physical sports therapy to athletes through proper consultation, evaluation, advanced testing, manual therapies, and tailored exercises, ensuring an effective and empowering recovery journey.

[ieatratsforbreakfast]

I feel like most able bodied people see wheelchairs as the worst thing that could happen to a person. When I discuss my want to have a wheelchair for various reasons, most peoples first reaction is to be surprised that I could voluntarily consider that.

But what they fail to consider is that, unlike them, I very much hate walking. It causes me pain and fatigue, it is a miserable experience.

So to any able bodied person reading this, yes some wheelchair users like walking, some want to gain that ability back, but that does not invalidate the feelings of wheelchair users who absolutely hate walking.

[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.]