#and is it worth it to just save one person?

[d-z20]

More Than You Will Ever Know (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: For most of your time at college, you've been in a relationship with your sugar mommy, Agatha Harkness. Everything is going great except for the fact you are about to graduate and with that comes change

- OR -

What happens when you turn up at her door months later. It's sex, sex happens.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, sugar mommy Agatha with a few grey hairs 😍, sugar baby Reader, established dynamic, Mommy kink, strap riding (R recv), squirting, angst, a little hurt/comfort, both Agatha and Reader are switches, fingering (R recv), oral (both recv), multiple orgasms, soft aftercare

Words: 5.9k

A/N: This probably isn't the fic y'all were expecting when I said I was doing a sugar mommy Agatha post... but I hope you enjoy it anyway my lovelies ;) requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The restaurant you were at was one of those exclusive places with no menu—just a personal chef curating a bespoke experience, each dish a masterpiece plated with precision. You weren’t sure what half the things on your plate were, but Agatha, ever composed, swirled a glass of deep red wine and explained each one with a knowing smirk.

She sat across from you, effortlessly elegant in a dark silk blouse, her silver streaks catching in the dim candlelight. You’d barely sat down before she leaned forward, her fingers brushing over yours, and said, “You look stunning tonight, darling.”

You did, of course, because she’d made sure of it. The dress you wore—a sleek, custom-made piece in a colour that suited your skin perfectly—was her gift. She had it delivered earlier that day, instructing you to wear it to your graduation as well. “Something beautiful for someone extraordinary,” she had hummed as she held it up against your body, assessing the fit before insisting on getting it tailored just a little more.

Throughout dinner, she was her usual indulgent self, ordering the best of everything and ensuring you never had to lift a finger. When the waiter poured more champagne into your flute, she merely tilted her head with amusement and said, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

And celebrate she did—showering you with praise between bites of delicacies, her voice rich with something dangerously close to pride.

“I always knew you could do it,” she said, her thumb lazily tracing the stem of her wine glass. “You’re brilliant, and I’ve seen it from the very beginning. Your mind—fuck, it’s a wonder and a privilege to witness. I hope you know that.”

Warmth spread through you, not just from the alcohol but from the way she looked at you—as if you were the only thing worth admiring in this whole damn place. You ducked your head, feeling the heat creep up your neck, but Agatha wasn’t having any of that. She reached across the table, tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"None of that, baby," she chastised softly. "You’ve worked so hard, and now you're finally here. I am so proud of you."

Your heart squeezed, and before you could even form a response, she was placing a small velvet box in your hand. "Not yet," she hummed when you made to open it, her lips curling in amusement. "Save it for later."

You didn’t press, instead slipping the small box into your bag—another thing Agatha had insisted on buying for you.

And, in this moment, life was perfect.

—

Heat. Skin against skin. The soft rustle of silk sheets as your body moved against hers, your fingers digging into toned muscle. Agatha beneath you, her hands firm on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, worshipping you in the way only she knew how. The air was thick with the smell of perfume and sex.

"You take me so well, baby," she rasped, her voice hoarse with want, nails dragging down your spine, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake.

Your head was spinning, pleasure pooling in your stomach, tightening unbearably. She always did this to you—reduced you to nothing but need, left you craving her touch even when she was already giving you everything. And right now, you could feel her inside you, the stretch of silicone filling you so perfectly it had you trembling, your body fluttering around the unyielding length with every slow, deliberate roll of your hips.

"Mommy," you mewled, your voice high and breathless, and Agatha groaned in response, her grip on you tightening.

"That’s right, baby," she purred, voice molten. "Come on, let me hear you. Let me feel you."

A desperate moan left your lips, your thighs shaking as she bucked up into you, her hands guiding your movements in a way that made you dizzy with need. Every stroke had you gasping, the friction deep and deliberate, hitting your g-spot over and over again. But it wasn’t just that—Agatha’s mouth was on you too, hot and wet, her lips closing around your nipple as she sucked, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"So fucking perfect," she praised, letting her fingers slide up to cup your jaw, tilting your head down until your lips were only a breath away. "You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?"

"Y-Yes, Mommy," you gasped, barely coherent, but she swallowed your sounds with a kiss, deep and possessive.

The pressure coiled tighter, impossibly so, your body alight with sensation, every nerve ending sparking under her touch. You could feel another orgasm building, stealing the breath from your lungs, your nails sinking into her shoulders as you chased that final, devastating peak.

"That's it, my love," she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Cum for me, baby."

And you did. A shattered moan, body arching, the pleasure tearing through you like fire. The intensity was blinding, overwhelming; your entire body tensed, then gave way to the sheer force of your climax. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the pleasure burst free, your thighs trembling violently as you soaked the strap buried deep inside you.

Agatha groaned low, feeling the warmth spread between her legs, the slick mess you had made drenching the harness, the sheets, and her own skin. “Fuck, baby,” she husked, her voice thick with satisfaction, her hands gripping your hips as if to steady you. “Look at you... so perfect.”

Your breath came in rapid pants, your limbs weak, your body still wracked with aftershocks. The evidence of your pleasure was undeniable—your arousal staining the sheets beneath you, glistening against Agatha’s stomach just above where the strap had pressed flush against her. She let out a pleased hum, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your back as you collapsed against her, utterly spent.

“There you go, baby,” she whispered, her voice softer now, almost reverent. “You did so well for Mommy.”

Her hands ran slowly, worshipfully, over your spine, grounding you as you shivered against her. She pressed lazy, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere she could reach, while both of you struggled to catch your breath. The world beyond these walls didn’t exist; there was only the warmth of her embrace, the way she murmured your name like a prayer, the soft hum of contentment vibrating against your skin.

You belonged here. With her. Always.

And yet, you didn’t notice the way her expression shifted, the way her hold tightened just a fraction, as if she were memorising the feel of you, as if she were already preparing to let you go.

—

The sun dipped below the skyline as you sat on the edge of Agatha’s expansive marble countertop, feeling a familiar weight in the air. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you had been wrapped in her arms, your body trembling with pleasure, her voice thick with praise as she called you perfect. She had spoilt you rotten—an extravagant dinner, a new dress, a reminder that she was proud of you, that she always knew you’d make it. Things had felt so whole, so right.

But tonight? Tonight felt like the cruellest contrast.

Agatha’s penthouse, usually brimming with her presence, warm and commanding, felt cold and distant. She was pacing the living room, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes avoiding yours. There was no teasing smirk, no playful remark about how well you took her the night before. The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing against your chest like a vice.

Finally, she broke the silence with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re about to graduate, Y/N,” she began, her voice smooth yet clipped. "I think it's time we stop pretending that this... arrangement... still serves either of us."

You blinked, your stomach plummeting. Just last night, she had held you so tightly, whispering sweet nothings against your skin. And now she was speaking as if the last three and a half years were nothing more than a fleeting indulgence.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the words came out too sharp, too raw.

Her eyes flickered toward you, her lips twisting into a teasing smirk, but it didn’t carry the same warmth it usually did. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. You have a great job lined up and a whole life ahead of you. You don’t need me to be your sugar mommy anymore."

The words stung. You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat, masking it with a hollow laugh. "I don’t need you? Is that what you think?"

"You don’t need a sugar mommy," she corrected, her voice carrying that sharp edge that cut deeper than you wanted to admit. “I’m saying it’s time for you to grow up. To live your life without being bound to anything—or anyone.”

The finality in her words left you breathless. This wasn’t a joke. There was no hint of her usual playful cruelty. 

She really meant it.

“I don’t want that, Agatha,” you said softly, your voice cracking just a little, but your pride wouldn’t let you break. “I’m not ready for it.”

“Oh, I know you’re not,” she replied smoothly, turning away to pour herself a drink. The sound of liquid hitting glass was deafening in the quiet room. “But you’ll be fine. You’ll forget about me and find someone more your speed. Someone young and eager to be your equal, not just someone who's... well, who’s old enough to be your mother.”

A sharp sting bloomed in your chest, a dull, aching wound. Three and a half years down had come down to this. It started as just a simple arrangement—she took care of you financially, and you gave her company and affection in return. But somewhere along the way, something deeper had blossomed between you two, something neither of you had been brave enough to admit. And now she was discarding it like it had never meant anything at all.

She turned back to face you then, and for a brief moment, there was something else in her eyes—something softer, maybe even hesitant. But then it was gone, masked by that familiar smirk, the one she always used when she wanted to hide her vulnerability.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m doing this for you. You don’t need me holding you back. Go out there. Find yourself. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

Your chest was tight, the weight of her words suffocating. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I only want you.”

She scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but like I’ve said, you'll get over it.”

You let out a hollow, defeated scoff of your own, staring down at your feet as you willed yourself not to cry. When you finally spoke, your voice was eerily indifferent. “Okay.”

You grabbed your bag, turned on your heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls.

The moment you stepped onto the busy street, the cold air hit you like a slap in the face, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sting behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears, refusing to let the world see you like this.

But when you finally made it back to your apartment, the second the door clicked shut behind you, everything crumbled.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but you barely noticed as your knees gave out beneath you. You collapsed onto the hardwood, your entire body shaking, the weight of it all crashing down on you at once. The tears burnt as they spilt over, hot and unstoppable, rolling down your cheeks in thick, messy trails.

It wasn’t just crying—it was full-body, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. The kind that left your chest aching, your throat raw, and your limbs trembling. It felt like your heart had been shattered, and now it was cutting your hands to shreds as you desperately tried to gather the pieces.

You gasped for breath, curling in on yourself, hands clutching at your arms as if you could physically hold yourself together. But nothing could stop the pain or the gaping void that Agatha had left behind.

Your fingers reached for the armrest of your couch and found the hoodie she had bought for you last month, and you clung to it like a lifeline, burying your face into the fabric that still smelt like her. Just a few weeks ago, you would have never imagined this—never imagined she’d leave you, that she’d end things so cruelly.

You thought it would never end.

But it had.

And as you lay there, curled up on the floor, crying yourself to sleep in a hoodie that smelt like the woman who just broke your heart, you failed to notice how the small velvet box she had given you had slipped from your bag and slid under the couch, out of sight.

—

The days following Agatha’s decision felt like a blur. You tried to move on, to focus on your future. The job offer you’d received was a great opportunity, and Agatha had made a valid point about your independence. You told yourself this was for the best, that you could do this, that you could build a life outside of her.

But no matter how much you tried, every minute without her felt like a slow death.

Your apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt hollow. The bed was too big and too cold without her beside you. Mornings were the worst—waking up alone, reaching instinctively for her only to be met with empty sheets. You used to wake to the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, her voice teasing as she coaxed you into wakefulness with slow kisses and whispered praises. Now, silence stretched endlessly, suffocating in its vastness.

You kept yourself busy, throwing yourself into the final few weeks of college life as graduation loomed closer. You accepted invitations to go out with friends and tried to lose yourself in the crowds, in the laughter, in the distractions, but it never worked. Conversations blurred together, nights out felt dull, and no matter how much you smiled or how much you laughed at someone’s joke, you felt empty. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was Agatha.

You missed her. Desperately.

You missed the sound of her laughter when she was genuinely amused—not the polite, calculated chuckle she gave in social settings, but the real one, the one that made her eyes crinkle and her entire body shake, a soft snort escaping her. You missed the way she would kiss your forehead absentmindedly, as if it were second nature, the way she’d roll her eyes at you but always, always indulge you. You missed the way she touched you, not just in the heat of passion but in the quiet moments—her hand on your lower back as she guided you through a door, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against your thigh as she read, the way she’d brush your hair back just to get a better look at you.

But most of all, you missed the way she saw you.

Because no matter how much success came your way, no matter how proud your professors were, no matter how many congratulatory messages you received, it all felt muted. Distant. Like something was missing, like a shadow had been cast over every achievement. And you knew exactly what it was.

It was Agatha.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You reckoned she had completely moved on, that she was thriving in your absence. You convinced yourself of it because what other choice did you have? The world wouldn’t let you forget her. She was too deeply woven into it.

Her name popped up in conversations—friends of friends mentioning her in passing, mutual connections keeping her name alive. And then there was social fucking media.

You didn’t follow her, of course. That would’ve been masochistic. But that didn’t stop her from appearing on all of your feeds, no matter the platform—through tagged photos, through shared articles, through snippets of interviews that made their way into your timeline.

She was back in full force, attending galas, closing deals, and commanding every room she stepped into. She was radiant, powerful, and untouchable. The world saw her as she always had been: composed. And it made you sick.

Because if she could move on so effortlessly, why couldn’t you?

—

It only got worse after graduation.

You should have been happy. You had finally done it—achieved everything you had worked so hard for. Your professors beamed with pride, and your family sent messages filled with love and admiration. Your friends celebrated you, taking you out, making toasts in your name.

And yet, through it all, the joy never felt whole.

Your graduation gown felt wrong without Agatha there to see it. The dress she had bought you clung to your body like a second skin, but instead of making you feel unstoppable, it felt wrong. Hollow. As if the fabric itself had been stripped of its magic, leaving behind nothing but an empty, uncomfortable reminder of what you had lost. What once made you feel desired now only makes you feel abandoned. 

As you stood on that stage, accepting your degree, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd, your heart foolishly hoping, just for a second, that you’d see her there. That she would be watching, pride shining in her eyes, just as she had promised.

But she wasn’t there and that should have been your final sign, the last nail in the coffin.

And yet it wasn’t.

Because you still needed her.

Not for her money, not for the extravagant gifts or the lavish lifestyle. You needed her. Her wit, her sharp tongue, the way she challenged you, pushed you, believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. You needed the way she made you feel—cherished, adored, hers.

But she was gone and the world just kept on turning.

—

It took a few months, but eventually, the truth hit you like a freight train.

You couldn’t move on. You couldn’t picture a future without her. Your job was exciting, sure, but it was nothing compared to what you had with Agatha. The thought of another person touching you, holding you, even kissing you—it felt wrong. You only wanted her.

You had only ever wanted her.

You were cleaning your apartment when you dropped a pen and it had rolled beneath the couch, disappearing into the shadows. With a huff, you crouched down, reaching blindly, fingers brushing against something soft. Velvet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The box.

You pulled it out slowly, heart hammering in your chest. The moment you saw it, the memories rushed back; the dinner, the way Agatha had smiled at you with something unreadable in her eyes when she handed it over, the way she told you not to open it yet.

You swallowed hard and flipped the lid open.

Inside sat the most breathtaking ring. It was perfect. A piece so intricate and unmistakably you that it stole the air from your lungs.

Agatha had listened. She had remembered.

You had mentioned it once, maybe twice, in passing. About how you could never find anything quite right, how everything in stores always felt too impersonal, too generic. And yet, here it was. Commissioned. Designed just for you.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted it from the box, your eyes catching on the engraving along the inside.

"More than you will ever know."

Your breath hitched.

What did it mean? More than you would ever know… what? That she cared for you more than you realised? That she—

Your heart surged and shattered all over again.

How could she give you this and then break things off a day later?

It didn’t make sense.

And suddenly, you had to see her.

You barely remembered throwing on a coat, stuffing the box into your pocket, and hailing a cab. The moment you arrived at her building, you asked the concierge not to alert her. The doorman, who knew you after the countless times you came here for Agatha, hesitated before nodding, letting you up without question.

Your pulse was deafening as you knocked loudly on her door.

The seconds stretched unbearably.

And then—

The door swung open, revealing Agatha in silk loungewear, her hair in soft waves, her expression unreadable.

She was poised as always, but something was different.

Her eyes were tired. The dark circles beneath them barely concealed, her sharp features softer than you remembered. And suddenly, you wondered, had she actually moved on? Or was she just keeping up appearances?

Her lips curled into a familiar smirk, but there was no bite to it this time. No amusement.

"You look like hell, Y/N," she noted, voice unexpectedly soft.

You blinked, realising only now that fresh tears had fallen from your eyes on the way up to her apartment.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a humourless smile. Your throat tightened. "I’ve missed you."

Agatha hesitated. Her gaze flickered over your face, searching, but for what, you weren’t sure.

"I thought I told you to move on," she said, voice quieter this time.

"I can’t," you confessed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

She didn’t stop you.

"I’ve tried. You’re all I want, Agatha. I don’t need anyone else, and I don’t want to."

She sighed, crossing her arms, tapping her fingers against her sleeve in that way she always did when she was thinking too much. "This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, you know."

Her voice was weary, laced with something close to regret.

"You’re supposed to live your life. You deserve someone who can give you what I can’t–"

"You give me everything," you butt in.

The words left you without hesitation, your feet carrying you closer, your heart pounding as your fingers brushed against the silk of her robe. "I don’t need anything else. I never did."

Her eyes darkened.

The breath between you was charged, heavy, thick with something you both had been suppressing for far too long.

"Y/N, don’t say things you don’t mean," she whispered, but her voice wavered. "I’m not going to–"

But she didn’t get a chance to finish. You leaned in, and the moment your lips met, the world shattered.

She gasped softly, just before her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her. The kiss was desperate, urgent, and needy. A collision of everything unspoken between you.

Agatha responded immediately, claiming your mouth with a hunger that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

"Fuck," she breathed against your lips before kissing you deeper, her grip tightening, pulling you impossibly close. "You’re going to be the death of me."

Your only response was a soft whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as you pressed yourself against her, already drunk on the feeling of her after so long apart.

"I missed you," you murmured between kisses, hands slipping under the robe, palms pressing against her warm, bare skin. "I missed you so much."

Agatha groaned, walking you back toward the bedroom.

"Show me how much."

The second your back hit the bed, Agatha was on top of you, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. She tugged impatiently at your shirt, and you helped her strip it away before her hands slid down, claiming you as if she never wanted to let go again.

Your legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed down your body, teasing, tasting, until all you could do was whimper and beg.

"Mommy," you moaned, arching beneath her as her mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.

She groaned at the sound of the title slipping from your lips, her fingers gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"That’s right, baby," she murmured, voice dripping with want. "Let me take care of you. Let me remind you exactly who you belong to."

You gasped as her hands roamed lower, her touch setting every nerve in your body alight.

But before she could go further, your fingers curled around her wrist, stopping her.

Agatha’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked up at you, lips parted, eyes burning with desire but shadowed with something else.

"Why did you give me the ring?" You asked, your voice a whisper, fragile but demanding.

She stilled.

Her breath slowed.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze searching yours as if trying to decide whether to run or to finally give in.

You swallowed hard and continued.

"You had it made just for me. You knew exactly what I wanted before I even knew myself. And then you gave it to me, only to leave the next day."

A crack formed in her carefully constructed mask.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Agatha admitted finally, voice raw. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"By breaking my heart?"

Her jaw tensed. "By letting you go before I ruined you. Before I kept you."

Your fingers tightened around her wrist. "I wanted to be kept."

Her eyes flickered with pain, but before she could protest, you reached into the pocket of your discarded coat and pulled out the small velvet box.

You flipped it open between you, revealing the ring—the proof that she had always known you, had always loved you, even if she had never said the words.

"Then tell me what it means," you whispered.

Her throat bobbed as she looked at the engraving.

"More than you will ever know."

Agatha exhaled sharply and sat up, running a hand through her tousled hair. 

"It means..." she hesitated, then shook her head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It means I’m a coward."

You frowned, shifting onto your side to face her fully. "Agatha–"

She cut you off with a sigh, her fingers ghosting over your wrist, like she needed to touch you to ground herself. "I was going to explain it all that night. Before I—before I convinced myself you were better off without me." She scoffed lightly, as if irritated at her own foolishness. "I thought pushing you away would make it easier for you to move on. That it would be easier for me."

Your breath caught. "And was it?"

Her gaze softened, and she gave you a small, sad smile. "No. It was hell."

Something in your chest cracked wide open. You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together, grounding yourself in her warmth. "What does the engraving mean?" You ask again.

She let out a breath like she had been holding it for months. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, she said the words you had been waiting for all along.

"It meant... it means I love you, Y/N." She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I love you more than you will ever know. I should have said it a long time ago, but I didn’t know how. So I put it in a gift instead, hoping you’d understand without me having to say it."

Your chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t just pain. It was overwhelming, all-consuming relief.

"I love you too."

Agatha’s breath caught.

"Say it again," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sat up, reaching for her, cupping her face between your hands.

"I love you, Agatha. I never stopped. I never could."

The tension in her body melted as she exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

Then she kissed you again.

This time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed or frantic.

It was slow. Intentional. Reverent.

Agatha laid you back down with deliberate care, her hands trailing over your body like she was memorising you all over again. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered "mine" against your skin was a promise.

The rest of your clothes were shed in a haze of need, the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor drowned out by breathless moans and desperate hands mapping out familiar territory. Agatha took her time with you first, pinning you beneath her as she trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your body, her tongue flicking over sensitive skin, her fingers following in its wake. When she finally dipped lower, parting your thighs with a knowing smirk. She took you apart with practiced ease—driving you to the brink again and again until you were a trembling, pleading mess beneath her.

But you wouldn’t let her have all the control tonight. With a sudden shift, you flipped her onto her back, straddling her hips, drinking in the sight of her flushed and breathless. You kissed like you wanted to drown in her, dragging your tongue down the column of her throat, over the swell of her breasts, sucking marks into her skin, and staking your claim the way she always had with you. 

And when you finally settled between her legs, when you pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and felt her shudder beneath you, you didn’t tease; you devoured. The taste of her, the sound of her moans, the way her fingers twisted into your hair as she cried out your name—it was everything, and you never wanted to stop.

Agatha’s hands tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she rolled her hips, grinding up against your mouth, chasing her release with unrestrained need. She was completely lost in the sensation, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her thighs trembling around your head. 

"Just like that—fuck—don’t stop, baby," she groaned, throwing her head back as her body tensed. And then she shattered, her orgasm hitting her in waves, her grip tightening as she rode it out against your tongue, moaning your name like a prayer.

Agatha was wrecked by the time you pulled away, her chest heaving, her lips parted as she reached for you, pulling you back into a bruising kiss. "You’re insatiable," she panted, her nails raking down your back. 

"And you love it," you teased, grinning against her lips. 

She flipped you once more, settling herself over you with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I do. But  now it’s my turn again.” She trailed her lips down your neck, across your collarbone, then lower, nipping and sucking at your chest, your stomach, your thighs—leaving her marks all over you. 

Agatha hovered over your dripping cunt, her hands trailing possessively over your thighs, making you tremble, your body taut with anticipation. She took her time, lips and tongue teasing along the sensitive skin, her breath warm as she moaned something low and indulgent against you. The first slow drag of her tongue had you gasping, fingers fisting in her hair, and she hummed in approval, pressing deeper, savouring every reaction.

Her tongue worked you over with aching precision, lapping and circling before closing around your sensitive clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure. The pleasure was almost too much, the heat pooling in your stomach threatening to spill over as she pressed her fingers inside, curling them perfectly to have you crying out. Every movement was deliberate—slow and deep, then quick and teasing, keeping you on the edge but never quite letting you fall. 

Meanwhile, you could hear the subtle, desperate rhythm of her own hips grinding down against the mattress, a quiet moan slipping from her lips as she lost herself in you, the friction bringing her closer and closer.

"You're shaking, baby," she murmured, voice thick with satisfaction as she glanced up, her chin glistening, her expression utterly wrecked. "You gonna fall apart for me?" 

She didn’t wait for an answer, just sealed her mouth around you again, her fingers pressing deeper, relentlessly coaxing you toward that inevitable bliss. And then she gasped against you, her body tensing as she shuddered, her own release crashing over her from the way she had been grinding down against the bed. 

The realisation that Agatha was cumming while fucking you sent you spiralling, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that left you gasping, back arching as a broken moan spilt from your lips. She groaned at the feeling of you coming undone, drinking in every last wave of pleasure before finally pulling away, her hands smoothing over your shaking thighs, her own body still trembling as she pressed one last lingering kiss against your oversensitive core, a satisfied smirk curving her lips.

Agatha collapsed against you, her breath warm against your skin as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, both too lost in the haze of pleasure and the weight of everything that had led to this—every moment spent apart, every unspoken feeling, every stubborn refusal to admit what had always been so painfully obvious.

You carded your fingers through her damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeats fill the silence. Agatha exhaled slowly, her hands smoothing over your sides, grounding herself in the feel of you, as if she still wasn’t convinced this was real. 

Without a word, Agatha stood, her movements graceful and purposeful as she left the room for a brief moment. You could hear the sound of water running in the distance, the soft splash of it filling the silence before she returned. She didn’t need to say anything; the warmth in her eyes, the gentle press of her lips against your temple, told you everything.

She guided you to the enormous, luxurious bath—spanning the width of the penthouse’s bathroom—an almost surreal oasis of warmth and comfort. The water was a perfect temperature, fragrant with oils and salts, designed to soothe the soul. She lowered herself into the tub first, pulling you into her arms as if you were weightless, holding you close.

The space around you was immense, but it felt like it was just the two of you in this intimate world. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, soothing the tension in your muscles as she softly kissed your shoulder, your neck—anywhere her lips could find. Each tender touch seemed to speak of something deeper, an unspoken vow of care that settled around you like the warm water.

You let out a contented sigh, resting your head against her chest as she kept you in her embrace, the steady rhythm of her breathing grounding you. Your hand lazily traced over her skin, lost in the softness of her touch, the comfort of her presence.

“You’re not leaving this time,” you murmured, the words more of a gentle plea than a statement. Agatha’s voice was soft but unwavering as she kissed your forehead, her arms tightening around you, pulling you even closer.

“Never again,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m exactly where I belong.”

And in that moment, with the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub and the soft warmth of her embrace surrounding you, you knew—this time, she meant it.

-----

this fic had been teetering on the edge of my imagination for a while but I got a sudden burst of inspiration after daydreaming about it all day—lemme know what y'all thought :D

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[blackdykegirlblogger]

a/n: tysm for 500^^ hugs and kissess to you all <3

thinking about abby fucking the shit out of you after a long day at work.

working as a firefighter gave her obnoxiously long work hours, with the chances of her being home before 11 few and in between. she had warned you about this your very first outing together, reluctantly admiting that her job didn't permit her to enjoy as many hours with you as she would've liked.

that was a turn off for most of her exes, but she was just so fine and funny and handsome and smart that you decided it was worth the risk.

and from that moment forward, that was just how your dynamic worked. you got maybe a solid 2-3 hours with her everyday, 4 when she was really pushing her luck off the clock (which was pretty much all the time), and then she would be off to work, saving lives and stopping fires like the superstar she was.

she certainly made up for her absence though. breakfast in bed when time allowed it, movie and cuddle time where she'd spend the whole session kissing on your neck and going on and on about how much she missed you that day. and your personal favorite, digging you out so good that you lost all the thoughts in your pretty little head, so focused on taking it that a thick cloud of cockdrunk lust overtook all your senses.

now was one of those times. except, you weren't quite expecting it to take place at 2 in the morning, only a few minutes after abby got home from her shift at the station. and to be fair, neither was she. but seeing you sprawled out on your shared bed, bonnet slightly askew and sleep shirt stopping right below your ass, sparked something in her.

she worked so long and hard, constantly putting her life on the line day after day and never truly knowing if she's going to make it home in one piece. but coming back to the sight of you, all pretty and happy and oh so spoil-able, and seeing you so peacefully knocked out made her clit twitch in her boxers.

she tried to ignore it, really she did. she was just going to get in the shower, send off a few more emails and then call it a night. but you shifted slightly in your sleep in such a way that made your back arch a bit more unconsciously, your shirt now exposing your completely bare lower half.

she was a goner.

you pushed your hands against the defined lines of her lower stomach, desperately trying to get her to pull out for just a second. you went from lala land to a pattern of "uh uh uhs" escaping your throat, not even having a second to think (or wake up) before your girlfriend pounced on you.

she slapped your hands away, temporarily releasing her grip around your legs as she gripped your face with her left hand, her right one dancing across your clit

"come on pretty, none of that. you're a big girl." she placed each leg back on her shoulders, squeezing her forearms around your knees to keep you in place. "take it like big girls do." she was torturing you, stretching you until you were sore as you laid there and let her take what she pleased. you could hear the sound of your dripping pussy for miles, the melody only spurring abby to be even meaner, to fuck you even harder. your cervix was getting poked at every turn, and your eyes were so far back you could almost see the inside of your empty brain.

it was all so much; your bonnet somehow finding itself halfway across the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall with each snap of her hips, nailing you with a precision that made tears stream down your cheeks.

but this was her after-work stress relief. and who are you to deny such a hard worker?

[meazalykov]

mystery

barcelona femeni x lena oberdorf x reader

the team finds out about your potential relationship at the same time as everyone else

the chill of december bites at your skin as you step off the plane, a light fog of condensation forming with each exhale. 

cairo airport is filled with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest from leaving barcelona behind for the break. everyone else scattered to their families..alexia to her parents, mapi to her sisters.. ingrid tagging along with mapi.

however, you made a different choice. you texted lena as soon as the winter schedule was released, your fingers shaking with equal parts nerves and excitement as you hit send. her response had been almost immediate: 

yes, come to me.

the cab ride to the german resort in egypt feels longer than it is, the traffic weaving around you in a rhythm you can’t quite predict. your mind drifts to her…how her voice sounded over the phone just the night before, soft and inviting despite her latest recovery session. 

you remember the way she laughed when you told her you’d packed her favorite chocolate from spain, calling you “extra” with a playful tease. 

when you finally step into the lobby, obi is already waiting with lea. she stands near the entrance, her dark shirt hanging loosely on her body, her hair tied back in a simple ponytail. 

obi’s eyes light up the second they meet yours, a warmth there that makes the entire journey feel worth it. she doesn’t move right away..her lips curl into that familiar smile, the one that always tugs at something deep inside your chest, and then she steps forward. 

“you’re here,” she says, as if she needs to convince herself this isn’t just another late-night call or grainy video chat. 

“i’m here,” you echo, your voice quieter, carrying all the weight of missing her and finally seeing her again. 

she pulls you into her arms before you can say anything else, her grip firm but tender, as though she’s afraid you might disappear if she holds too tightly. the scent of her shampoo..something citrusy and sharp..mixes with the faint chill on her skin, and you close your eyes, melting into the familiarity of her embrace. 

obi’s hands trace soothing lines along your lower back, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades. it’s just you and her, breathing each other in.

“you must be exhausted,” she says when she pulls back slightly, her hands still resting on your shoulders. obi’s eyes scan your face like she’s memorizing every detail all over again. 

“i’ve had worse travel days,” you joke, but lena shakes her head, her lips quirking in mild disapproval. 

“you never let me take care of you,” she mutters, almost to herself, before lacing her fingers with yours and tugging you toward the elevator. 

“no hey for me?” lea jokes. 

“how could i forget about my favorite person here!” you laugh, pulling lea into a tight hug.

“hey!” lena says which gets a good laugh out of lea and you.

the ride up to obi’s room is quiet, save for the faint hum of holiday music filtering through the speakers. lena leans against the wall, her thumb absently brushing over your knuckles. 

you don’t say much..it’s a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with knowing someone so intimately that words aren’t always necessary. 

once inside the room, lena drops her small bag near the small table and immediately turns to you. she’s always been like this…direct, unguarded when it’s just the two of you. she steps closer, her hands finding your cheeks, her thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. 

“you’re really here,” she whispers, and this time it sounds more like a confession, a quiet marvel at the reality of it. 

“of course i am,” you reply, your voice steady even though your heart is racing under her gaze. 

“you think i’d spend with anyone else?” 

obi’s smile softens, and she presses a kiss to your forehead before resting her own against it. 

“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

you think you do. you’ve felt it in every passing day since the last time she came to barcelona to see you, when you had to say goodbye in the quiet of your apartment, neither of you wanting to let go. you feel it now, in the way her hands linger on you like she’s trying to make up for lost time. 

“probably as much as i’ve missed you,” you say, and it earns you that laugh…the low, melodic one that makes your chest feel impossibly full. 

“impossible,” she teases, before finally pulling away just enough to guide you to the bed. 

you lay down cuddling with her for a brief moment before you have to go outside for more activities. the both of you talk lightly, just discussing things that maybe you guys didn’t on the phone. 

she mentions lea and kathi’s terrible jokes during her recovery sessions. there’s a tenderness in her voice whenever she talks about her friends, and you’re grateful her friends has been there for her during the times you couldn’t be since you played in barcelona. 

after a night out, where lena djs with her friends while you just sit with lea by the bars in support.. you feel the exhaustion from the trip begin to creep in, but lena seems to notice before you can say anything. 

she nudges you gently, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as she takes you back to your shared hotel room. 

“sleep,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. 

“i will still be here, i am just going to the bathroom to get unready.” 

maybe five minutes later.. you feel yourself getting pulled into her arms, in this secret little world you’ve built together in egypt while the time lasts. 

throughout the next week in egypt felt like a dream. the kind of dream you never wanted to wake up from or escape. you and lena spent days exploring, stealing moments for yourselves, surrounded by her closest friends. 

the most thrilling part of it all? riding dune buggies across the sprawling sands. the powerful machines roared as you navigated the uneven terrain, the wind whipping against your face as lena rode beside you, grinning like a kid who just found her favorite candy.

somewhere in the golden expanse of the desert, lea insisted on capturing photos of everyone. lena was her usual reluctant self, but you? you were feeling the sun on your skin, the freedom in the air. 

when lea aimed the camera your way, she didn’t even have to ask you to stand still when you started walking so you had your own individual pictures. 

the timing of the pictures couldn’t have been more perfect..your hair moved gently in the breeze, and the sunlight painted your skin with a radiant glow, setting you apart from the vast golden orange backdrop of sand. 

“oh wow this one’s stunning,” lea grinned, showing the screen to lena first. obi’s eyes lingered on the image a moment longer than necessary, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at her lips before she nodded.

“you’re posting that, right?” lena asked, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity. 

you did. how could you not? it was the kind of picture that didn’t come around often. within minutes, your feed was getting notifications. 

what you didn’t expect was for some eagle eyed fans to piece together that lena and lea had posted stories from the exact same desert in the same hour. while neither of them appeared in your photo, the connection was made…three high-profile football players in the same place, at the same time?

the internet was quick to notice. 

still, everything was manageable. until lena, in true lena fashion, decided to break the silence. obi’s comment on your post was simple, direct: 

hot

that one word sent shockwaves through your notifications. 

suddenly, the noise grew louder. fans were scrambling for answers, dissecting every post and interaction…or lack thereof. you and lena had never made a habit of commenting on each other’s photos, not publicly, at least. 

sure, you liked her posts, and she liked yours, but it was subtle. this? this was anything but subtle. you were not mad at lena, in fact, you kind of enjoyed that people were starting to know about this.

the first text came late that night. your phone buzzed on the nightstand as you lay beside lena, who was lazily scrolling through her own notifications. 

ingrid. 

ingrid: what are you doing in egypt with obi? 

ingrid: nothing wrong! i didn’t think that you guys even knew of each other

you stared at the screen for a moment, debating your response. lena noticed, leaning over to catch a glimpse of her old wolfsburg teammate texting you. 

“are you going to answer her?” she asked, her voice calm but curious. 

“not yet,” you murmured, locking the phone and setting it back down. lena chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips before tossing your phone to the side.

the texts didn’t stop there. by morning, your phone was flooded…alexia, salma, frido, ewa. all of them had the same question: 

alexia: what's going on? 

ewa: i see you guys 😏😏 

salma: so what are you doing in egypttt!??? 😏😏🤨

fridolina: since when did you and obi start dating? 

later, lena posted her slideshow on instagram. a collection of moments from the trip since its your last day here: the sunset over the desert, the group at dinner, her in the pool. 

however, it was the last photo that threw everything into chaos. the picture was taken by the dj booth, all of you in one frame. lea stood between phil and fridolin, and lena stood on fridolin’s other side. 

there you were, at the end, lena’s arm draped comfortably around your shoulders, your head leaning against hers. 

the comments exploded. 

HELLO???

wait… are they together?! 

obi and y/n?? since when?? 

HOW DID WE NOT SEE THIS COMING?!

THE HARD LAUNCH OKAYYY

lena smirked at the influx of attention, but you could feel the tension brewing in your phone as it buzzed relentlessly on the table. by now, the barcelona group chat was probably in flames. 

you could picture alexia starting her own mini investigation, salma and frido laughing at the absurdity, and ewa typing out a flurry of messages just to be nosey about her old teammate and new teammate being together. 

“they’re not going to let this go, you know,” lena said, her tone light as she scrolled through her own growing list of missed calls and texts from her bayern teammates like kathi, tuva, and georgia. 

“i know,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. 

“but we’ll figure it out when we get back. you to munich, me to barcelona.”

lena smiled, pulling you closer. 

“as long as i have my beautiful sexy girlfriend, then i am okay.” 

you giggled. 

back in barcelona, a week after you and obi left egypt.. the locker room is quiet as you push the door open, though the quiet feels almost… staged. 

your footsteps echo slightly as you step in, and the moment you glance up, you realize why. every single one of your teammates is staring at you, arms crossed, smirks plastered across their faces like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“so,” vicky starts, leaning against her locker with the kind of casual confidence that spells trouble. 

“how was egypt with your new girlfriend?”

you roll your eyes, already regretting every decision that led to this. 

“good morning to you too,” you mutter, heading straight for your locker, hoping and praying that they’ll let it slide. 

they won’t.

salma snickers as she moves to sit beside your locker, her grin way too wide. 

“you’re not even going to deny it, are you?”

“what’s there to deny?” you sigh, pulling off your hoodie and grabbing your training shirt. your hands move a little quicker than usual, like if you’re dressed fast enough, they might lose interest. 

they don’t.

“what’s there to deny?” ewa repeats, feigning shock. 

“you’ve been secretly dating obi, and you think we’re just going to let that slide without asking questions?”

you groan internally but keep your face calm, pulling your shirt over your head and starting on your socks. 

“it’s not a secret anymore, is it?” you reply, your tone steady, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“how long?” ewa presses, leaning forward. 

“and don’t even think about lying.”

you glance up at her, then at the rest of the team, who are all waiting, some sitting on the benches, others leaning against lockers, every single one of them focused on you.

 alexia, standing near the door, raises an eyebrow as if to say, you might as well tell them.

“four months,” you say finally, your voice even. 

the reaction is instant. gasps, laughter, and a mix of disbelief ripple through the room.

“four months?” frido exclaims. 

“and you didn’t tell anyone? not even us?”

“i told esmee,” you admit, earning a collective groan from the group.

esmee turns her head away from the team, hoping to not become the center of the teasing since she didn’t spill your secret. 

salma throws her hands up dramatically. 

“esmee doesn’t count. she’s your best friend here.”

you shake your head, tying your laces as you prepare for the next wave of teasing. 

“obi and i wanted to keep it private for a while,” you explain, keeping your voice calm despite the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“it’s long-distance. clearly since she plays at bayern. we wanted to make sure it worked before people started asking questions or… making assumptions.”

that quiets them for a moment, and alexia nods slightly, her expression softening. 

“that makes sense,” she says, her tone understanding. 

“it’s a lot of pressure, especially with both of you playing in different places.”

you give her a small, grateful smile before aitana pipes up. 

“but you’re terrible at keeping secrets, you know that, right?” 

the whole room erupts in laughter, and even you can’t help but join in. 

“apparently,” you admit, grabbing your water bottle and heading toward the door. 

“hey, for what it’s worth,” vicky calls out as you reach the exit, 

“you make a cute couple. but don’t think this means we’re done teasing you.” 

you roll your eyes but grin despite yourself. 

“i wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

masterlist

[jbbmylove]

Sometimes I think about how genuine Bucky and Steve’s friendship is and how much Bucky must have loved Steve because just think about it. Bucky was very intelligent and excellent in school, he was a great athlete, he was attractive, he had everything to be one of those guys that are total assholes specially in times like the 40’s. Like, let’s be for real. In real life, people that have all those characteristics that pre-war Bucky had are not always the nicest, or at least, they don’t become best friends of people like Steve. Steve who had countless diseases, who was not very appealing to girls, who would always be ignored or taken for granted.

But Bucky did.

He became Steve’s best friend. He was always there since they were just little kids and as he grew bigger and noticed that his best friend didn’t so much, he still was always there. He always took care of him.

And maybe I like over analyzing his character so much, but that just made me think of what a great fucking person Bucky Barnes had to be to be considered by CAPTAIN AMERICA his best friend.

Even after all those years, even after Hydra, even after the serum, when Steve found out that Bucky was alive the first thing he wanted to do was to save him. And in Civil War he fought his own teammates and went against the government just for him.

Steve thought Bucky was worth it because Bucky was the first to think he was worth it.

[thegardenofbae]

Creating a vision board is an exciting first step toward manifesting the life you want. But let’s get real—slapping a bunch of aesthetic pictures on your screen isn’t enough to make your dream life appear out of thin air. A vision board isn’t magic; it’s a system. It’s how you organize your desires, clarify your goals, and give yourself a daily reminder of the future you’re working toward. So, how do you make your digital vision board come true? Let’s break it down.

Understand the purpose of a vision board

Your vision board isn’t just “cute inspo”; it’s a filter for your thoughts. Think of it as a GPS for your goals. Every image, quote, or word on it represents something you want to feel, achieve, or embody. Take time to really think about what those things mean to you. Do you want more peace? Financial freedom? Confidence? Success? What does that look like specifically for you?

Use it as a daily reminder

Make your vision board visible everywhere. Your phone background, your laptop screensaver, even as a pinned note in your Notion or Pinterest account. Every time you glance at it, ask yourself:

“Am I making choices that align with this vision?”

“How can I take one small step today toward this goal?”

Break it down into achievable micro-actions

A vision board helps you see the big picture, but success comes from small, consistent actions. Look at your board and reverse-engineer each goal.

Want financial freedom? Start tracking your expenses or saving $10 a week.

Dreaming of a life filled with more romance and whimsy? Plan a solo museum day or start journaling by candlelight.

Visualizing health and fitness? Swap one sugary snack for a fruit every day.

When it’s broken down like this, it doesn’t seem so daunting, but it makes a significant difference. Each micro-action is a brick in the foundation of the life you dream of.

Create a plan of execution

A vision board without action is just a pretty picture. Pair your board with a system for execution. I love tools like:

Notion or Google Calendar: For setting deadlines and organizing goals.

Habit trackers: To build daily habits that reflect your vision.

Monthly check-ins: Sit down with your vision board and assess where you’re thriving and where you need to refocus.

Cultivate a mindset to match

The person who achieves your vision is already inside of you—but it takes intention to bring them to the surface. This means:

Being kind to yourself.

Building discipline, even when motivation fades.

Letting go of limiting beliefs that tell you it’s “too hard” or “too late.”

Your vision board is a reflection of your best self. Start showing up as them today.

Celebrate Small Wins

Every time you achieve even a small goal from your board, celebrate! Gratitude and celebration keep you motivated and signal to your brain that this new life is worth fighting for.

Your vision board isn’t just about manifesting—it’s about moving with intention. Dream big, work small, and remember that every time you glance at your phone or open your laptop, you’re being reminded of the life you’re creating.

[great-septimus]

Quick rant about Akiren, because I see many different interpretations of him (some I agree with, some I don't) but one that I don't see very often is this.

Yes, he loves his friends and cares for them. But imagine this- his home life was very uneventful, and considering how his family doesn't bother to reach out after his arrest, I'd imagine they see him as a lost cause. They gave up, or his worth is conditional. They love him conditionally. Being raised like that affects you as a person, and I like to imagine that after Igor told him that he now has to fill the role of a hero preventing ruin, and his bonds with people give him the strength he needs to do so, he embraces it. He embraces feeling important and valued, being admired, being the protagonist. Suddenly he has the world on his shoulders, and these people look up to him and admire and love him for it. Every dialogue response he chooses is his own thoughts, but he chooses what gives him more points. What people want to hear. He helps people so they look up to him, because he loves the attention and filling the role of the hero.

Especially since he's not very expressive, and he's nominated as the leader just because he fills the role the best. He embraces attention but he rejects vulnerability. It really feels like he cares for the image of a leader. It takes him a long time to see his role as anything other than the hero he loves being. I would say around Futaba's palace is when he starts to truly care for the Thieves, which is why by the Casino arc he chooses to protect their identities and risk his lives for them. He does eventually come to care for them, but he's supposed to be a leader. He's important suddenly. Playing the leader is selfish, but as the same time, as the leader he doesn't GET to be selfish. Playing the hero means he has to be empathetic, and that's where the selfishness lies. The intentions. Only once he risks his life for them does his true heroism shine. It's not about people relying on him, it's about him protecting them.

It's even better because after Futaba's palace when he fully starts to care, Morgana leaves and their decision to save Morgana is purely because they value their team. Morgana is his friend, so they must protect him. It's not a prerequisite of heroism to put aside their goals for Morgana.

And this interpretation makes 2/2 even more interesting, because he's given the opportunity to get the one thing he wished for. He can make the selfish choice. Doing so would give up not only his hero role, but also would betray and abandon everyone he cares about. 2/2 is like a checkpoint where he remembers how the Thieves formed and how at some point, his priorities shifted from being the protagonist and hero admired by all, to wanting to protect the people close to him. He has to reconcile with why. He has to think "It's not about me being selfish for once by taking Maruki's deal, it's about the fact that I care for these people and I don't want to hurt and betray them."

So yeah, I love this interpretation of Akiren Kurumiya and I would love to see more of this, please and thank you.

[ddesertmoon]

Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne Fic Recs

My FAVORITE dynamic in the ever. These aren’t all complete fics… sorry lol!

-

3:16 by partingxshot

“The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow.

‘Okay,’ Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. ‘Guess I did need a shave.’

(With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)”

This is my personal favorite Dick&Damian fic. I think it perfectly captures their journey from strangers to the amazing father/son/brother thing they have going on. All of their interactions are amazing!

Chapters: 45/?

-

Accismus by honeycombclaire

“/ækˈsizməs/

noun

1. when one feigns disinterest or indifference for something they desire

2. a form of irony

Example: Dick buys two birthday cards for Damian. One starts with “For my son,” and the other says “To a cool guy.” Dick gives Damian the latter, and keeps the former locked away. He doesn’t need to make this into something it’s not.

Or, Dick is tasked with raising Damian in the wake of Bruce’s death. This is the fallout of their separation upon Bruce’s sudden and unexpected return.”

This fic was SO good. Damian is Dick’s son… that’s his little baby. And then Bruce comes back, and Dick has no idea where he fits into Damian’s life. Perfect!!!!

You need an Ao3 account to read this fic. But it’s totally worth it!!!

-

Redemption Lies Plainly in Truth by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

“Damian tries to pull his wrist out of his grasp.

Any other time, Dick would let him go without hesitation, always careful to make sure his personal space is respected.

This time, he catches his other wrist as well, gentle but firm as he crouches down to make eye contact. ‘Hey,’ he says, smiling gently. ‘Do you trust me?’

Damian tilts his head, his forehead creased. ‘I do not understand why you are asking me this,’ he says. He doesn’t pull his hands away, and that’s answer enough.”

Dick and Damian being kidnapped and sacrificing themselves for each other… what more could I ask for?

-

Throughout Infinity by flumen

“Damian Wayne did not anticipate going into the mission that he'd find himself in an alternate universe where his father is still Batman and there's an eerily similar (but thirteen year old) version of his partner/mentor/guardian/brother? who has somehow managed to find himself another pack of incompetent superhero associates just as intensely irritating as the ones Damian's familiar with and borderline suspects him of being an illegal Cadmus clone but...

...well...

...sometimes life just plays out like that. And he'll be damned if he doesn't find a way home to his actual partner before he manages to impale himself on his own cowl or something equally ridiculous. Honestly.

A sort of Damian time travel fic except he finds himself in the universe just after season 1 of Young Justice. Misadventures ensue.”

Damian and little Dick save the world together and I love them!!! Featuring many important questions such as why is Dick Batman…. I love this one.

-

Mirage (What I See In You) by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

“Damian’s breath catches.

It is only now that the level of his failure tonight truly settles in.

Not only has he ruined tonight’s mission, allowed so many of the people they were pursuing to escape and regroup, but he’s gotten himself compromised in the process.

He hasn’t failed this badly since he became Robin. He has no idea what the punishment will be.

His hands are trembling.

Grayson’s gaze flicks upwards to meet his, and suddenly his expression softens.

He smiles.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, the movement of his lips clear even if his voice sounds like it’s coming through a broken radio.

Suddenly, he’s pressing a rebreather to Damian’s face.

His own rebreather, whole and unbroken.”

If only there was a trope that could put these characters into an extremely stressful and scary situation… oh hooray! Fear gas!

-

The Rule Stands Engineerd

“‘I know what you’re going to say, Batman,’ Damian said, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. ‘You’re going to tell me that Nightwing is dead, and that people don’t come back from the dead. Well, clearly you are wrong, seeing that you were dead and I was dead and Red Hood was dead and even Superman was once dead-’

‘My parents are dead,’ Father interrupted. ‘Nightwing’s parents are dead. There have been a few notable exceptions in extenuating circumstances, Robin, but the rule stands. Everyone can die.’

OR

Damian meets a 10-year-old Dick Grayson, and they become best friends.”

URGGGG THIS ONE IS SO GOOD. I love Damian getting to make a friend his own age… even if that friend is just his time traveling older brother.

-

like father, like son by call_me_steve

“Dick contemplates what Damian means to him, and what their relationship really is. He doesn't understand why Bruce is held to the regard he is in Damian's mind, and why it means so much to Dick that Damian's happy. Dick also thinks about Bruce, and how he fits into the puzzle that Dick calls their life.

Or, in other words: Five times that Damian called Dick his dad, and the one time that he did it on purpose.”

Every time Damian calls Dick his dad i magically become a little bit happier.

-

shine a light into the wreckage by call_me_steve

“It’s like this - a scream, sharp and wild, and the pull of a blade against skin. It’s like this - something choked out and an arm around the waist, yanking him back. It’s like this-

Damian goes out on patrol with Grayson. Damian gets caught in a cloud of fear gas. Damian runs.

Or, Damian's hit by fear gas. He hurts Steph in his panic.”

Technically, a lot of this was about Dick and Damian and Steph, but if you don’t want to read about Steph, what’s wrong with you?

-

constant by call_me_steve

“They're tied down to Una Nemo's drill death trap, three minutes away from having a hole torn into their foreheads, when Damian decides, If it means Grayson doesn’t die, so be it.

He pushes the chair forward, and pushes himself towards certain death.

(Dick doesn't approve of Damian and his attempted self-sacrifice.)”

They love each other so much… ugh they would both lay down their life for one another and they would both hate each other for doing so.

-

I’m Not Here by Sohotthateveryonedied

“Dick swallows. ‘Getting rid of me won’t make Damian come back to you.’

Talia’s thumbnail digs harder into the spot where a dimple would be if Dick were smiling. It’s become a rarer and rarer occurrence beneath the corrosive weight of the cowl. ‘No, it won’t,’ she concedes. ‘Your hooks are in him too deep.’ She lets go. ‘Fortunately for me, I have a friend who owed me a favor.’”

Dick gets mind controlled into becoming abusive Batman… and Damian thinks that it’s something going right instead of something going terribly wrong.

-

of fathers and fear gas by TheJediAreGay

“A run in with Scarecrow leaves Damian sick with a fever and Dick sick with guilt.”

Another quick fear gas fic… what can I say? They’re delicious.

-

On the Heels of Rosy Hues by CKBookish

“Damian rapped his knuckles hard on Grayson’s door again. At this rate he was likely to bruise his fingers from hitting the hard wood. ‘Grayson. Lets go.’

He waited, but no reply came from within the room. Damian squared his shoulders ready to break down the door, just as Alfred came around the corner.

‘Master Damian, is that you making this racket?’

Damian bristled indignantly. He was not making a racket, he was doing his job. Grayson was late. He would miss breakfast and be late to work if he didn’t get up. ‘Grayson’s—’

Alfred frowned and gently pulled Damian back from the door before pulling it open and slipping inside.”

This one is a bit more about Damian and Alfred bonding, but I thought it was very sweet.

-

as love carries its strength, but not its labels by AlterHarpia

“Bruce is on a trip beyond Earth’s Solar System for longer than he intended, making Dick and Damian fall into an old pattern.

‘I'm not Batman.’ A mere reminder, perhaps, but when said to Damian it always sounds like an apology.”

A lovely conversation between Dick and Damian about their changing relationship after Bruce comes back.

-

And that’s all I’ve got! I really love Dick and Damian’s relationship, so if anyone ever wants more fics than these, or if you want to recommend any to me, please feel free! I hope you enjoy these!

[we-are-inevitable]

it is not lost on me that a lot of my followers are young, and american, and i just wanted to hop on and say: we are going to be okay. i know this is a really scary time right now, but we’re going to make it. we have to. staying alive and thriving is the best way to shove it in their faces until direct action can be taken. there’s a reason we’ve all been drawn to newsies, right? the biggest lessons we can learn from the show are that community is vital and necessary for resistance, resilience is difficult but worth it, and even small actions can make a difference.

when trump was elected the first time in 2016, i was 14. i was 14, had just figured out i was queer, wasn’t touching my gender identity with a ten foot pole, and lived in a small town in deep-red Oklahoma. i was terrified for my future- and rightfully so. so many people were hurt and harmed, so many lives were ruined, and there was so much bad that it was hard to see the good— but the good was there. i saw it in mutual aid from all ages, whether it was kids sharing food in the cafeteria so everyone could eat or community organizers in my tiny town banding together to save the animal shelter. i saw good in neighbors helping neighbors, mowing each other’s lawns and bringing home-cooked meals to mourners in the wake of a loved one’s death. i saw good in activism all over the country, people marching for what’s right and sharing information and resources for people like me: young people trapped in places that made direct action difficult.

if you can only do one thing over the next few years, focus on your community. build each other up. support your queer and trans friends. support the people of color around you. listen and learn from disabled folk, from indigenous folk, from elders who have fought for our rights before and will do it again. it’s scary and overwhelming, but you don’t have to be the perfect activist when you’re focusing on surviving. just be there for your people, and your people will be there for you. it’s easy to feel helpless when you’re young and can’t do much, but you can do so much more than you think by being a community-minded person. i love you, i’m thinking about you, and i am wishing you all safety and comfort over the next few years.

[milkb0nny]

Broken Into Pieces - 11:56 pm

... Is Dean powerful enough to save you?

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader ; Chapter 1

Summary: Sam and Dean worked on a pretty huge case - a few werewolves which had taken at least seven lives and the numbers could only increase. On their research in a night club they come across a group of men who were willing to give out recent stories. But Dean couldn’t help but notice how a woman was dragged into the staff room, and later he found horrifying footage. He questioned whether humans were worth saving, and so the case became a mission to save you.

Note: Do NOT read if any of the content tags trigger you! Because I‘m a passionate angst writer, I had to take the risk and create this story. I plan on making this a multiple chapter story. Comment to be tagged <3

Content: MDNI +18!, no use of y/n, alcohol, drugging, s/a, violence, rap3, no consent, sexual content, angst, degrading, bullying, no real comfort

Word count: ~1.6k

Wanna be tagged? ~ leave a comment

The beats thrilled through the club, loud music pulsating through the speakers and setting a lighthearted vibe. Among the many dancing bodies were Sam and Dean - the Winchester brothers. They were entangled in a conversation with four college students, drinking beer and chatting about life.

Because Sam could relate to this life, he was easily leading the conversation and slowly gathering valuable information for their current case. The men were drunk, spilling whatever they knew, openly discussing things with Sam. Meanwhile, Dean looked around, not finding his place in college life at all; he wasn’t that extroverted, and the fancy nightlife didn’t charm him. He preferred cozy bars, pretty bartenders, and old-school music.

And he didn’t bother to chit-chat about things that didn’t matter - he wanted to catch the werewolves and be done with it.

“There,” one of the men mumbled to his friend, peeking behind Dean and Sam.

The other one wiped his hand over his face, biting his bottom lip as he contemplated his next move. Dean furrowed his brows, looking back in confusion.

There stood a young woman, shakily scattering flyers, placing them on each standing table, while everyone else just looked at her with disgust. She gave off such an eerie vibe, which made Dean wonder what was wrong with her.

That nervous student was you, your body aching terribly as you handed out the missing-person flyers. Originally, you hadn’t wanted to come here, knowing your chances were low, but the missing people clawed at your heart, and you simply wanted to help.

Because no one else helped.

Ever.

Dean turned back, taking a sip of his beer, listening to their conversation.

The oldest student knocked twice on the counter, sluggishly leaving the table as his companion followed him. They headed towards you, a cheesy grin on their faces.

Now Sam had only two people to interrogate.

“Where are they going?” Dean asked, trying not to sound too serious.

The two students laughed cheekily. “Greeting a little friend of ours. She’s a small celebrity in town,” they said with cocky voices.

Sam brushed off the topic, giving Dean a confused look.

Why was he being so suspicious?

But to Dean, it was evident that those people weren’t friendly, and that they had evil intentions - and this woman, you, was about to deal with it. The music changed, becoming louder and rougher, making it difficult for Sam to converse with the other students.

But faintly, almost like a whisper, there were silent cries, barely reaching Dean’s ears. Sounds like those had always been warning signs to him, and he decided to investigate. Dean excused himself, leaving his half-empty glass next to Sam’s.

Dean followed the strange noises until he reached a hallway, which was also packed with people. He squeezed through them, the voice growing clearer as he stepped closer.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of you - your wrist wrapped tightly in a man’s hand, your expression tired and fearful. You resisted, not wanting to follow the two men, not wanting to go into that room, not wanting to feel that pain again.

But it was too late. When Dean reached the staff-only door, you had already been dragged inside, and the door was locked; keeping anyone else out. Dean cursed, violently shaking the door, but soon security appeared, questioning what he was doing.

“There’s a woman trapped in there!” he shouted, but the security guards only shrugged.

His eyes widened… this couldn’t be.

Why on earth weren’t they doing anything?!

“That’s a staff-only area. Whoever’s in there or not doesn’t concern you. None of your business,” the guards said, pulling Dean away from the door.

Shit. Dean was helpless, and breaking in would ruin their investigation with the whole city knowing a lunatic had broken into a staff-only area without a reason. Frustrated, Dean returned to the table where Sam was exchanging contact information with the other students.

“Sammy, we’re going home,” Dean muttered in frustration.

Sam shook his head. “No, what’s gotten into you? We just got here!”

The younger Winchester missed this life, and he wanted to stay a little longer.

And it annoyed Dean.

This… whatever Dean found out… was urgent.

“Then enjoy your apple pie life. I’m driving home,” Dean snapped, his bad mood evident.

He left, giving Sam no chance to reply or stop him. Why was Dean acting so strange?

He hadn’t mentioned anything weird and gave Sam no reason for his upset. Sam could only assume it was a mood swing, maybe his fear of losing Sam again to college life.

But little did Sam know, Dean was about to uncover the most disgusting truth he had ever seen.

…

Dean sat at the motel desk after taking a hot shower to wash away his worries, then opened his laptop. There had to be some clues.

There had to be an entry of you on the college website or… somewhere.

He skipped through countless websites, through sketchy links, through weird blog entries. The end wasn’t close, he began to feel frustration build up.

And then… he found a MySpace link - “Uni Trashbin.”

He clicked on it.

The MySpace account seemed normal. It was feminine, soft, and vibrantly decorated, with blog entries of everyday situations, music recommendations - something so typical. To Dean, this was too clean to be true, and the username itself already had a dark undertone.

He skipped through the entries.

And then, he found a single link leading to a crappy programmed website which contained broken video data. Dean had an idea, but he did not know it would be that bad. When he restored them, which was quite easy, he clicked on the oldest clip.

…

The video clip began playing…

Dean’s eyes burned red, and the floodgates broke. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat frozen, staring at the screen. His face was set in a stern, unreadable expression, but his trembling hands showed his anger.

The room was eerily quiet, the faint sounds from the video filling the void - cries of pain, skin slapping against skin, desperate pleas of "No," and "Please“ and “help me." It was relentless, a nightmare in motion.

Dean didn’t hear the door creak open. He didn’t notice Sam walk in until his younger brother froze, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Dean… what the hell are you watching?” Sam’s voice cracked, the shock evident as he took a step closer.

Dean didn’t answer. His gaze remained locked on the screen, his tears now falling freely. Sam hesitated, torn between anger and worry. When he stepped closer and saw the tears on Dean’s face, his own frustration melted into horror. Dean was not watching this out of enjoyment.

Then Sam saw it more closely - the video. His stomach churned as the realization hit him like a heavy arrow.

“She’s the ‘small celebrity,’” Dean whispered, his voice hollow and lifeless. “And I saw them drag her into that room.”

Sam’s breath hitched. “Dean…” he tried, his voice gentle, as if afraid that even speaking too loudly would shatter what little control his brother had left. But what could he possibly say to make this better?

Dean clenched his jaw and closed the video with a trembling hand. His fingers hovered over the mouse as he scrolled up, exposing a list of other videos. There were at least eight of them. His blood ran cold as he saw the most recent upload.

The timestamp read today - 11:56 pm.

The pit in his stomach deepened. “It’s from tonight,” Dean muttered, his voice cracking. “Tonight, Sam. When we were there. When I could’ve…” His words faltered, strangled by guilt.

Sam sank into the chair next to him, horrified and speechless. He didn’t want to look, but morbid curiosity rooted him to the spot. He realized what that timestamp meant - and what it implied.

The video had only been uploaded minutes ago.

Dean’s face crumpled. He gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. “She’s… it’s over now, Sam,” he choked out. “They’re done with her. And I didn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

Sam couldn’t find the words. The screen’s glow illuminated Dean’s broken expression as the weight of his inaction pressed down on him. For all their strength, for all their heroism, they had failed.

In the most recent video… the one from today… there were no pleas, no desperate movements. Just a hollow, chilling emptiness in you. You didn’t struggle, didn’t cry, didn’t flinch, even when they struck you to provoke a reaction. You simply laid there, lifeless.

And that broke the brothers.

The way you had surrendered, accepted the cruel fate of being a mere object - it tore at their hearts.

“We have to do something,” Dean’s voice cracked as he pleaded, his fists clenched. “That’s not life. That’s hell. Pure, damn hell!”

“How are we even going to find her?” Sam asked, snapping the laptop shut to avoid the haunting image of your misery. “The college is massive. We’ve got nothing to go on.”

Dean stood abruptly, grabbing the car keys with a determined fire in his eyes. “She was handing out flyers earlier. There’s gotta be something… some kind of contact info, a clue on one of them.” He threw his leather jacket over his shoulders in a rush.

Sam hesitated. “Dean, we can’t just go after people. They’re humans! You know that’s not what we do.”

Dean shot him a sharp, furious look. “Humans? What part of what they’re doing is human?! You think they deserve to walk free? No, Sammy. I sure as hell can, and I will.”

There was no stopping him now. Sam let out a frustrated breath but followed his brother to the Impala, silently bracing himself for what was to come.

…

And you… You walked home on trembling legs, your body battered, your mind lost.

The cold night air wrapped around you like a comfort. The coldness made you feel a tiny bit cleaner. But even the chill could only do so much to erase the filth you felt, both inside and out.

Taglist: @yulianie 🤍

[optimisticgrey]

Dekarios Encyclopedia - Praise Kink

Intro: This is a judgement free space. I am explaining different kinks (and fetishes) in hopes of better representation. Feel free to submit your questions directly or anonymously. Please practice save and consensual kink💕

Please keep in mind: I am not a psychologist or a kink expert (if such things exists), I just read a lot and have been an active kinkster for over 20 years.

This might be part of 💜Gale Kink Week💜, if anyone wants to chip in.

@darcydekarios @tociminna @avabjorna36 @astarioffsimpmain @faerybella219 @mattberries

A praise kink is a sexual or emotional preference where an individual derives pleasure or heightened arousal from being complimented, admired, or positively reinforced, particularly in intimate and/or vulnerable situations.

This can include verbal affirmations, expressions of approval, or admiration of their appearance, actions, or abilities.

Examples:

You are doing so well. You look so beautiful when you... Good girl/boy/toy I love the way you....

For some, this kink ties into feelings of validation, self-worth, or submission, while for others, it might simply amplify pleasure through words of encouragement or admiration.

It can be a form of power dynamic, as the person offering praise (Dom) holds emotional influence over the one receiving it (sub). Of course, it can also work the other way around.

In a non-sexual context, this preference may also manifest as a strong enjoyment of compliments or positive reinforcement in general.

Like any kink, its expression depends on personal boundaries and consensual communication between partners.

Personal side note: It's not always about looks. Yes, being complemented on once appearance can be flattering but

[darkhawk2021]

RE: pparacxosm

I never post or interact on tumblr before but I feel like I was the only one who saw this situation and I need to share.

Please read the whole thing and if you’re someone who pparacxosm spoke to frequently or you think she’d be looking at your blog then please reblog because I hope they can see this.

I’m going to start with some context: in 2018 I got accepted into college after repeating my senior year more than twice and having to take multiple gap years to save up. there was lots of personal drama in my family too and I was also suffering from mental illness. And then within like the first two months of school I procrastinated on an assignment and in a panic I totslly plagiarised the whole thing last minute. I got caught (obviously) and was expelled from the university and that whole event made it that I couldn’t reapply to any universities for a long time.

Eventually it all worked out and I’m now back in school but I say all this to say that maybe I’m projecting here and maybe I’m giving the benefit of the doubt but I know how scary and painful something like this is and I know how deep the regret can go, especially because this is such an avoidable mistake that

now I am not saying this is 100% the reason pparacxosm left. I don’t know obviously. Vut I’m just speculating. (also all links will be from @grimsonandclover because she reposted all of pparacxosm’s works and it was just easier having it all in one place)

OK so as we know pparacxosm deactivated shortly after publishing this fanfic for Riff lorton from West Side story:https://www.tumblr.com/grimsonandclover/773054457368985600/this-made-me-pause-and-sit-back-and-think-about?source=share

I remember reading it pretty much right after it was posted, and then seeing a certain comment. now I do so badly wish I had screenshotted it, but everything happened so quickly so I can’t even remember the commenter’s name. but basically, the comment was stating that the fic was ‘suspiciously’ similar to another fic on ao3 and then added the link.

(here is the link, but please finish reading this before going there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793593)

also I totally understand if you don’t even want to see it because it might ruin the wholeness of pparacxosm’s fic for you, but let me just explain.

Basically I went and looked at the linked fic and when I came back to tumblr both the comment and pparacxosm’s account had been deleted. Again, I don’t know that this was the reason but the timing is obviously interesting.

there’s 2 sections of pparacxosm’s fic that mirror this other one but in all fairness, they’re two of the most thematic sections of the latter so I don’t want to downplay how harmful this is.

for context here are the sections.

it’s the beginning dialogue, which was edited to fit the situation in pparacxosm’s fic

and then this part about synchronicity which was definitely less edited

What really really broke my heart about this is how 1 - the rest of the fic doesn’t seem to be plagiarised at all! & 2 - pparacxosm didn’t even need to take those sections as they were. Truly speaking of she had just tweaked them a little more and credited that fic for inspiration there would be no issue at all. So if the fact that she deleted as soon as someone caught on shows that she had nefarious intentions I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I was such a fan but I’s like to think she was just scared and didn’t know what to do.

& something worth noting is that this wasn’t a frequent occurrence. I soent time last night looking into all of their work and it seems that most of their fics (Blue-eyed Son, Wounded in, Uta hagen, Stream of green, Dearly beloved, Something borrowed, Sigh like a chime) are from what I could tell entirely original! And that’s so crazy to me because things like uta hagen and Stream Of green are so original and unique to me and some of my fav things of theirs so I don’t know why they wouldn’t believe they have the talent to write for themselves when they totally do.

And those which do contain plagiarism from what I researched are also just small sections. Like in wounded in it was some dialogue from two other fics (both by the same person who wrote ‘baby teeth’). in hunger is ugly, it was a bit of a larger section (also from a fic from that same writer) but still only 1 section. and in Home Again Empty it was just one section from the middle, the one talking about how “you weren’t encouraged to befriend the residents” (also from a fic from the same writer), but even that pparacxosm also tweaked to fit the story, and the changes they made really showed their own personal writing style and individuality which tells me they really didn’t need to do that at all

I tried to check if pparacxosm has any connection to this writer, but it doesn’t seem like it.

This all just makes me so sad because they were clearly so capable and I think of the guilt that I was feeling when I got caught for this in college and I can only imagine what they’re feeling now.

but like look. for example this entire excerpt from the Riff Lorton fic I truly think was absolutely stellar and I can find no trace of from any other sources, so this was all pparacxosm:

and don’t even get me started on the last bits of that fic (of which I also couldn’t find any other similar sources)! That was so good! So descriptive and emotive and completely original

especially this for me:

So so good!

I mean anyone who really paid attention to their writing knows that pparacxosm had a very distinct style. Their humor and word choices and the way they combined words was always so charming and original to me, like you could identify a pparacxosm fic without knowing it was them and I had a professor always told me that that was the marker of a great writer. little things like that, which were completely them like they weren’t plagiarised from anything, tells me that they really had an identity as a writer and maybe that’s why I just want to believe they made an honest mistake, as immoral as this behaviour is.

both times pparacxosm has left before (first when they deactivated her original account and then recently with their hiatus in I think November?) they said it was because of personal issues, and sort of implied theybwere suffering from some stuff (I don’t want to make any diagnosis or anything. And I do believe all that was true. I reached out to them after they came back most recently and I got the vibe that they sometimes aren’t doing that well emotionally or at least that’s what they sort of told me. I won’t post the DMs because that feels like an invasion of privacy

I do believe they are a talented writer and I think personally they were kind of going through some stuff. anyone who dms them personally probably would have heard them say they were conflicted about school and stuff. I feel like there was just a lot going on with them and maybe it manifested in this way. that said: obviously plagiarism is inexcusable and if it’s maybe guilt that made them leave then I can only hope they use the time away to examine that and work through it. I think an apology and proper explanation would be nice but I doubt we’ll ever see them again. I don’t think this means they shouldn’t be a writer, but I think they has a lot of personal stuff to do (like internal work) that they couldn’t have done on here. this is just my theory, I think there are other people on here who spoke to them more than I did but yeah.

I think it’s completely important to maintain a no-tolerance policy to this kind of thing in fanfic spaces and hold them accountable, but I also hope they know that if they came back and wanted to continue writing the right way I’m pretty sure we’d all be forgiving and supportive. They clearly have a skill and a passion and I don’t want them to lose out on it just because of a silly mistake on a platform that focuses on community and I hope they can use this as a learning opportunity so that they don’t make this misstep on a larger scale where it would actually matter and seriously effect them (eg. college).

I was thinking of making a Google drive with all the examples of plagiarism in their work (and honest to god there aren’t that many!) but I was concerned about it maybe blowing up into a bigger thing that it really is and potentially affecting their real life? which is the last thing I want, but if people are curious I could also just put the rest in reblogs.

Anyways this isn’t meant to be some sort of take-down or me trying to cancel them. If you’re a person who considers yourself a fan of poaracxosm’s work, that doesn’t need to change because from what I can tell, there really aren’t too many examples of this but also one is enough for us to have to call attention to. maybe this can just bring to light or start a conversation about the nature of writing with no incentive/how open social media requires us to be. Stuff like that. This situation is less about a few plagiarised paragraphs than it is about the fact that pparacxosm potentially felt so guilty/shameful/was dealing with other stuff that it was enough for them to completely delete their account and give up everything they’d worked for which really breaks my heart.

pparacxosm if you’re seeing this I hope this didn’t offend you and I hope you know that it matters more to us all to have you here than what you did. I’m more than willing to forgive this and move on and see what else you have to share. I still reread so many of your fics and will continue to. you are truly talented and I could tell you really valued this space and I don’t want you to just abandon it when you may potentially have been using it as a safe space. I don’t know you that well and I don’t know the things you are going through, but I hope you know it will be okay and that you have people who support you :)

[ozcarma]

Does anyone else feel like the incinerator gun chair room from Zero Time Dilemma would have better fit C Team instead of D Team

[golyadkin]

I cannot express enough that if your reaction, as a hobby artist, to not getting that many notes on your art is to say "maybe I should just stop doing art altogether" you need to stop posting art to tumblr

not necessarily forever, not even for long, but just stop putting your art on here and start doing it for you again, remember why you enjoyed doing art in the first place and stop relying on the attention of faceless people on the internet for your enjoyment of your hard work

believe me, I get it, nothing crushes the artistic soul quite like labouring for hours on a piece only for it to get like 10 notes, so you need to find your own source of joy in the act of creation and a lot of the time that means making art and not showing it to anybody

[aingeal98]

More Jason and Cass thoughts (sorry but also not sorry) but if I was magically given full control over DC and could write what I'd want obviously I'd make Cass Batman but I've been thinking of what sort of reaction and role Jason would have in response. I think I'd write his version of "Congrats on the new job!" as a test, involving the Joker and civilians and gangs and Red Hood and a ton of explosives. Bruce failed me, and now he's given up. You're his successor, let's see how you handle this dilemma that freaked him out so badly he threw a batarang into my throat rather than let me avenge my own death in front of him.

So obviously Cass will overcome the traps and the puzzles. That's the fun part to show how competent both of them are and sprinkle in little character moments as we go. But then we reach the emotional crux of the matter, probably laid out as some sort of saw trap because it's Jason. Here I am, a victim of murder. You say nobody dies tonight but I did, and I want the man who did it dead. Not only did Batman fail to avenge me but he failed to stop the Joker from going on to create even more victims. What right do you have to stop me from getting justice for myself? What right does this man have to life after what he's taken from me and from countless others? I'm not trying to kill a random stranger, I'm specifically demanding justice for my own death that I never got while I was gone.

There are two ways this could go. The straightforward route if I knew my time on this run was limited would probably be a pyrrhic victory like the ones Cass's og series was so fond of. Just like Bruce in utrh, she acts on instinct and saves the Joker (and Jason this time) . A win technically, but she fails the test. Jason is once again vindicated but with nothing to show for it. The story ends with Cass sending the Joker back to jail and going back to the batcave, where the old Robin costume looms judgementally, highlighting her failure. It would be the most fitting end given their character molds, all tragedy and conviction and unstoppable force meets immovable object etc.

However... I think the option I prefer would be a little different. Cass levelling with Jason, a killer talking to a murder victim. She has no right to stop Jason from getting justice, she has no love for the Joker but she knows any death she allows to happen like this would devastate her, just like that death row inmate long ago she tried to break out but ended up letting go once the family of the victim talked to her and demanded justice. I think... In this specific situation, she'd just be honest. Morally she has no right sure. Personally she just really really doesn't want anyone to die. Give her one chance, please. Let her try it her way. Not demanding, not lecturing or insisting, just... Please. Don't do this. Let me try another way.

And then what? Jason asks.

In the end a deal is struck. Cass will take the Joker and lock him up, ensuring he never harms anyone again while also trying to rehabilitate him. But the second she fails and he gets free, Jason kills him and she won't stand in his way. It's the kind of deal that leaves both of them mildly disgusted and dissatisfied with themselves, neither of them naturally creatures of compromise when it comes to this specific topic. But Cass is willing to do anything to avoid death and Jason did not expect the new Bat to be so... Flexible? Kind of? Of course maybe she won't actually hold up her end of the deal and when the Joker gets loose she'll try and stop Jason from killing him and he'll get his miserable vindication, but right now this is something strange and new and he's mildly confused and curious about where it will go. He doesn't believe in her ability to contain the Joker forever but he's willing to let her try because her reaction to that future failure interests him. She's given him a sword of damocles to hang above her head and he didn't ask for it or expect it. It's the type of power he never thought the Bat would just... Hand to him.

The conflict ends with neither of them fully winning or losing. They both don't really know what to feel about this.

The thing is, the second Cass let's Jason kill the Joker she's hanging up the mantle. She's staking the Bat on this, because it's always go big or go home with her when it comes to saving others, even someone like the Joker. In this magical universe where I have unlimited power, Cass would lock the Joker in a secret bunker and have Leslie Thompkins talk to him daily, mostly because I think her pacifism speeches and debates in the comics would make a fun contrast to the Joker's evil sadism. (But what about his rights? Doesn't he deserve a trial and to be held in a regular prison? I'm going to be honest I think Cass would be very comfortable bending the rules on this specific situation. Morally questionable but I'd have fun with it. She's going to let Leslie treat Joker like her personal pet project to save his soul because yes she wants him to change but also she's got a city to save every night so go crazy Leslie, have fun.)

And the Batman series would continue with Cass as the lead, new challenges and new antagonists and every twenty issues or so for the first hundred we'll cut back to the Joker briefly if his chats with Leslie can help highlight some thematic element of the current arc. But bit by bit he'd slowly fade away onto oblivion, maybe getting referenced every hundred issues or so until eventually no one remembers or cares about him because there's so much else going on. Meanwhile Jason's got a good thing going as Red Hood, primarily based in Park Row and a tentative ally on the occasion when their vigilante work aligns. Unlike Joker he's a much more frequent character in the comics, and after say 10 years (this is my magical fantasy universe Cass's batman run is going to last for a very long time alright) when people think of DC characters they think of Red Hood long before they think of the Joker.

Is any of this realistic? Right now of course not. It's why I'd go with the pyrrhic victory if I actually got the chance, because it would be the best way to tell the story in the larger context of the Bat narrative. But it's my fantasy DC editor and writer daydream and I'm going to dream big. They're never going to be normal happy siblings, their personal demons will never fully let them be free and the looming possibility of losing everything they currently have narrative wise if Bruce comes back as Batman will always be there. But it's maybe the closest to peace they'll ever get. Unsatisfying and tame compromise that probably violates several laws and ethical codes but whatever. Cass has never read the Geneva convention and Jason's not going to shed tears over the Joker. Let him die relevancy wise if not physically.

[deoidesign]

Doing master studies the only way I know how: Stealing them and making them my guys.

(Barberini Faun)

(The Fallen Angel - Alexandre Cabanel)

(Covent Garden - William Bruce Ellis Rankin)

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much