#everything works and its as good as I can make it

[kiragecko]

I recognize that I'm probably not the target of this post. Or, at least, the reblog. But, this IS on topic, even if it has a different energy!

-

It can be challenging to renavigate a relationship with a subject when your previous relationship was HEAVILY effected by a cultural context that is no longer there.

I used to dip my toes into the Harry Potter fandom despite not being able to read the books. (I read for writing style, and hers didn't work for me.) This was back in the mid-2000s, and a huge number of my peers had grown up transformed by this series. They were now adults who considered it an important childhood touchstone. Saying that I hadn't liked the writing style, but thought the ideas were cool, could offend people who thought it was EXTREMELY well written.

So I learned to enjoy the fandom from the sidelines, accepting that I was a bit of a curmudgeonly fun-killer. Keeping the grumpy bits quiet.

And then public opinion shifted, and shifted HARD.

And suddenly the carefully mapped ground was unknown again. People wanted to rant about how the writing sucked. How terrible the ideas were. Positivity got attacked. Quiet enjoyment of fan creations was seen as public support of Rowling's beliefs. Mild comments about the writing being only okay gained "agreement" that it sucked and had never been worth enjoying. There wasn't ROOM to process my opinions about her beliefs for quite a while, because I was too busy trying to figure out how to reconcile with a completely new environment, which was equally dissonant with my opinions of the book, but in very different directions and with a LOT more aggression!

The urge to talk about not liking the books was STRONG. Because I HADN'T been able too before! People got mad if I tried! But I was used to a context of people assuming the book was great, and needing to contrast what I was saying with that assumption. In this new context, where the books were stupid and full of hate and poorly written, my statements sounded REALLY different. They echoed with all sorts of other voices that I wasn't expecting to be there.

-

I rarely make absolute statements, so I didn't come off as delighting in people's suffering if it gave me a chance to be right. There are some benefits to anxiously stuffing every sentence with context and exceptions! But I have a lot of empathy for some of the people saying tone-deaf things now. Because not everyone is able to master new tones at the same speed.

Sometimes people are still processing the fact that they might not get argued with if they state that the Anansi Boys wasn't that good, and they've been wanting to complain about Anansi Boys for YEARS without having to acknowledge that they HAD enjoyed Neverwhere and Sandman. And that gets in the way of the fact that something terrible has come to light.

Or they they try to talk about how Mr. Gaiman selling Good Omens 2 always felt disingenuous. Him telling people that Terry Pratchett would have wanted him to make it. They've never said it before, because fandom should be FUN, and it was just a little thing. But they care about Mr. Pratchett's memory a lot, and it had BOTHERED them. But bringing it up now gets them accused of 'boasting', and 'pretending that they knew all along'.

And sometimes, they're trying to work through a hard topic by finding its limits. They need to be able to explore 'everything he ever did sucked' before they can accept the nuance that 'he made beautiful works and also hurt people badly'.

-

There are a lot of people who jump to easy absolutes, rather than grapple with complexity. That's who this post seems to be about, and they aren't who I'm talking about.

But, conversely, It's easy to say the 'right' things when you were never invested in a topic. And you have the social skills to pick up what the 'right' thing is.

If you already HAD complex feelings about a topic, it can be harder to throw them aside and only focus on the 'right' thing. If you WEREN'T 100% buying into someone's public image, there's a period of working through your shit that kind of needs to happen.

-

Anyways, I've always been a bit uncomfortable about Neil Gaiman. I didn't think Anansi Boys was that good, and gave up after a few chapters. I wasn't surprised when people started coming forward, because there's been a little 'be careful here' tag attached to him ever since I read about the Good Omens photo shoot where he wore black and Terry Pratchett wore white and they joked about it. Something about how Mr. Gaiman told the story.

All of that is a bit tone-deaf to bring in now, even though they're things I've had to process over the last few months. They're part of my relationship with Gaiman's works that I had pushed to the side, and now need to recontextualize, but they aren't directly about the people who have been hurt.

I didn't predict that Gaiman was a sexual predator. I've recommended Gaiman's books in the past, and think his writing is some of the most gorgeous, poetic stuff I've ever read. Neverwhere is amazing. Sandman is also amazing, even if it, too, added some warning tags to Mr. Gaiman's file in my head. I don't think I'm vindicated in any way by what happened, or that talking about my previous reservations is a sign that I was oh so enlightened.

But I'm also 40-ish? I have enough experience to recognize that the world has endless 'clues', and they should be noted down, but not trusted. Maybe the first time something like this happened, I WOULD have excitedly talked about all the puzzle pieces I had gathered, which now fit into place. (But I was offline back then, so we'll never know.)

Gaiman seems to have hurt a lot of people, and lied a lot, and broken people's trust. All of which is more important than my feelings about a disappointing book that everyone kept bafflingly hyping. But in this sudden space for processing what he's done, the pressurized stuff inside of me needs to be processed before I can focus on that new content.

So the disappointing book gets priority.

[undaughtered]

hi! i was interested in a topic and i realized you were probably one of the better people to ask. what resources would you recommend for studying the impact of christianity on sex and sexuality?

the oxford handbook of theology, sexuality,and gender is invaluable, but i'm unsure if there has been a new edition since 2014.

historical texts: if you are an absolute beginner, the chapter sexuality in christian traditions by adrian thatcher, in the cambridge world history of sexualities: volume ii is a good, solid overview. additionally: contextualizing gender in early christian discourse by caroline stichele and todd penner. christianity and sexuality in the early modern world by merry wiesner-hanks, sexual desire and love: origins and history of the christian ethic of sexuality and marriage by erich fuchs.

critical + liberation theology: god, sexuality and the self by sarah coakley, touching our strength by carter heyward, indecent theology by marcella althaus-reid, why women need the goddess by carol christ, sexuality and the black church: a womanist perspetive by kelly b douglas, enfleshing freedom: body, race, and being by m. shawn copeland, postcolonial imagination and feminist theology by kwok pui-lan, queering christ: beyond act up by robert e. goss, the good news of the body edited by lisa isherwood, theology and sexuality by susanna cornwall, queer theologies: the basics by chris greenough, our lives: a womanist queer theology by pamela r lightsey.

critical issues in sexuality: the making of biblical womanhood by beth allision barr, #churchtoo: how purity culture upholds abuse and how to find healing by emily joy allison, the cry of tamar by pamela cooper-white (NB: don't know why google books doesn't have the most recent second edition), jesus and john wayne by kristin du mez, catholic sexual theology and adolescent girls by doris m kieser, black gay british christian queer by jarel-robinson brown.

additionally, am extremely excited about the release of lower than the angels by diarmaid macculloch in april: i would keep an eye out for its release and try to read it if you can, as i suspect it's going to be an excellent, critical historical overview.

there are, of course, gaps in my recs, but everything i recommend here i consider essentially introductory. you'll find some of this work is focused more on gender, but we cannot discuss sexuality without also discussing gender; additionally, the majority of non-white theologies (womanist, east asian, indigenous) are engaging with gender rather than sexuality at this point in their respective developments.

[patricia-taxxon]

I want to set the record straight regarding a certain OST for a short film that should be coming out later this year, because one of its directors is making false and hurtful claims about me and my business ethic. After he made a prominent appearance on a drama stream about me & wrote a section of my callout doc, I told him that I wasn't interested in dragging him publicly, but that has felt more impossible as time goes on and I realize the extent of his misrepresentation. I had a vision of this film being able to release quietly in spite of everything, but I don't think that can happen, and I fully expect him to try and hurt my chances at further work.

In 2023, between techdogs 4 and 5, I worked on music for a then good friend's student film. It is by far the most technically difficult job I've ever had, and I did it for free. Now, before you get mad, this is partially (mostly) my fault. I never negotiated a price beforehand, and when I found out partway through that I was working for free, I let it slide for fear of being disruptive. If I was asked to quote a price today, it would have been approximately 900 USD. The work was a hellish and grueling experience, technical in ways I'd never been prepared for, and I sorely regret not putting my foot down, because I was hollowed out by the end of it.

A big portion of his callout against me is concerned with, bafflingly, my decision not to contribute my own money to the film, which at that point would have been a negative paycheck. I didn't pay the thirty dollars that I would've had to pitch in for the film to be screened, and I considered that a fine payment for the nine hundred dollars of work they got from me. He goes on to write that I'm rich anyways, I pay hundreds of dollars on album art (business expenses that I know I'll make back when the music is released) and "furry porn," because apparently if I am occasionally willing to drop a pretty penny on a pleasure purchase then I should simply be compelled to pay them randomly for things I hold no stake in and that I signed no contract for. He also mentions that I paid them later for the DCP file at another screening, of course by that point I had gotten the vibe that they were wanting for me to drop money on their project, so I did, giving the post-hoc justification that "i guess in this case I also care about the film sounding good." He writes "well I guess that was something she deemed worthy" without realizing the implication would then be that he did not see my own work as worthy.

Let me make this clear, this is like if a voice actor worked on my video game for free as a favor with no expectations of royalties, and then I asked them to help me pay to get the game on steam. This is presented along reheated second, third, fourthhand accounts of sexual misconduct.

And before we move on, to the claim that one album artist had to wait for years before receiving payment, this is true. I did forget to pay one artist, and only found out after their assistant contacted me years later, where I then paid six times the asking price as a late fee. I was commissioning over ten album arts every year, and as of now, this is the only time I have made this mistake.

It is impossible for me to refute his claims about the personal time we spent together in Omaha, as it would just be my word against his. I will just say that he should know the omitted reasons that I have grown to feel I was disposed, discarded, and taken for granted by him, and how he has nothing to do with why I hold those memories at that film festival so highly. He also does the classic thing where he positions allowing me to pick the movie in the evening as this favor he did, making me unknowingly rack up debt for a bargain I never consented to.

During all this, he has expressed an existential fear of being harassed for going public about me, and for this reason I want to say that I still hope that this film can be released without a fuss, but his continued participation in a harassment campaign against me has done far more to tarnish his reputation than I ever could. If you really cared about your image, pressure Crim to re-record that drama stream without your embarrassing petty grievances in it & delete your testimony from the callout doc. Thanks.

[specialgradefckr]

nerd!gojo is so cute! please give him a kiss on the cheek for me.

you stare at the note you found in your locker. it's written in glittery purple ink, which only adds to the insult.

gojo, "cute"??? give him a kiss on the cheek???

like an ill omen summoned by its name, a terrible presence looms over your shoulder, "watcha got there?"

"hate mail." you say dispassionately as you quickly shove gojo away.

when you face him, you see gojo's face change - smooth features and rounded eyes hardening into anger.

"hate mail?" gojo frowns, "in your locker? who would send that?!"

"you want a list?" comes geto's snarky voice. "she's kind of a bitch."

you shoot him a glare, but gojo speaks before you can.

"don't talk about her like that."

the room feels a little bit colder. since when did gojo sound so... mean?

"i'm just saying," geto says, shrugging, "you'd know better than anyone, she's always on your ass."

"yeah, my ass," gojo turns to you, a pout on his face, "you're not bullying other people, are you? i don't have any other bullies."

only satoru gojo could get into an argument this stupid.

"no," you drone, "your drain on my time and attention is uncontested."

rather than being ashamed of this, gojo looks absolutely tickled.

even when you punch him in the shoulder, his good mood is undampened.

"nerd," you grouse, stalking off to your next class, which gojo naturally follows.

it sucked being in the same classes as him, but at least it meant you could get his help. he really is a huge nerd. all those hours you put into it, and he seems to understand everything effortlessly.

the class feels like it takes hours. you pay diligent attention, take so many notes, and somehow, gojo comes out of it completely chipper.

you're left in peace for a few blessed minutes afterwards as he bolts out of the room for some reason or another.

is he finally starting to fear you as his bully? took him long enough -

"here!" pressed into your hands, your favorite snack from the campus vending machine.

gojo smiles at you, that big, boyish smile that makes him look extra stupid. "sorry i messed up last time."

you don't know what comes over you. maybe it's pure delirium brought on by hunger. or the joy from having something nice to eat.

maybe it's a new form of torture, humiliating him by making him endure a kiss from his bully.

it's just a kiss on the cheek. it's whatever.

he stands there, still, face completely red, blue eyes wide in shock. gojo looks even dumber than usual, which shouldn't even be possible.

you fan your face for a moment as you turn to leave.

"come on, you idiot. we've got a test to study for."

gojo whistles some unbelievably stupid tune, practically skipping the whole way to the library.

"i can't believe it! she kissed me on the cheek!!! a real kiss!" "uh-huh." "don't uh-huh me, suguru, it was REAL! anyways, it all makes sense now. she was just hangry. no wonder she shoved me into a locker. it's my fault for not taking better care of her..." "would you listen to me if i reminded you that you're not dating and this is all pure delusion?" "not dating yet." "so a no, then," suguru says, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work. satoru's already finished with the homework and scrolling through his text message history with you, no doubt spamming you again with memes or pictures or just remarks. but you haven't blocked him yet, have you? suguru smiles to himself, closing his notebook, tucking away a shimmering violet pen.

[seaninfl]

My brother, Mark, and I had always been close. We shared everything, including our deepest desires and fantasies. It wasn't long before I discovered that he had a special talent for pleasuring me in a way that no one else could.

One evening, as we lay side by side on our king-sized bed, Mark leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I can make you feel so good, Rob. Just let me show you."

I nodded, feeling my heart race with anticipation. Mark's fingers traced a slow, sensual path down my chest, lingering on my nipples before continuing their journey south.

"Relax, Rob," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "Just let go and enjoy the ride."

I felt Mark's tongue dart out and tease the sensitive skin around my navel. My cock twitched in response, already half-hard from the anticipation. But I knew that was just the beginning.

Mark's fingers found their way to my ass, and he began to massage my cheeks gently but firmly. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his voice low and husky.

I moaned softly as Mark's tongue made its way from my navel down to the cleft between my ass cheeks. He licked and nibbled at the sensitive skin there, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through my body.

"You like that, Rob?" Mark asked, his voice dripping with lust.

"Yes," I moaned, my voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, Mark. Don't tease me."

"Oh, I'm not teasing you, Rob," Mark assured me. "I'm just getting started."

With that, Mark's tongue plunged into my ass, probing and prodding at my tight hole. I gasped at the sensation, my eyes rolling back in my head as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Oh god, Mark," I cried out, my hands grasping at the sheets beneath me. "That feels so fucking good."

Mark grunted in approval, his tongue working its magic inside my ass. He reached up with one hand and began to stroke my cock in time with the movements of his tongue.

"You like that, don't you, Rob?" Mark asked, his voice filled with desire. "You love having my tongue up your ass, don't you?"

"Yes, Mark," I whimpered, my hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. "I love it."

Mark's tongue continued to work its magic, and soon I felt my orgasm building deep within my core. I cried out Mark's name as I came hard, my cum spurting out in thick, creamy ropes that splattered all over my chest and stomach.

"That's it, Rob," Mark murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Cum for me, baby."

I lay there panting heavily, my body trembling with the aftershocks of my powerful orgasm. Mark crawled up beside me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close against his chest.

"I love you, Rob," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "And I'll always be here for you."

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[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard contains billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you—concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt—you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on your shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

masterlist | dc masterlist

[pomefioredove]

hellooo !! can i please get a sugar cookie , #2 , with chocolate chips and powdered sugar ??

tc of urself n evrythingg !! i love ur works and i love reading ur writinggg its soo nice i love it <3

keep it up !! ur super duper cool !! o((>ω< ))o

AWEE thank you!! sorry this took so long to post ;w;

order #2, sugar with chocolate chips and powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a presumptuous affair

summary: kalim mistakes you, a random barista, for jamil's date. you go along with it tropes: coffee shop au, fake dating characters: jamil additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, use of y/n, a little kalim x yuu, kinda long, a kissy

As if today couldn't get any weirder...

For a moment, you had almost believed it was fortune. You made it to work on time despite the snow, your shift manager let you take the afternoon off, even your customers were feeling generous- your tip jar was almost to the brim.

And then it got weird.

"Jamil, look! See how cute these cookies are? It's like they're dressed up for the new year!"

That sparkly ray of sunshine has had his hands and nose pressed against the glass of the pastry case all morning. He's dressed in a Night Raven College uniform, but you can't imagine what someone so cute would be wearing it for.

"I just can't decide what to get! Everything looks so good!"

On the contrary, the taller, quieter, tired-looking boy, the one called Jamil, standing by the door, suited his uniform quite nicely.

"I'm sure the Prefect will be pleased with whatever you choose for them, Kalim. We're going to be late,"

The sparkly one (Kalim, was it?) pouts. "But this is our first new year's party together! Usually, I'd just buy everything, but they said..."

"Only one thing. I know. Surely, with all the time you spend together, you'd know their preferences,"

"I do! But it's hard... you'd understand if you had a date, too, Jamil,"

He narrows his eyes. "I'll be kept busy enough by the party,"

"Aw, that's no fun. You should enjoy yourself, too! If you need any help finding a date, I'd be happy to ask for you!"

"That is completely unnecessary-"

You finish wiping down the case, having shamelessly eavesdropped on the entire conversation. "May I make a pastry suggestion?"

Kalim's eyes widen, as if he'd forgotten you were standing behind the sparkly glass, but Jamil nods.

"Please, please do. And thank you..." his eyes dart down to the nametag on your apron. "Y/N."

"You guys know each other? Oh! I see," Kalim grins.

"Now I know why we came here instead of my favorite place- this is your date!"

The silence is almost worst than the bickering. You and Jamil (perfect strangers, by the way) exchange similar expressions of surprise, while Kalim grins, waiting to be introduced, or... something.

You open your mouth, but before you can explain yourself or the rather presumptuous affair, Jamil nods.

"Yes. This is them,"

He gives you a look that either says "please go along with it" or "I will make you go along with it" but you're too shocked to speak, anyway.

Kalim giggles. "This is perfect! Now I won't have to worry about you being lonely at the party. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to take away the attention from yourself and the Prefect," Jamil says, dryly, crossing his arms.

Kalim either doesn't notice his tone, or he ignores it.

"Aw, you guys don't have to worry about that! Here, I'll have one of those, and those... that date pastry for Jamil, and... here!"

He takes out a roll of thaumarks thicker than your hand and forces it into your tip jar.

Jamil's eyes widen with panic. "Kalim-"

"I want to make a good first impression!" he says, and then to you: "I can't wait to see you at the party!"

You finish bagging his pastries, shellshocked, and watch him skip out of the coffee shop like a little kid.

Jamil lingers, seemingly unbothered, and yet apologetic all the same.

"Sorry I dragged you into this, he's been begging for a double date all week. I'll tell him you're sick when the party comes around,"

He turns to leave. Your eyes dart between the tip jar, him, the boy outside, him, your coffee-stained hands, and him once more.

"Wait!"

Jamil stops, one hand on the door, and looks over his shoulder.

You try to stop yourself, but the words spill out of your lips anyway. "What time?"

You had never been inside Night Raven College, but the very last thing you were expecting it to be, anyhow, was warm.

You'd dressed in something thick and wooly for the winter weather, and now you're sweating, there's sand stuck under your nails and cool drinks are being passed from hand to hand.

"You're dressed like a penguin," Jamil whispers, holding you by the wrist and pulling you towards a closet, lined with gold and stuffed with coats and shoes from the partygoers.

"I didn't know it'd be hot!"

Jamil closes the door. "I suppose that was an oversight on my part. But I can't have you afflicted with heatstroke- not under my care, at least. Take off the coat,"

You do as he says. You've learned very little about Jamil over the evening, but he seems to know what he's doing.

"Better, but you're drenched in sweat. I'm sure we have dorm uniforms in your size somewhere..."

A loud, raucous noise that you can only assume was a cheer comes from beyond the door. You're not so sure you want to know.

Jamil notices the look on your face. "Too loud?"

"It's a little... much,"

He scoffs, though there's a smile on his lips, now. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose,"

He begins moving coats and shoes, boxes and chests, looking for something to cool you off. You sit on the floor behind him.

"I apologize again. For making you a part of this. I... didn't think you'd actually come," he says, facing away from you.

"I don't mind. I didn't have any plans for the holiday, anyway,"

Jamil makes a noise of acknowledgement, but, no words. You suppose he's trying to figure you out as much as you are him.

"...Ahem. Well, I'm... pleased to have you here. As much as it hurts to admit Kalim was right about one thing, I did need company today,"

"It's no problem,"

"It's some problem," Jamil scoffs, but he's smiling, too. "You'll have a headache for days after this."

"Then it'll be worth it,"

He seems to give up on finding a uniform, or perhaps he's just forgotten about it altogether, and he sits next to you.

You tilt your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips.

"I think Kalim was right about two things, actually,"

Jamil looks at you as if you'd hit your head on something and started speaking in tongues. "And what is that?"

You point up towards the heavens, or, rather, towards the ceiling of the closet, where a mistletoe has been poorly strung up.

"You should enjoy yourself, too,"

Jamil's eyes widen, but before he can ask who put that thing up there?! your kiss is on his cheek and his stoic demeanor is gone.

"Eh- what was that for?"

You could laugh at his expression, but you don't want to rub it in his bewildered face. Rather, you gently nudge his side.

"For being so kind,"

"Kind?" Jamil repeats the word as if he'd never heard it before. "I would hardly call myself that. I'm only... repaying the favor for your kindness."

You smile.

"I guess I'll just have to keep being nice to you, then,"

[plunderbunny]

Always feels so weird to be saying this because he's the dumb League of Legends spaghetti and meatballs guy, but videogamedunkey had some of the best comments about I've ever heard this in his "Game Critics" video, in which he says the the power of a critic comes from the consistency of their voice, not in you personally agreeing with everything that they say. Understanding the critic's thought process, their likes and dislikes, what they value and what annoys them, whether any of it is even rational or not, is what gives their review utilitarian value in terms of "the critic has X opinion about this thing, does that make me think I would like it dislike it?"

Beyond the most basic "does their opinion make me think I'd like this thing or not" level, the other really important thing about a critic is to challenge the audience's way of thinking about a work and get them to open their mind, broaden their horizons, stretch their brain a bit and think in new ways and from new perspectives. A review should never just be "this is good" or "this is bad", it should include actual ANALYSIS. And whether or not someone likes something isn't analysis, it's one END RESULT OF analysis.

Why is comparing a game to a completely different game a bad thing? Why is engaging with the game in a different way than the developers intended a bad thing? Why is playing and reviewing a game for which you're not the target audience a bad thing? Those all just sound to me like new, novel, challenging perspectives from which to evaluate and think about a game.

And if you don't agree with the reviewer, if they don't like what you do like or vice versa... Why is that a bad thing? You can think they're wrong! Sometimes disagreeing with someone who has a different perspective can be the most enlightening and intellectually stimulating kind of conversation about a media object! My favorite pieces of media analysis of all time, the various works of Elizabeth Sandifer, especially Tardis Eruditorum and Last War in Albion, are FULL of ideas and perspectives and tastes that I disagree with, but they are all FASCINATING to read about and discuss and consider. Just because she is a fan of the Matt Smith era of Doctor Who, which I hate, doesn't mean that her thoughts and opinions on it are pointless or uninteresting.

Like art itself, art criticism shouldn't exist just to validate your preconceptions, or comfort you and give you ask the simplest, most obvious pleasures possible. It should challenge you, make you think, confront you... That's what makes it interesting, and what makes it valuable! Too many people have the notion that art should always be slavishly trying to satisfy a pre-existing audience with known appetites and easily-scratched itches. Too much art ends up complacent on account of catering to those audiences.

More game critics should be like the first picture in this post, actually challenging conventional thought (whether or not they like the game) and thinking critically and from a wide range of perspectives, potentially from ones outside the target audience. The video game community needs another "this game really makes you feel like Spider-Man" reviewer (to steal another great dunkey quote) like it needs a hole in its head, or the equivalent, yet another competitive hero shooter or souls-like or comfy farm sim.

Criticism doesn't exist to validate your personal tastes.

Art doesn't exist to satisfy your personal appetites.

game reviewers are weird

[cherryxblossxms]

Hm upon posting that Beelzebub thing, realized it'd be very embarrassing to be in Hell while on your period.... Beelzebub is already bad enough, but I feel like the others who aren't as familiar with humans or human bodies and menstruation, the second they smell blood, they're freaking out 😭 anyway, here's some headcanons for just the kings:

◇ Satan probably has some general idea of what a period is, he's fairly knowledgeable, but there's a solid minute where he's ready to kill because he smells blood on you and is convinced you've been hurt. Takes a lot of restraining to get him calm enough to listen to you so you can tell him it's just your monthlies. After that he's pretty good. Doesn't like to see you in pain, and he gets very restless knowing there's not really anything he can do. It's the only time he'll let you cuddle with Ppyong, if it makes you feel better. He'll likely scare off everyone else, though, and prefers to keep you where he can see you until it's done.

◇ Mammon is wonderfully sweet when learning about your period, and is probably a rare one to ask questions about the info you give him, too. He has the wealth to get you everything you need for your period... and then some. Every new gadget out there, he's buying it for you to try. It's over the top but he means well. His master hurting causes him hurt, too. Even Bimet is a little kinder in his words (and its a good time to milk a little sympathy from him with your tears, because he panics wonderfully).

◇ Leviathan gets extra anxious and irritated around you, almost like he's having sympathetic period symptoms, but it's also just because he smells the blood and it brings up bad memories. He's a little gentler, at least, and maybe tries to keep you settled in a room of his choosing until your period is done. Brings you whatever you need because seeing you suffering does tug on his heartstrings, even if he won't admit it. He's a sweetheart, but he'd rather explode than let on that he cares. He's also going to ward off others from seeing you, wanting to be the only one taking care of you in this sensitive state, much to the disappointment of his three men.

◇ Belphegor will rub against you wrong during your period, but never intentionally. He cares, but he doesn't care like that, you know? Beleth will really be the saving grace here, talks to you in that kind Southern drawl he's got, fetches you a drink and a blanket if you need it. Probably will apologize on behalf of his king for being a piece of work when you're suffering lmao. But at least Belphegor makes for a great napping partner. If you get horny and need him, he doesn't mind the period part. But, he will leave the cleaning up to you or his right hand man. In fact, he may even sleep through the sex itself, tbh.

◇ Asmodeus.......... He's no stranger to periods whatsoever. It goes without saying, but number one thing with him will be period sex. He's heard enough about how sex could help relieve your pain, and he's more than happy to volunteer to help in that regard. But that being said, he's not entirely shameless. If you manage to resist him, he'll make do with holding you and maybe telling you some tales from his visits to Earth, raunchy or not, as a means of distraction for you. You'll just have to excuse his thing poking into you the whole time, and perhaps some wandering hands.

◇ We've already discussed Beelzebub previously, but just to keep it all together... He's a freak. Its not his favorite time, per se, but he still kind of loves when you're on your period??? He's always obsessed with your scent and it's even worse during your monthly. Another one who is happy to fuck you or eat you out during your period if you want him to. But if not, then he'll satisfy himself just hanging around. Similar to Belphegor, he may get on your nerves, so high likelihood that Bael will be the one helping you the most, not that he'll complain about it. He does have the same philia as his king so he does enjoy being around you, too, he's just much more courteous about it.

◇ Lucifer will be the most normal one, somehow, long familiar with periods and how to help them. He doesn't exactly have Midol or Aleve, or typical period products, but he'll work it out. Probably makes some kind of medicinal compound out of herbs that relieves pain, and he at least supplies you with cloths as your pads. He knows, too, what foods you should eat that will best replenish your iron, your energy, and decrease fatigue. Really, his whole squad is in on it, working to make you feel better until your period is done, and it's a little embarrassing. But they all mean well, and if anyone's ideal for care, it'll be the healers.

[softtdaisy]

injury prompt 16 and 22 for reid perhaps... :D Love your writing btw <3

make my heart beat again / spencer reid

summary. spencer was sad. spencer was miserable. he thought he could handle it until he couldn't anymore. he thought he could deal with it alone until he couldn't.

words count. 2 249

prompt. “Why won’t you let me help you?” “…because I don’t deserve it.” / “You deserve to be helped, I—who told you this?” from here

what to expect. very angsty, spencer is so sad i want to hug him, i chose the mentally injured more than physically, mention of murder very quickly

a/n. ok first thank you so much for requesting it sweetie!! and i'm sorry, i wish i posted it sooner but i started it again to make it shorter and...it's not shorter, but it's here and i hope you will love it (and now i can work on your other request) 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You weren’t quite sure how everything started again with Spencer.

One day he was a memory of the past, one of your biggest regrets. The next time he was back in your place, like he always belonged there.

You went on a couple of dates a few years ago, and it would be a lie to say your heart didn’t fall for that boy. Sweet, gentle, the nicest man you’ve ever met. And so beautiful with his always so messy hair, his gorgeous brown eyes that always seemed to look at you like you were one of the seven wonders of the world, and that perfectly shaped mouth that you loved to kiss.

You were sure things could have worked out with Spencer if a) his work didn’t take him that much time—and more. b) You didn’t have other issues in your life you had to deal with before thinking about love.

So you ended your relationship, or whatever it was at that time, before it could be more serious. And you spent way too many nights missing Spencer Reid. 

The way he would start every date with a fact that could either last a minute or ten and how you could notice the change in his eyes when he noticed you were truly interested in what he was saying. How he was blushing at any physical contact you were initiating, even in bed after he made love to you. Or even how you never said you loved each other, yet the way his lips would stay longer on your shoulder when you were falling asleep was speaking for your feelings.

You never thought Spencer would miss you just as much.

But he spent months contemplating the idea of seeing you again and trying to convince you this could be good. That he could be good for you. But months turned into a year. And when he celebrated his whole single year on the other side of the country, Spencer read into it that maybe he had glorified love. In all its aspects.

And this conclusion haunted him for years.

To the point Spencer stopped meeting new people and was barely trying to stay in touch with those in his life. He wasn’t seeing his mom much; his colleagues noticed the distance he was building between them, and Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he saw his “friends.”

Because at some point, the fear of losing people turned into a feeling of not being good enough to people’s lives and made him a loner. A sad loner.

That was something you immediately noticed the first time you saw Spencer in years.

Your life has barely changed from your last date. Still the same job, but at a higher place. Still the same apartment, but with a different setting. Still the same person, but more mature.

It wasn’t hard for Spencer to find you. And if he spent a whole year contemplating going back to your place before putting that thought away, the day he truly needed it, it took him a minute to decide it was time.

You didn’t question his presence here when you opened the door. Maybe he should have. But when Spencer grabbed your face after you simply said his name with confusion, nothing seemed to matter. 

Not his hair longer than before, not him looking more shaped yet more fragile, not the circle under his eyes being way darker than the last time you saw him. Not that he was eagerly kissing you, something he never did.

You remember Spencer being gentle, taking his time to appreciate every second with you.

No, he was hungry, like each second could be the last with you. For him.

“What are you doing here, Spence?” you finally asked him. You were both lying on the rug in your living room. His eyes were locked on the roof, like he was disconnecting from reality. His arm around your back, holding you against him, was brushing your skin slowly, but he seemed to do that mindlessly. 

And Spencer didn’t turn his head to look at you when you, you couldn’t stop looking at him. “I needed that.” Not you. You put away the pain hearing that and tried to see the good in this, that you were the one he went to. 

But still, something was different with Spencer.

It would take you a few nights to realize he wasn’t blushing anymore when you touched him. Or that he didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about.

Actually, Spencer wasn’t talking much anymore. 

For weeks, Spencer would come to your place at night. Either after a day at the office or when he came back from a case. Usually, when it was the latter, he would even stay the following day to fully decompress from what happened.

You tried to question him once or twice. But Spencer always had the same answer: going down on you to keep you quiet with your question.

It was a win-win situation. 

He was giving you pleasure and making you think about something else.

He was concentrating on something else, and your moans were filling his head with other thoughts.

Until one night, the sex wasn’t enough to put his problem away.

You didn’t expect Spencer to come. Two days ago, he told you he had to leave for a case and it would probably last a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it gave you the time to think about him and where this was going.

Yet, your bell rang at 10 p.m. Let’s say that dating an FBI agent taught you to not open your door to anybody. You almost played dead and ignored it. But your gut told you to look at who it might be. 

You didn’t expect to see Spencer through your spyhole.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him cry on the other side of your door.

“Spencer, what’s going on?” you said, opening your door and immediately bringing him inside. The saddest part was that he let you do it. He didn’t stop you when you took him in your arms. Neither when you brought him to the sofa and sat him on it while you kneeled in front of him.

He was shaking; his face looked red from the tears and the scratching he did with his fingers, trying to take the pain away. But it didn’t work. And hurt him even more.

You grabbed one of his hands to take it away from his face. You tried to ease his joints with a soft caress. You even tried to make eye contact, but it was a lost cause with the way he was closing his eyes hardly, probably hurting himself like that. “Talk to me, Spence,” you whispered, putting your chin on his knee. “Open to me.”

You hated how he pinched his lips together before talking, like he was trying so hard to not break down. “I can’t,” he sobbed. He repeated that multiple times, sounding more angry with himself each time.

But the fact he wasn’t letting go of your hand made you believe that maybe a part of him, maybe just a very little one, wanted to have you. He still came to you tonight, right?

“Why won’t you let me help you?” 

This was a genuine question. One that grew over the last weeks. Sometimes, you would wake up in the middle of the night wondering which signs you might have missed when he was here. What did he try to hide from you with kisses and attention that you weren’t asking for? And if maybe you weren’t an accomplice of his troubles by accepting all his treats, knowing it was an excuse to keep everything from himself.

And during these moments, you imagined what Spencer might have answered. That he didn’t want his burden to impact your relationship, that he didn’t want to talk to you specifically. 

But you never considered what was coming as an answer.

“…because I don’t deserve it.” 

The world went silent. 

Except for your heart that just fell on the floor and broke into a million pieces.

Except for Spencer’s sorrow being louder than ever in your small living room.

It was obvious that Spencer wasn’t doing ok. But you couldn’t imagine how broken he really was.

You couldn’t force him to look at you and make him see he wasn’t alone at all. So you put your forehead against his, his sweaty hair sticking against your skin. Your arms wrapped against Spencer so you could hold him against him. You couldn’t believe that this grown-up man, in his thirty, could be a broken kid inside. You tried to hold back the tears.

You stayed like that for minutes; you don’t even know how long. This could last an hour or two if he needed to. You probably could have stayed all night if it meant calming Spencer down.

Little by little, you felt his shaking stop and even one of his hands land on your arm. The pressure of his fingers on your skin wasn’t harder, almost like he didn’t have any strength anymore. It was more like a delicate touch. One that reminded you of the old days, when Spencer was too shy to touch you.

Once you felt he was ready to hear this, maybe not listen yet but at least be able to understand what you were saying, you stopped hugging him so you could grab his face in your hands. “You deserve to be helped. I—who told you this?”

You met the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen at this moment. Couple with his sad smile. Oh, how you wished you could just kiss the pain away for once.

“I just…” he started, with a grazed, hoarse voice. “Every person in my life ends up sad or hurt or dead. I’m a problem. I’m a burden. I don’t deserve someone to take the time to help me, be there for me. I can’t risk someone, you, taking the time to make me feel better if it means losing you at some point. I can’t, I can’t do that again.” You heard the sob in his voice at the end. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Spencer gave you the look, one he strangely never gave to you but that you understood immediately, meaning that he still had a lot to say. And deep down, you were happy to shut it if it meant he was finally opening up.

“I was taking care of a kid these days. We knew he might be in danger, so I was supposed to make sure he would be fine while working the case.” Spencer took a moment to continue, but you could only focus on the tear running down his cheek. “He got killed. Because I couldn’t protect him. Everyone around me has something bad happening to them. Even in my job. How can I be such a bad person?” 

You started brushing away the tears with your thumb, but Spencer cuddled against your hand. There was something even sadder with this man feeling like he didn’t deserve to have someone yet still craving every attention he could get.

“You’re not a burden, Spencer,” you whispered, and he closed his eyes again. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to go through all these moments by yourself. I can’t imagine how hurt you must be from living such difficult times over and over again. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have someone by your side.”

He didn’t answer. You weren’t sure this was the best decision, but you sat on his knees, trying to be closer to him so you could make him feel less alone. 

You thought that if he didn’t want that, he would push you away. But the way Spencer's hands ended up on your back so quickly made you think that maybe he needed that too.

“I can’t and won’t force myself into your life, Spencer, never,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “But if you’re ready to try, I can be by your side and help you consider that you deserve to be a supporter. Not only by me but by all the people that love you.”

Again, your words working on him, Spencer opened his eyes slowly. This time, even if the sorrow was still present, there was the smallest and almost slightest light in them. “Because people love you, Spencer Reid.”

As an answer, the only one he could give you, Spencer brought you against him and hugged you as hard as he could. It wasn’t the tightest hug he ever gave, but it was the best he could do. And it was enough. Enough to know that you opened a door in his mind. 

You offered your bed to Spencer that night, but he insisted on you staying by your side. He refused to let you know it was due to the fear of the nightmares he had for months now. Nightmares that always had different stories but ended the same way: with him losing someone and being alone.

All he needed was you, and you were willing to give yourself entirely to help him get better.

You didn’t know if you imagined it, but you were sure that when he was falling asleep, holding you against him like an antistress comforter, Spencer thanked you.

[abyssalzones]

apologies if i'm interpreting wrong, but do you not like the family aspects in gravity falls?

I enjoy the family aspects in gravity falls in terms of surface level enjoyment... but even then I do agree wholeheartedly with the post I reblogged and I think it's definitely applicable to a critical examination of the story, as it would be in Any story. mainly in terms of stan and ford's dynamic.

I've thought before about how stan's tumultuous relationship with ford really comes down to the failings of "the family" and particularly masculinity and the concept of The Family Man as a breadwinner and every time it frustrates me for what it is and intrigues me for what it potentially says as a deconstruction, even if an unintentional one. stan's core values are familial in nature, which to the audience is a purely noble goal. therefore, when stan does the things she (and I'm using she/her as always for stan because I interpret her as a trans woman) does, it's "all for this family", which is a very empathetic goal. but it's also one that snowballs into the devastating rift between her and ford: ford wanting to go to college and remove himself from The Family is implicitly depicted as a betrayal, if not to the audience then at least to stan. and yet it's perfectly understandable Why he does this if you actually examine the stan twins' childhood, which is that of two siblings being forced to compete in a black sheep/golden child dynamic in a poor household, overseen by the abusive patriarch figure that is their father. when ford refers to his dynamic with stan as "suffocating" (expecting dipper to relate), it's simultaneously insight we're meant to read as selfish and anti-family, as well as being perfectly logical. stan and ford depend on one another for survival and recognition as they deal with both the trappings of their home life and peer abuse at school- and, at the same time, are locked into their roles as "potential breadwinner" and "the fuck-up twin". would that not be suffocating? would you really feel secure trying to maintain a close relationship with your twin like that, even if you did love them?

I refer to this as a matter of masculinity because at its core the trappings of the (american, western, whatever you want to call it) family are often patriarchal in nature: everything revolves around the authority of The Father, who is succeeded by The Son. stan's lack of success in terms of bringing money to the family reflect her failures to perform as a man. the only time she begins to succeed in this role is when she's impersonating ford. (and here you can kind of see the foundations of my headcanon for her as a trans woman... but that's off topic) at the end of the day, ford's desires for agency outside of his family are punished by the story: "you care about some dumb mysteries more than your own family? well then-- you can have 'em." and this is only truly rectified when ford relents, admits the true importance of family, and gets on a boat with his twin. even if I think it's elaborated on in ways that lend itself towards a more complex story, even if I think it could work perfectly well as a deconstruction if you were to read it that way, I think this is the type of story they're trying to tell and the one that is most commonly related to by an american audience.

I say that this frustrates me because as much as I wish it were the case, I don't believe gravity falls intends to make a critical commentary on the nature of the family. I think it says a lot about how those dynamics can be strained or muddled by factors such as miscommunication, trauma, abuse, etc- but at the end of the day it's intending to be a very "familial love surpasses all" type of story. does that mean it's unwatchable garbage? not really. I obviously love the show and still enjoy familial dynamics for a lot of reasons and think there's good to come of those kinds of stories. however I also think there is a lot to be said about how dangerous the idea of "family comes first" is, both in terms of justifying violence and absolving or enabling abuse.

*note that my specifications of the structure as "american" or "western" are due purely to a lack of perspective. I'm sure there are examples of these types of trappings across various cultures I just can't confidently elaborate, and in the context of the show we're talking about a story that takes place with american characters. kind of a pointless amendment but just in case.

[j-richmond]

This is really, really real. For my brother and I, making The Magical Land of Yeld is a full time+ job. But it pays like a part time minimum wage job, and there's never been a month where we haven't struggled to make rent. The good months are the ones when people share our posts. Tell their friends and followers about our game. Maybe even write a review? Any attention helps at all. Honestly, attention brings sales, and sales means I don't have to spend a week or so of every month doing freelance work, and can instead use that time to make more Yeld. So the months when we release a lot of content? Those are months when people are talking about our game and sharing it. The months where we don't release much or anything? I'm too busy doing freelance work to pay the bills and just don't have time to finish the Yeld stuff we've been working on. We're not a big company, where your dollars go to some rich guys fancy car or vacation. Your Yeld purchases pay our rent and keep us in business. We don't have cars at all. We don't go on vacation. We don't own homes. But your support lets us keep working hard doing the thing we love. And thats better. Our game is called The Magical Land of Yeld. Its very good. You'd like it. Find out more about Yeld here. Join our Discord here. Join our Patreon here. You can buy the The Magical Land of Yeld: 2nd Edition TTRPG from the Yeld Store, Tabletop Bookshelf, IPR, itch.io or DrivethruRPG! Thank you for your support. It means everything to us!

Reblog to Save a Life

I have talked about it before, but independant artists, and by extension independant TTRPG designers like myself and my team, live and die by their social media presence. We can't afford a lot of advertising, if any, and so we rely not only on word-of-mouth advertisement, but also just the good will of our audience. Like another designer @cavegirlpoems put it, we're basically busking, putting our art out for everyone and hoping for voluntary donations, donations which I writing this am reliant on as a disabled designer who can't work a normal job.

If you can't pay, you can still have it for free, and something that can be just as helpful is reblogging the posts of artists like myself. I'll demonstrate with a screenshot from our itch.io page for the open beta for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy.

(and on these days, it was only about 6 or 7 people who did the reblogging.)

As you can see, reblogs mean more people see our game, which means more downloads (and sometimes even payments), downloads mean more people play our game and more people see our game in the itch.io algorithm, which means more views, which means more downloads, which means more and so on and so on. But, it all starts with you reblogging our posts, and without that, we're stagnate. It doesn't matter if you have 1,000 followers or 10, your reblog means that our posts reach corners of tumblr that wouldn't have seen it otherwise.

Myself and others are reliant on a 2-second reblog to be able to support ourselves as artists, you and your 10 followers are where it starts.

[crazydeershark]

Broken souls

Part 2.

AK!Jason Todd x Civilian!Fem reader

Summary: Your life at GCPD, uncovering Gotham’s criminals and darkest secrets. Jason coming back as Arkham knight.

Warnings: cat calling, violence.

A/n: This can be read as a stand alone, but I suggest reading Part 1.

Btw!! Its lightly based on the AK game but doesnt follow exact lore.

Arkham Knight. His name was everywhere. Gotham’s streets, the GCPD you worked at, the news, even your local convenience store.

And you despised it.

You despised not being able to do anything about it.

Your role wasn’t that big. You were just Officer Gordon’s assistant. Fresh new worker, untouched and incorruptible, unlike 50% of Gothams “police”. You payed close attention to conversations, sneaked in places you definitely shouldn’t have. A few months is what it took you to figure it all out. It made you feel foolish, for putting your trust in the police.

Gotham needed its justice. While most thought it was far beyond saving, you knew it still needed good people fighting for it. Like you and Gordon. Gordon was dedicated to fighting crime. You admired his commitment, but it was not sustainable, mentally especially.

You found out about his “friend” pretty soon too, or maybe Gordon just wanted you to know, about Batman. Their little check ins on the rooftop, every few evenings.

You couldn’t help yourself. So one night, when you saw your boss going up the stairs, you knew the drill. You followed him carefully. Maybe because you knew they were going to talk about Arkham Knight, or maybe you just needed to see Batman. To make sure he’s real. To make sure Robin was real.

You tried your best to stay hidden, and to hear their conversation through the heavy rain. The only words you could make out were “report” and “knight”, everything else sounded like gibberish.

When you heard heavy footsteps you ran back to your shared office. Pretending nothing happened.

You saw Gordon come in, files in his hand.

“Good evening, Officer Gordon.”

“As good as it gets, kid.” He scoffed out, clearly irritated. You decided not to question it. Old man, had a lot on his mind. What you did pay attention to, were the files and where he placed them.

You stepped out of your office,

“Done blowing the officer, huh?” One of the detectives made a crude gesture, hollowing his cheeks and mimicking a blow job, a few snickers came from the guys around him. You ignored them, nails digging in the flesh of your palm. Fighting back tears of anger.

Yes, being accused of sleeping with your older, married boss was one of the downsides of being a young woman who’s working in the Gotham police department.

You wanted to wipe those grins off their face, but you knew you couldn’t. Not alone at least, which, in this case, you were.

Officer was getting ready to leave from work, when you walked into the office.

“Don’t worry, I’ll close.” You pointed out to the keys in his hand, “still got a ton of papers to work on.” You felt guilty for lying.

You weren’t a bad person, right? You were just curious.

“Alright, don’t overwork yourself too much.” He nodded.

“Unless I wanna become like you?”

“You don’t, kid” He smirked, heading out.

You waited a bit, got up, closed the door.

The files. You gently got them out, eyes scanning over the words.

𝐆𝐂𝐏𝐃 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭- 𝐀𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 & 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚.

─────────────

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 - 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙨 𝙀𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙊𝙣𝙡𝙮

𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨 & 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩: 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙅𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙣

─────────────

𝙎𝙪𝙗𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙊𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬

𝘾𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙚: 𝙐𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣

𝘼𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙈𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙇𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚

─────────────

𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 & 𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨

𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨: 𝙀𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝟮,𝟬𝟬𝟬+ 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢.

𝙑𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙨: 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨, 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮-𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨.

𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨: 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝-𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙝 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨, 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙨.

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 (𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧),

𝙐𝙣𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 (𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩).

𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨: 𝙊𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙥𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢, 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜:

𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨’ 𝙄𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 – 𝙈𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩

𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙩 – |abandoned|

𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣 – 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚

𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩 – 𝙋𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩

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𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 & 𝘾𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙨

𝟬𝟮:𝟰𝟱 𝘼𝙈: 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙤𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡. 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙟𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙.

𝟬𝟯:𝟮𝟬 𝘼𝙈: 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝘼𝘾𝙀 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙨. 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩.

𝟬𝟰:𝟬𝟬 𝘼𝙈: 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙏𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧. 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

𝟬𝟱:𝟭𝟱 𝘼𝙈: 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙈𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙣𝙞 𝙄𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙. 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧.

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𝙏𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 – 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙎𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨:

𝘼𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜.

𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙧𝙚.

𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙞𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨 (𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙣).

𝙋𝙨𝙮𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙚:

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.

𝘼𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬’𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙖𝙡𝙨.

𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢’𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

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𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙮

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙣𝙚𝙪𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧.

𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙪𝙥.

𝘿𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧-𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨.

𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧—𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝟮𝟰 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨.

𝘼𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙃𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚.

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𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢’𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮.

𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚, 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨.

𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙.

𝙀𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩.

You got your phone out as fast as you could, taking pictures of the papers.

There wasn’t a lot of useful information, not even pictures. You didn’t know what he looked like, you heard and read about his military style gear, his mask. That was it.

What you didn’t know about, was his “personal” fling with Batman. You thought he was crazy, well, not as far-gone as scarecrow, but at least similar intentions. Causing Gotham chaos.

You packed your bag, put your coat on and placed the report back neatly.

On your way home, you realized you shouldn’t have gotten so caught up back at the department. It was too late to be walking home alone. The alleys felt like hidden dangers lurking around the corner, like someone was constantly watching over you. Waiting for you to crack. You gripped your bag tightly, pepper spray in hand.

Like that would help you.

You thought back on the papers. You felt like you needed to do something. You needed to help. But how?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what seemed to look like a group of men, heading towards.. you. Speeding up as you were calculating your moves, panicking on the inside.

Walking in their direction was not a choice. If you turned around and started running? They’d be after you.

And you were anything but a good runner.

What other choice did you have?!

You took a deep breath, turned around, and ran as fast as you could. Not long after, you heard the group speed up, their steps echoing through the alley.

Fuck.

You were too deep into the alleys, you weren’t gonna make it to public space.

They were getting close. Too close.

Worst of all, you were running towards a dead end.

You turned around, what a bad choice that was.

Your foot got caught in an uneven crack in the pavement, you lost your balance. Colliding with the cold, hard concrete.

“Get up, sweetheart, let’s make this quick.” A nasty smelling man sneered, yanking you up. His grip so tight on your arm it bruised.

You trembled in fear.

“Make this quick? Look at her. She’s a piece of candy. Ain’t she?” Another man whistled, the other agreeing.

You were trapped, terror settled deep in your chest.

“That she is. Now be good for us, phone and wallet, and maybe we’ll let you go..”

You stayed silent, mind racing, your pepper spray was useless.

You reached your shaky hand in your purse, grabbing your phone and wallet, ready to hand them.

Suddenly, the air shifted, growing thick.

A figure appeared out of nowhere. It was like a blur of motion. He moved so fast you could barely process it, almost as if his movements were robotic, lacking humanity.

All you could hear were screams and grunts, pounces, thuds and bodies being slammed.

You and the figure were the only ones remaining.

Silence fell over you, along with a tension so thick you froze in place.

You stared at the figure, wide eyed.

He stood tall, intimidating. His presence was suffocating. Almost as if you forgot how to breathe. Body covered in dark, form fitting military armour, reflecting panels on his arms and chest barely catching the little light there was.

You squinted your eyes through the dark, trying to make out his helmet.

“Get out of here.”

You flinched when you heard his voice, distorted by what sounded like a voice modulator.

You took a deep breath, questioning if all of this was just a bad dream.

It wasn’t.

You speed up, passed the figure scared, and ran home. You didn’t have the guts to look up.

When you got home, you locked your doors, your windows, everything.

The only thing that was stuck on your mind was the figure.

You didn’t sleep that night, even with all of the pills you took.

Military gear, tall, intimidating.

No. You were paranoid. It couldn’t have been.

It couldn’t have been the Arkham Knight.

Right?

A/n: sorry guys you’re in for a wild ride cause I am notttt making this fast.😝Hope you enjoyed my loves!!

IMPORTANT: If there were any grammar mistakes or unclear phrases please let me know! English isn’t my first language!!

IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LIST PLEASE LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS🫶🏻🎀

Tag list: @koji-ibitsu @d1nne

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Witch's Castle Headcanon Time Because I Said So

Since, in my own works, I imagine the Witch's Castle and Kingdom settings do exist in the same world (the games themselves taking place in different timelines) I've kinda developed a few headcanons revolving around life in the Castle itself! Y'know for funsies. :>

The Witch's Castle itself is rather isolated, this is because when the Witch of Light first built it she wanted it to be a safe haven for herself and her Coven-sisters. I imagine due to their powers and normal humans' general feelings towards witchcraft, they wanted to make sure they wouldn't be hunted down or have a random stranger stumble across their sanctuary. (Or like in the case of the Witch who would become First Grain Cookie, they didn't want anyone who would try to exploit them discovering their hiding place.)

The castle itself is huge because these are 13 witches who had to be entirely self-sufficient. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a wing for each Witch to have space to conduct her own branch of magical research. Not to mention space needed to create basic necessities like a greenhouse for food, a water pump for plumbing, etc etc etc. Even by human standards, it's ridiculously massive and very easy to get lost inside of.

Because the castle is so big yet so isolated, this has had an interesting affect on those who call it home. By Cookie standards, the castle could be considered a small continent in and of itself. There's a multitude of settlements and what could be considered independent city-states scattered throughout.

A common insult around the Castle is "Your batch should've burnt" not just between desserts but its used between non-baked residents as well, this little idiom has stuck in the common Castle vernacular even long after the Witch of Light and her coven-sisters vanished.

SPEAKING of the residents of the castle, as we've seen in the game, not all of them are desserts or food items, they're animals! But while some of them make sense like mice and chipmunks, other creatures should be way too big to fit in castle walls; like the Stag brothers and the Marlin Chefs. They don't LOOK like desserts, so I don't think they were baked, but if they're not desserts, what are they? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if they're a result of whatever Life Powder experiments were being conducted in the castle. When it comes to the Mice, the Life Powder might've given them heightened intelligence. And in the case of the animals that SHOULD be bigger, I personally headcanon that they started off as small things like figurines or toys that were brought to life via Life Powder; made "real" like Pinocchio but retained their small stature.

Most food and water in the castle does not have Life Powder in it. Where on Earthbread, it can be found everywhere, it's a lot more of a precious resource in the Castle. That's why the residents need a constant supply of Life Potion, since it's one of the few resources in the castle that contains Life Powder. Cookies on Earthbread don't need to worry about going stale from not drinking Life Potion consistently, because Life Powder is in the rain, the crops, everything! Life Potion still exists on Earthbread, however it functions more as a typical RPG Healing Potion.

The food grown in the Syrup Garden and the Temple of Abundance are a few exceptions to this, their goods are full of Life Powder, hence why crops grown in those places are so heavily sought after and their well-being is so vital to the Castle overall.

Unfortunately, there are very few left in the Castle who were around during the era of the Witch of Light. As such, when the Shadow Witch moved in, the mood towards Witches shifted from reverence to fear.

So don't say anything like "Witch's Blessings be upon you" in the Castle, you'll get some weird looks.

Most residents within the Castle are active at night since that's when it's considered "safest". As in: the Witch and other dangers SHOULD be asleep. Unfortunately for everyone, the Shadow Witch has a terribly inconsistent sleep schedule.

She's also a massive workaholic. Which does work in everyone's favor, because typically she's too tunnel-visioned on her work to notice little things.

Castle residents don't like being out in wide open spaces, as being out in the open means it's all the more easier for the Witch or her minions to find you.

[foreignjaykay]

company (a jungkook fic)

part one - "you wish i'd miss you,"

company - a jungkook fic

can we keep each other company?

their workplace was chaos, but jungkook made it fun. their camaraderie was effortless—until he decided to leave. no big deal. people quit all the time. so why does it feel like everything is about to change?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: r18+ (angst, fluff) minors do not interact!

chapter warnings/misc: workplace!au, coworkers!au, event planner!jk, event planner!oc, jk is not famous, angst, fluff, sad, crack, event planner!mingyu, bts in event planning company, unserious friend group, they are so silly and unserious, mean boss - yeah no she sucks, flirty!jk, dense af!jk, shy!oc, ANGST, IDIOTS both of them, yeah i guess thats it...for now hehe

notes: hello everyone!!! hehe its my first fic on tumblr and my first ever jk fic so i really hope you guys like it. im writing after so mant years so please ignore some mistakes. its kinda based on my experiences so yeah. its intentional whatever you are reading hauahahah, things will only get interesting as well progress.. lots of characters will come in the next chapter, this is just the base. It picks up from the second chapter!! anywho lets get into it!! <3

moodboard • playlist • series masterlist

The first thing you saw when you unlocked your phone this morning was a text from Jungkook. That in itself was weird—he wasn’t the type to be up this early, let alone texting people.

jaykay (work) [8:50am]: hi :)

you [8:50am]: oh my god. what did you forget?

jaykay (work)  [8:51am]: have some faith in me. i was texting for something entirely different. 😒

you[8:51am]: are you sick? held hostage? blink twice if you need help.

jaykay (work) [8:52am]: how da hell are u so dramatic in the morning

you [8:52am]: come to the point jungkook

jaykay [8:52am]: fine. 🙄 don’t bring lunch today

you [8:53am]: why?

jaykay (work) [8:53am]: lunch is on me. taking you, shane and mingyu out for ramen

you [8:53am]: 🤨🤨🤨

jaykay (work) [8:54am]: see you in office🥰

You squinted at the screen, trying to process the words through your morning haze. This man barely made it to work before noon on most days, always breezing in with an iced americano and a sheepish grin. And yet here he was, awake and making lunch plans at 9 AM? Suspicious. Very suspicious.

It’s fixed, you know? Him being late to work, getting sarcastic remarks from the bosses - Natasha, the reporting manager (god did she love micromanaging the team) and Kim Song, the director of your company.

But whatever, free ramen was free ramen and, on that note, you finally woke up and went to get ready for the weird day that was ahead of you.

By the time you got to the office, the usual chaos had already begun. Natasha, wasn’t physically present today, thank the lord for that, you thought, but her presence loomed over Zoom calls like a dark cloud. You had barely set down her bag before her laptop screen lit up with an incoming call. Does this woman ever chill?

“Good morning, team,” Natasha’s clipped voice rang out as the screen loaded. “Let’s go over the deliverables for today.��� Her screen was hidden and she was on a holiday like she had very explicitly mentioned the week before she left.

You suppressed a groan as you saw Jungkook and Mingyu joining the call too. Shane, their CS intern, looked half-asleep. Jungkook, though, was oddly quiet, his usual playful banter nowhere to be seen. His leg bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the tabletop.

You shot him a look, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

Okay that was weird, wasn’t it?

You looked towards Mingyu and Shane to see if they noticed Jungkook being a little off today but to your surprise they were engrossed on what Natasha was instructing on the upcoming event which was the luxurious Cartier dinner.

Classic Natasha, putting her work on us while she sips on pina coladas on the beach after this 10-minute meeting. You wanted to be as carefree as her sometimes, how easily she just threw her tasks on others.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Jungkook which thankfully he didn’t notice.

Or at least that’s what you thought.

Jungkook knew you. He knew how curious you got sometimes and he also knew currently the wheels were turning in your head wondering why he was being so awkward. He smiled internally, thinking how much you knew him and how much he was going to miss you.

If you kept looking at him like that, he was going to crack. He just hoped you wouldn’t figure it out before he told you himself.

Once the meeting was over, you quickly went towards the design studio in the office, greeting Yuna and So-hee who seemed like had just come to office with the way they were switching on their systems for the day.

“I really need the final design renders for the stage setup and the seating plan for Cartier, Yuna,” You said worried knowing that if you don’t get these renders in next half an hour then the costing would delay and then Natasha…yeah no.

Its as if Jungkook got a sign, he entered the design studio greeting Yuna, So-hee, and Dae and standing next to you as if to ease the tension you had going on.

“Babe, give me 10 minutes, the renders are ready. I’ll email it to you, Natasha and Namjoon,” Yuna said as she started working on her system. You nodded your head and gave her a worried smile.

“Mark me in the email too,” Jungkook said instantly and you gave him a pointed look. Yuna seemed to mirror your thoughts and raised her eyebrows towards him.

Seeing that you both were confused, Jungkook chuckles and says, “__, you should be happy that I am willingly asking to be marked on emails,” which makes you roll your eyes playfully and smirk.

“Also, I don’t have nothing big going on currently, project wise, so I’ll follow up for the costings and Natasha will stay away from my ass,” Jungkook continues and laughs with Yuna, So-hee and Dae.

You looked at him as he was sort of back in his carefree self but something still felt off. You just couldn’t put your finger on what this feeling was.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. The second Natasha’s second call for the day wrapped up the call, you shut your laptop and turned towards Jungkook who along with Mingyu and Shane was joking and was waiting for you to get done.

“Okay, spill. What’s with the mystery since today morning?” You immediately asked him and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Mingyu slung an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, dude. You’re making me nervous.”

Shane, ever the observer, just raised a brow. “Is this about work? God I can’t wait to dig into some good ramen after hearing Natasha ramble since past 15 mins. 15 mins with her feel like 2 hours,” Shane continued rambling earning laughs from the three of you.

Jungkook let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get to lunch first.”

That didn’t help your growing suspicion, but you let it slide—at least until the 4 of you reached the ramen place.

The aroma of rich broth and sizzling garlic filled the tiny ramen shop. Shane and Mingyu were already practically vibrating with hunger, menus discarded, ready to order. You, however, were still scanning the options, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. Just as you were about to decide, you and Jungkook spoke in unison: “Japchae.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “You wanna have japchae too?” you asked, a little thrill of connection sparking despite the weirdness of the morning. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and ordered for both of you.

Minutes later, steaming bowls of ramen and the shared plate of japchae arrived. The savory scent made your mouth water. You took a tentative bite of the japchae, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables crisp and flavorful. It was delicious. But Jungkook just sat there, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He had a strange expression—not quite annoyed, but… something. You knew that look. It was his tell when food was exceptionally good. That’s just his weird trait.

You took the second bite yourself to see if it was and it was really good.

“I got another job.”

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

Then, Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook shifted in his seat, avoiding their gazes. “I got an offer from an event company. They handle production for A-list musicians—concerts, world tours, all of it.” But you could see how proud he was. This was his dream.

“Oh, shit, that’s huge,” Shane said, eyes wide and dramatically keeping his chopsticks on the side.

Jungkook looked at you trying to gauge for your reaction.

You swallowed, gripping your chopsticks a little tighter. “Wow. That’s… incredible, Jungkook.” You said genuinely but why did it feel so off? Why did it feel like you were losing everything? People leave jobs all the time and this is no different, so why was it feeling all to different suddenly?

When you congratulated him, you meant it. You really did. He deserved this. But there was a weird, hollow feeling in your chest. Something tight that you couldn’t quite name.

Jungkook was watching you and asked, “You okay?”

You forced a smile but to everyone it looked genuine. “Of course. This is a big deal. I am so happy for you, Jungkook!” Mingyu and Shane mirrored your smile and congratulated him to which Jungkook threw an honest smile.

His eyes still lingered for a second longer before he nodded, turning his attention back to his food. But you could tell he didn’t fully believe you.

Mingyu and Shane immediately started asking him the questions about his new company and the new job and Jungkook excitedly answered them all and you were interested too to know all the details.

Once the 4 of you were done with the lunch, you asked him, “So when are you telling Natasha?”

“Next week, and then 2 weeks’ notice,” He said looking at you as if he was trying to find an emotion out of you.

“Damn bro, you are leaving us so soon.” Shane said and you looked at Jungkook.

“Now at least I will have some proper desk space at the office,” You tried to joke which earned you a playful eye roll from Jungkook.

“Oh my god, I have to plan a farewell party for you now,” Mingyu joked and you laughed. For the whole lunch, this is the first time Jungkook noticed you genuinely smiling and it was all thanks to Mingyu’s dramatic nature.

The rest of the workday felt strangely off-balance. Even though nothing had technically changed yet, you felt the weight of the upcoming shift pressing down on you. The knowledge that soon, Jungkook wouldn’t be here anymore—wouldn’t be there to roll his eyes at Natasha’s ridiculous demands, wouldn’t be crashing at her desk with an iced coffee and a new piece of gossip, wouldn’t be around to share those unspoken glances when things got too absurd.

You had started hating how much that realization unsettled you.

It was Jungkook who got you out of your dazed thoughts when he said, “___, I have asked Namjoon hyung for the Cartier costing and he is working on it,”

You threw a sincere smile towards him and nodded while he went back on his desk and worked on some small projects he had going on.

gyu (work) [3pm]: are you okay?

Once you read the text, you immediately looked at him but he acted to be so engrossed in his work and you couldn’t help but look back into your phone and text back

you [3:01pm]: yeah, why?

gyu (work) [3:01pm]: you sure about that? ever since jk dropped that bomb, you have been quiet and so has he.

That got your attention. Were you that obvious?

you [3:02pm]: no nothing like that. im happy that he got this. he deserves it!! also when is the blue label bottle engraving costing going to the client? natasha has been on my ass about it since morning. send it asap please <33

gyu [3:03pm]: girl i gotta give it to you, nice attempt to change the convo but we aren’t done yet. ugh why are you my senior? im sending it in 5

By the time the day ended and finally the costings for Cartier had gone out (thanks to Jungkook and Joon), you had convinced yourself you were just being dramatic. People left jobs all the time. This wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mingyu and Shane had already left for the day and the design studio was also empty leaving only you and Jungkook in the client servicing department. For a Monday, people had left earlier than usual, you thought to yourself.

You looked at the clock and saw it was 7pm already.

While you packed your bags, like routine, Jungkook waited for you. He dropped you home everyday given that you both lived nearby and your apartment came on the way to his.

However, the silence between the two of you felt heavier than usual.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said as the two of you entered the elevator.

You forced a laugh and adjusted your purse, trying to look anywhere but at him. “So are you.”

The two of you exited the elevator and sat in his car, he started the engine. For the first time ever, the silence between the two of you was uncomfortable.

Jungkook sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he took the familiar route and said, “Are you really happy for me?”

You immediately turned to look at him, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Yes, I am. Why would you think I am not?”

His smile was small, a little sad. “Alright. You and I haven’t spoken much since lunch,”

You didn’t know why, but something in your chest ached at that. But you ignored it,  and looking towards and giving him a smile and said, “Jungkook, I am so happy for you. I am. I know you wanted this and now you have it,”

For the first time in the whole day, he smiled genuinely at you.

“Will you miss me?,” He asked as he stopped the car right out of your apartment and looked at you with his doe eyes that carry the sta-

Wait what?!

You ignored whatever that thought was and quickly composed yourself and laughed at him. “You wish I would miss you,” You joked playfully and he rolled his eyes.

“On a serious note, yes I will. Who will I tolerate Natasha with?” You continued and he let out a small chuckle.

“Anyway I have to go. See you tomorrow boss,” you finally said, and then you were gone, disappearing into the building.

Jungkook sat there for a moment, staring after you.

He knew you better than you thought. He knew when you were genuinely happy, when you were just pretending, when you were holding back something you didn’t want to say. And tonight, you were definitely holding back.

Jungkook sighed, leaning his head back against the car seat. Leaving this job was supposed to be exciting, a step up, an opportunity of a lifetime. And it was.

But why did it feel like he was losing something, too?

© foreignjaykay

[beatlblog]

#my mans was ready to do his and his trepanning#he would've been dead or arresred by like 25 if paul didn't have impulse control (via @pauls1967moustache)

#deserves more praise for his John-handling abilities (via @exhausted-think-bucket)

#only crime was extending his micromanaging to george (via @melllotune)

#i didn't choose the dogboy john life the dogboy john life chose me (via @eveepe)

#get that bitch an enclosure 😭😭😭 (via @loureeddyke)

#john is such a feral dog he need to be put on leash#who was it again that described him as a dog with rabies 😭#yoko and paul are actually v similar#micromanaged john’s life#while also sorta using him for achieving their target#im not saying that its a bad thing btw#reminds me of john’s be my baby cover#‘we’ll make them turn their head every place we go’ (via @lennon666)

#sighing the deepest sigh#he should have just been a leather pup (via @themagicalmysticalboy)

#the thing is#John doesn’t just let anyone ‘control’ or ‘manage’ him#quite the opposite#when yoko did it he became a walking skeleton who got on heroin#Paul was really the only one to have done it that I’ll agree was good for him#but Jesus fucking Christ can we pls as a fandom stop acting like paul is perfect with no flaws ?#it’s actually a bit concerning how many people flirt with the idea that John was nothing without him#and never forget that they are BOTH insane#Paul fortunately for him#knew how to handle and control his shit better (via @lennonsfag)

#Hamburg beatles would beat early Beatles (63-65) up (via @fearlessechoes)

#so fed up with beatles posting#but with the operation I’m running on this blog it seems like lying by omission to leave some gay stupid shit like this out#pride is OVER (for the beatles specifically) (via @iamsigningmylifeaway)

#what the fuuuuuck#John Lennon literally Paul’s bitch#who said that (via @80yearoldmanmoodboard)

#should have micromanaged even harder (via @protovulcans)

#he needed to be muzzled fr (via @spinnach)

#¿perdón? qué??????????????????? (via @biatels)

#John should have had a legal guardian#and I think for comedic reasons it should have been just a random guy named Steve (via @paulic)

#the way that this is Also Nashby. (via @lookoutjoe)

#prev in many ways nash and mccartney are the same person (via @tweeterwilbury)

#100% true#he had zero real world skills#just like gillian anderson btw (via @delinquentchoirboy)

#turns out John was putting himself on the leash already#wonder what kind of ‘show’ he put on#oh to have been a fly on the wall of that bar#J&P engaging in public petplay in the year of our lord 1960 (via @oneofthebeautifulpeople)

#being a beatles fan is being the“well actually...” person always (via @friends2go)

#they shouldve brought this back in 1969. that wouldve solved everything i think#beatles#also that john put the leash on himself and gave it to paul...... ok (via @unusable)

#yeah but was he a kitten or a puppy that’s the important question (via @austinedition)

#omg bastian was right (via @demon-donkey)

#and not even that worked (via @paulpropaganda)

#of course they'd do this in germany (via @normalbrothers)

#every new thing i learn about the beatles has me shaking my head like excuse me he did what#head in hands (via @angelontheatrain)

for me it tends to be I FUCKING KNEW IT

sorry but john lennon did indeed need to be micromanaged and people need to stop scorning paul for doing it like the second there were too many enablers around he started doing heroin