#also i didn't edit this

[flowercrown-bard]

Unlovable

pairing: geraskier

trope: love potion “doesn’t work” because Jaskier is already in love with Geralt, but Geralt thinks it means he’s just truly unlovable

word count: 4k

ao3

---

A better witcher would have smelled the potion long before the cup had ever touched Jaskier’s lips. 

A stronger witcher would have been able to focus despite how red Jaskier’s lips looked and how beneath the flowery scent of his perfume, he smelled of happiness as he always did when he finished a performance. 

A braver witcher wouldn’t have stopped in his approach, as Jaskier turned around to talk to another man. A man, who handed him a cup, with a charming smile and honeyed words. 

But Geralt wasn’t good; was neither strong nor brave. Not when it came to Jaskier. 

So he got distracted. 

So he stopped dead in his tracks and did nothing but watch as Jaskier turned away from him. 

So he realised a second too late what was in that cup the man had handed him. 

He couldn’t see Jaskier’s face, as he drank, but he didn’t need to. He had seen him savour a good drink many times before. He knew the way Jaskier liked to close his eyes as he enjoyed things. Normally, Geralt would have called that habit needlessly dramatic. Right now, it might just save Jaskier’s life.

Because love potions tended to taste better than any wine and Jaskier was bound to have his eyes closed at the moment. 

“Don’t open your eyes,” Geralt hissed and strode the last couple of steps through the tavern to close the distance between them, though Jaskier’s back was still to him. He hoped his tone was serious enough for Jaskier to comply. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” the blond man, who had given Jaskier the damned drink, straightened his spine to make himself seem taller. He was a stranger to Geralt, but he had seen him talk to Jaskier almost every evening for the past week that they had spent in this town. It was rather soon for him to approach Jaskier, as it was still early afternoon. “He can look at whoever he wants. And I for one think that eyes as beautiful as his would do well looking at someone like me.” A cruel smile tugged at his lips as he looked Geralt up and down. “Much better than looking at you.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked in confusion. 

Geralt breathed a sigh of relief. The fact that Jaskier still remembered his name and didn’t jump into the stranger’s arms immediately, meant that for once, he had listened to him. 

“Don’t listen to him, Jaskier,” Geralt said slowly, “Whatever you do, do not open your eyes. Do not look at him. Don’t look at anyone.” He wouldn’t be able to bear watching Jaskier fall in love right before his eyes again. Not like this. Geralt was able to stand back as Jaskier fell in love over and over again, because it meant that Jaskier’s smiles would be brighter, that the scent of happiness would be stronger, that he received the love and attention he deserved. Most of all, it meant that Geralt couldn’t forget that it was foolish to hope and dream. 

It hurt, watching Jaskier fall in love, but it was a sweet kind of hurt. The sort that Jaskier would sing about, if he knew Geralt experienced it. 

But this? This would bring Jaskier no joy. It would take his choice away and it would leave him hollow and hurt. 

“Geralt -” Jaskier began again and fuck, this time he turned his head slightly towards him. 

Geralt’s heart dropped. 

“Don’t!” Don’t look at me! Don’t force yourself to love me! 

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked. His voice was trembling and Geralt could see his hands twitch nervously as he turned further towards him, though his eyes were still closed. Everything about him spoke of him being scared. 

So he did what he always did when he was afraid: He looked to Geralt.

“No!” Geralt shouted, but it was too late. Jaskier’s eyes opened and landed on him. In his periphery, Geralt noticed the blond man curse and purse his lips bitterly, but he paid him no mind. 

Jaskier was looking at him. He had drunk a love potion and he was looking at him. 

Geralt’s breath hitched and he willed his heart to keep its steady rhythm. He prepared himself to gently but firmly push Jaskier away, once he started throwing himself at him. 

But Jaskier stayed where he was. He didn’t throw his arms around Geralt’s neck to pull him into a kiss and no profession of love tumbled from his lips. He looked at Geralt as if nothing had changed. Jaskier’s heart didn’t speed up any more than it normally did when he looked at Geralt.

Geralt’s brows drew together as he took Jaskier in, trying to figure out what had happened. Had he been wrong after all? Had it not been a love potion? But no, as Geralt took a deep breath, scenting the air, it became clear that he hadn’t been mistaken. The sickly sweet scent of the potion still clung to Jaskier’s lips. If that hadn’t been enough, the blond man shot Geralt a furious glare, his face turning a flaming red. It all but confirmed that he had tried to do Jaskier harm. He still might have. After all, once the potion wore off and Jaskier could think clearly again, he would realise that he had been forced to love a witcher. 

Geralt just couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Jaskier wasn’t behaving like someone who had just fallen in love. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked tentatively. 

“Uh…normal?” Jaskier said hesitantly. “How am I supposed to feel?”

“Not normal,” Geralt said through gritted teeth. 

Jaskier blinked. “What do you mean ‘not normal’? Geralt, you’re kind of freaking me out. What’s going on? What should I be feeling?”

“You just drank a fucking love potion,” Geralt growled rougher than he meant to and before he could stop himself, he added, “You should be in love with me.”

Ah, there was the stutter in Jaskier’s heart. “I - what?”

Geralt muttered a curse under his breath. “I don’t mean it like that. You shouldn’t be in love with me. Of course not.”

“Oh.”

“But that’s how the potion works. It’s brewed from a flower that the fae use as aphrodisiacs. You’re supposed to fall in love with the first person you lay eyes on after drinking it. So,” Geralt released a long breath, schooling his features into a neutral expression, “you should be in love with me.”

“But I don’t - oh.” Jaskier’s eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. 

Geralt’s chest clenched painfully.

A harsh laugh from behind Jaskier broke through the awkwardness. Geralt had almost forgotten that the bastard who had given Jaskier the potion was still there. 

“Oh that’s just perfect,” the man spit bitterly. “You have any idea how much that fucking potion cost me? I made a deal with a fucking fae for this! Of course a witcher would steal away what belongs to me.”

“He doesn’t belong to you,” Geralt growled, instinctively taking a protective step closer to Jaskier. 

“Neither does he belong to you apparently,” A sneer twisted the man’s lips, “when not even the strongest aphrodisiac known to man can make him like you.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. The man was just saying it to hurt Geralt. But fuck, if there wasn’t truth to it.

The blond man smoothed down the front of his doublet and gave Geralt one last venomous look, before high-tailing it out of the tavern, obviously unwilling to stay near a pissed off witcher any longer. Geralt’s body twitched, his instincts telling him to pursue the man and bring him to justice for what he had done to Jaskier, but that would mean leaving the bard and that was not an option.

A touch on his arm made Geralt’s eyes snap back to Jaskier’s, who hadn’t left him for a moment. 

“Guess you’re lucky,” Geralt gave a humourless smile. “You managed to look at the one person that the potion was useless on.”

It must be because of his mutations. Maybe they had removed him so far from humanity that the flower didn’t count him as a person anymore. That must be it. Because if it wasn’t, then the only other explanation was that he truly was so inherently unlovable that even Jaskier, who gave love wherever he could, was not able to fall in love with him. 

“Come on,” Geralt pressed through gritted teeth. “Let’s go back to the inn.” He paused. “And don’t look at anyone else. Just keep your eyes on me.”

“Why?” Jaskier said, but didn’t even attempt to glance away. 

“Because if the potion doesn’t consider me a person, then it might still work on the next person you look at.” Geralt began walking towards the door, always making sure Jaskier was still looking at him as he followed. “So we’ll make sure you’re not going to be in danger of that happening. It should only take a day for the potion to wear off.”

He half-expected Jaskier to protest and say that he couldn’t just spend a day locked away with Geralt, but he didn’t complain. Geralt pretended he didn't care when Jaskier also didn't protest Geralt not being a person. Instead, Jaskier’s face only scunched up in confusion and worry.

Together, they left the tavern and though Geralt knew not how, they made it to the inn without Jaskier’s eyes leaving him. It sent a strange shiver down Geralt’s spine. It wasn’t as if he was unused to having Jaskier’s attention on him, it was just…without meaning to, he found himself imagining. A cruel part of him almost wished that the potion just took its time to work, that somehow Jaskier was looking at him with love after all, just so Geralt would know what it felt like being loved by Jaskier. But he wasn’t. Not even now. 

Geralt steadied Jaskier with one arm on his elbow, as they went up the stairs. Finally, they got to their room. He breathed a sigh of relief, when finally, Jaskier’s eyes left him, as the bard sat down on the bed. 

Geralt remained standing awkwardly. He wanted to sit down next to Jaskier, but he didn’t dare. The potion wasn’t having any effect on Jaskier, but if Geralt got close to him now, the bard might think that Geralt was still trying to take advantage of him. And he would never do something like that. Geralt’s stomach churned just thinking about touching Jaskier without the bard wanting it - or wanting it only because of magic. It was one thing that Geralt’s foolish heart wished to be looked upon with softness. That, in the end, would only hurt Geralt. But if he touched Jaskier, he would be no better than the scum, who had given him the potion. Jaskier would get hurt, and Geralt would never be able to forgive himself. 

So he kept his distance. After an uncomfortable moment, Geralt walked over to his bags, rummaging through them, despite not searching for anything in particular. He just needed to keep his hands busy and his eyes away from Jaskier. 

He hadn’t been at it for more than a handful of seconds, before he heard the creaking of the bed and soft footsteps coming closer. 

“Are you looking for an antidote?” Jaskier asked and fuck, he was so close that Geralt could feel his breathing in his neck. 

His mouth went dry. Unable to form any words, he just grunted in negation. 

“Oh. Good.” Mercifully, Jaskier pulled back a little. “It would be a waste of time. You should try to relax a little.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved a hand through the air vaguely. “Because your theory is wrong and all. I wouldn’t fall in love with anyone else by looking at them now.” Jaskier nudged Geralt’s side with his elbow. “And if I did, you wouldn’t have to spend the day stuck with me. Doesn’t sound too bad, does it?” Geralt wasn’t able to return the grin. His hand clenched into a fist and he had to look away from Jaskier. 

“It does,” he said gruffly. “You don’t know what you would do if you fell in love with someone while under this spell. It’s a risk I won’t take. I won’t let you get hurt by this.” Geralt ran a hand down his face, before turning back to Jaskier, making sure to soften his expression. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. Even - even if the potion kicks in later and you…” he swallowed thickly, “fall in love with me, I promise I won’t touch you.” “I know,” Jaskier said with a strange smile. 

With that, Jaskier got up and settled back on the bed, picking up the book he had left on his nightstand the evening before. 

Geralt pretended to do the same, flipping through pages of his bestiary, but he couldn’t concentrate on a single word. Every other second, he glanced up at Jaskier, assessing if anything had changed, anything at all. But as the hours ticked by, Jaskier remained the same as he always had. 

Geralt had seen how Jaskier acted when he wanted to woo someone, and the way he behaved with Geralt couldn’t have been farther from that. When Jaskier flirted with people, he either fumbled nervously over his words or gave the sweetest compliments. 

Now, as he put his book to the side, announcing loudly that he was bored and nagging Geralt to tell him more about the flower that was used in the love potion, he wasn’t like that at all. His posture was relaxed and there was no pretence, no rehearsed lines that he knew would get people to like him. Instead, he was openly annoying in the way Geralt had come to love. He wasn’t trying to hide his ugly sides. Geralt didn’t want him to. Yet, he couldn’t help but take note of how he would never speak like this with someone he tried to get into bed. 

As Geralt did his best to recount how he knew about the flower because one time the Queen of the fae herself had been put under its spell, Jaskier kept interrupting him to ask more questions. He would never do that with someone he admired. It would have seemed rude,  Geralt supposed,  though he appreciated the prompting that showed him that Jaskier was truly invested in the story and didn't just pretend to listen for politeness’ sake. He much prefered this to empty phrases and compliments. But, as Jaskier teased Geralt about what a terrible storyteller he was, Geralt found himself wishing that just this once, Jaskier would tell him those sweet lies that he would so desperately want to believe. 

Geralt was so deep in his thoughts,  that he barely knew what he was replying to Jaskier's questions about how Geralt had broken the curse that had turned a man’s head into that of a donkey, but it must have been something funny,  for Jaskier burst into laughter. It wasn't the husky laugh Jaskier used for his conquests. He was laughing heartily and utterly undignified. If a poem had to describe the way Jaskier laughed around Geralt,  they would have called it something between a sneeze and a horse's snort. If Geralt had to describe it,  he would have called it beautiful,  even though he knew that Jaskier hated his own laugh and would never let anyone he wanted to pursue romantically,  hear it. Jaskier's laugh was accompanied by a slap to Geralt's knee. The hand neither lingered not slid upwards in clear invitation. Yet, as Jaskier pulled his hand away,  the place where he had touched Geralt tingled warmly. 

It was too much. All of it. The way Jaskier behaved and the way he didn't. Geralt had to get away from this. He had to flee from his own thoughts, the knowledge of how he would act if he were in love with Geralt. Those imaginings would never come true, that much was obvious now. 

So Geralt got up and left the room, mumbling something about getting dinner for the two of them. 

Once he was outside the room, he leaned against the door,  his head thunking back against it. He hoped Jaskier couldn't hear his groan. Geralt had hoped that the little distance would help him, but he already wanted to go back to Jaskier,  even if every second spent with him now was nothing but a reminder that Jaskier would never be able to love Geralt the way he loved him.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the door. He took his sweet time getting dinner for them. Time that he used to tell himself that it was madness to linger on his dreams. He wasn't someone to be loved and it was better this way. At least, once the day was up and Geralt didn't have to worry about the potion anymore,  everything would be the same. If the potion had worked,  Jaskier would have been horrified once he realised that he had fallen in love with Geralt. He would leave him, would be disgusted by the feelings that had been forced onto him. At least like this,  Geralt wouldn't have to watch Jaskier fall out of love with him again. 

When he came back to their room, Jaskier was thankfully still there, holding his lute in his hand and plucking away on the strings,  as he was wont to do. He looked up, when Geralt put the plates on the table with a thud. 

“Ah, good that you're back, “ he said without stopping his playing. ”I desperately need your opinion. I want to turn the fae and donkey-man story into a song and I can't figure out which chords fit best.”

He didn't wait for Geralt's reply. He simply started playing the ditty he had just composed while Geralt was gone,  before repeating it with some minor variations. Geralt did his best to give his opinion,  despite both of them knowing that he didn't have the slightest idea how composing worked. Jaskier still listened as if Geralt had great wisdom to share and tried again. 

Some of the rhymes still fell flat and he faltered a handful of times when he didn't remember how the melody was supposed to go, but it sounded better than before. Maybe one day,  he would play the song of the love-sick fae to a lover of his, who would swoon at its perfection. Geralt was certain though, that Jaskier would never let anyone but Geralt hear an unfinished song in its early stages. It didn't matter if Geralt heard it,  of course. Jaskier didn't want to impress him, after all. He didn't need to know that Geralt was much more impressed witnessing the process of Jaskier creating a song than he would have been if he just heard a finished song, no matter how good. 

When Jaskier was somewhat content with the song,  he put his lute back in the case and bounced over to the table. Geralt quickly took the plates in hand and warmed up the food with a tiny igni. 

“This smells delicious,” he said,  “You're too good to me.”

And Jaskier was too good for Geralt. Too bright,  too beautiful. He deserved better than for Geralt to look at him the way he did. He deserved someone who knew how to give soft touches and who knew how to whisper sweet nothings in Jaskier's ear. And that someone wasn't Geralt.

He gave Jaskier a tight smile and sat down so he didn't have to look at him any longer. 

While they ate, Jaskier started talking again. He wasn't speaking with purpose. It was nothing but idle chatter to pass the time. 

‘Food is the way to the heart’  Jaskier had explained once,  after Geralt had teased him for offering a lover food from his plate and even going so far as to feed it to them himself. It had sounded as ridiculous then as it did now in Geralt's memory, but he  couldn't help think of it, when Jaskier snatched a piece of potato from Geralt's plate. This strange courting ritual of Jaskier's hadn't been about the food at all,  of course. It had been about the intimacy of eating from the same fork or something like that,  Geralt imagined. So there was nothing to this. There was no meaning behind Jaskier stealing Geralt's food with an impish grin. And as far as Jaskier was aware, there was nothing to Geralt pushing his plate towards Jaskier,  so he could access it more easily. 

The rest of the evening they spent playing Gwent,  even though Jaskier still didn't fully understand the strategy behind it. He was a sore loser and an even worse winner,  when Geralt took mercy on him and let him win once. Geralt wasn't in the least surprised by that. He had always been the one, whom Jaskier came to for comfort when he lost a bardic competition and when Jaskier won, he would often boast about it to Geralt for weeks. Not that he'd show anyone else that side of him.  After each competition, he would either claim to be above pettiness or he would pretend to accept the prize with humble gracefulness. All to impress the pretty maids and handsome men in the audience of course. 

There was no such pretence now. He cursed like a sailor and half-heartedly threw a card at Geralt,  when he lost for the fifth time in a row. Geralt watched him in fond exasperation. The burning inside his chest grew even brighter,  when he asked Jaskier if he wanted to stop playing and Jaskier immediately denied, saying that he wouldn't want to cut Geralt's fun short. 

“You helped me with the song, so I'll play the game with you.”

As  they played, Geralt almost managed to forget about the potion. It was only when they finally decided that it was time for bed, that the situation hit Geralt again with full force. Because Jaskier curled up against him. His mouth hang open as he fell asleep and drool was dripping out. Maybe this was the reason why Jaskier rarely ever stayed with his lovers after sleeping with them, even though he claimed that they were the love of his life. 

Because he couldn't risk a person he loved losing their good opinion of him. He couldn't let them see his ugly parts or just the plain ridiculous ones. He'd rather wear a mask and have people fall in love with that then let them see the real him and have them fall out of love. 

There was no danger of that happening with Geralt. As far as Jaskier knew, Geralt didn't love him, so he wasn't able to fall out of love. In truth, however, it had been this realness that Geralt had fallen in love with in the first place. 

Even after drinking a love potion, Jaskier didn't act like he was in love with Geralt. And it was better this way. Because while Geralt wished,  he could get a taste of what it would be like being loved by Jaskier, at least it wasn't an act. 

The friendship Jaskier felt for him was neither the result of a potion nor was it an act. 

Tomorrow, once Geralt could be sure that looking at someone wouldn't make Jaskier fall in love with them because of the potion anymore, Jaskier would use his practiced lines again on a pretty barkeep or a merchant. He would flirt and laugh his false laugh and he would play his part. And Geralt would be standing to the side. He would be happy for him. Happy that Jaskier was able to love out of his free will again. Happy that he experienced what it was like being loved in return. And his heart would break, knowing that the only person Jaskier allowed to see his real self,  the only person who got the chance to fall in love with the real him, would never know what it was like being loved by Jaskier.

--

@kkiyomizu

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[hinamie]

surprise it's yuri!!!in 2024

[clown-owo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

[valeriapryanikova]

This season, on Hermitcraft...

(speedpaint)

[astrhae]

crowley used the metal tool in season 1 to start time, and we learn that he's used it first to start space. to create the stars -- he still remembers how. he still remembers all of heaven's passwords: in the book crowley is described as an optimist because he has the "utter surety... that the universe would look after him". not god, but the universe. and of course he does: he helped create it and he's looking after it, too.

think about it: aziraphale had a sword, but crowley is about to face satan who wants to destroy the world, and crowley's only weapon is a tool of creation

[aarchimedes]

for context: I read the hobbit first over the course of two years when I was like 13, but I'm only now starting to read lotr. having a blast tho!

anyways, reblog if you feel like it 🙌🏻

[fudgecake-charlie]

beloved friend sent me one of scar's newer tweets and i HAD to draw it

[thenearsightedmicroraptor]

Seen a lot of posts about people coming into your notifications out of nothing and liking your entire blog, but here's a shoutout to the people who do Not follow you, who appear out of nowhere, reblog One (1) post that you are Not the op of, and then you never see them again. Where did you come from girl.

[salamispots]

dream from several days ago

[fantastic-nonsense]

got a message out of the blue about that 'why Batman doesn't kill' explanation I left on someone else's post like two years ago but it was just "wait is Alfred dead????" and I sort of forgot that most of tumblr Batfam fandom doesn't actually read comics and so largely has no idea that Bane killed Alfred back in 2019 and he's stayed dead since

[wistfulwatcher]

"digestif": a comedy

[rcbertleckie]

noticing the days hurrying by when you're in love, my how they fly — for @pirateaangel

[saltpepperbeard]

Ed and Stede Ep1-3 + Pet Names

[neverevan]

BUCKTOMMY + first day of my life by bright eyes (x)(x)