#purpose of autopsy

[passerinesoncaffeine]

GOD. I AM OBSESSED WITH HIM.

[majorasnightmare]

sits here thinking about all the fic ideas i have for my durge and isobel and punches a hole in the drywall because i have unmedicated Cant Focus Disorder

[quillheel]

@tenebriism // yusuke & akechi!

the contact was something unfamiliar with him.

perhaps that is why he was so insistent on saying something, even when a sluggishness unable to be hidden in precise carnelian eyes, dexterity faltering in what is often used by such precise hands, a darkness discoloring the undersides of skin like cheap, shiny decoration — paint applied with a sensitivity often lost on Akechi, but one that was not so easily when it applied to the flesh; attention unending, monitoring, almost clinical.

perhaps it was that then, the unexpected from someone he has learned what to expect from, that championed him onwards like a curse he was bound to — eternally, Akechi was cursed, or at least that's often how he thought he was. how strange it was, for that moment of pinpoint notice, the contact an unfamiliar heavy pressure 'pon his shoulder, then; clumsy compared to the specific phrasing Akechi was talented in puppeting to prompt it, more natural than he ever was; its removal & its explanation. — if Yusuke had explained it sooner, Akechi hadn't been listening.

Initially, Akechi does not understand ; a thing he hates. he bites back the part of him that, impulsive, hears the reason & motive and calls Yusuke foolish. Uncomprehending, a white-hot moment of unwillingness to try met with the unkillable part of Akechi that denies the mocking, as if he is better than Yusuke, his eternal knowing he is not ; before he sets himself upon the task of seeing it through the lens of something he better understands. critical eyes scanning the lines, the progression, nipping at the edges of strokes of graphite or ink in his effort to understand why this mattered, why this was worth it.

Akechi is leaned forward, the worn booth of Cafe LeBlanc shifting as if moving to follow Akechi's lead hovering above his shoulder in one of the fewest times Yusuke is harbored within it's walls, as he shifts closer to examine. the same one might examine wounds, understanding the hands that made them, understanding what they were at all. ( Akechi struggled with the concept that Yusuke, or anyone at all, and himself were at all alike, however to say they were not similar in such a manner as this would be untrue. Goro's attention artistic in of itself, in the intensity his eyes always have. perhaps that is why Yusuke liked him. maybe Yusuke didn't like him at all. )

a perfectly trimmed finger-nail nips at the barest edge of a line at the bottom of the page, not tearing at the medium used to apply it, but rather only a pressure to it; as if by sinking his claws in, he could know it. — know it better.

"that is…" intrigue begins to strike him, rattling up into his nerves. his nail indents deeper into the fiber of the paper, never breaking through, only pushing it down. he understands it in the way detectives understand evidence, the way Akechi understands everything, the way he has to. "interesting."

he reels himself in, realizing that for all his intrigues, he is still expected to be the reasonable one. Yusuke was eccentric, blindingly intelligent in the ways Akechi took time to fully know just beneath the surface, but depravation and exhaustion were just the same regardless. human things, unhealthy in their intentional pursuit. what kind of friend would he be if he allowed this to persist? ( not friends. never friends. the way he always hesitates. ) — how hypocritical of him.

"By all means." a hand waved, eyes glancing to Yusuke's in his familiarity with the request before finding themselves back at the page "How long have you been conscious, Yusuke-san? However in-depth, and fascinating this study is, your health is a vital priority."

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

all the conversations on my dash about marriage are soooo interesting to me!! I talked to my partner’s mom last night about my intention to propose to her son this week and one of the things we talked about was how there’s this really insidious aspect of white feminism that convinces us that marriage and family are shameful or stupid to want because the real things in life are outside the home (ie. working under capitalism). That belief has historical roots in anti blackness and the split between white feminists and black feminists back in the 60s/70s. And idk it’s just so interesting to see how my mom, who raised me with a very strong foundation of second wave feminism, influenced my perception of pursuing my own happiness in ways that feel authentic to me! I love hard! And I want to be surrounded by love for the rest of my life! But in the back of my head, the entire six years of my relationship, her voice has been saying “you don’t need a man, marriage is not something to aspire to because it makes you weak and dependent.” Which is just so interesting bc she’s never said those exact words, but that’s the messaging that we get from second wave/white feminism. The thing is that I DO need other people! Nobody is actually independent, and it is a myth created by capitalism to fracture communities so that every single person is financially motivated to secure their own safety/basic needs without ever needing to rely on anyone else! Everybody needs their own personal house, car, furniture, dishes, electronics, etc because sharing is inherently “undeveloped”.

I was talking to my therapist about this recently and I brought up New Romantics, and how being a young adult in a cultural setting informed strongly by second wave feminism really convinced me (and a lot of people) that the Liberated way to be a woman was to not care about seeking that life-long stability in a partner. That to be free meant never opening yourself up to the vulnerability of a marital commitment. Which then leads into the lavender haze thinking of “the only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife” which, by self-gaslighting, devalues marriage (she’s valid for this! We should not be put in boxes like that!).

Idk I just have been thinking a lot about the right to legally unite families, and how much power that union can have, and that there is in fact nothing Wrong with wanting to exercise the political right to choose your family. And I know, having worked with hundreds if not thousands of domestic violence survivors, how dangerous marriage can be. Being legally and financially bound to someone, especially if you haven’t been working outside the home during your marriage, can truly fuck up a person’s life and their ability to leave a situation. Idk I’m just thinking out loud, but to tie this all back into the conversations on here the last few days about Taylor and Travis, I just think that for some people, the reflexive horror at her potentially being engaged could be coming from a similar place of devaluing the pursuit of family/love in the context of a white feminist capitalist culture, which harms us all.

The revolution starts at home! And that doesn’t mean that nobody should be making commitments to each other ever!! And nobody should be forced or coerced into lifelong commitments, either. Pursuing and entering a marriage with someone who respects you, empowers you, wants to work together towards a shared vision of the future, listens to you, and shares responsibilities with you is an AMAZING thing! And as my partner’s mom said so simply to me last night: it deserves to be celebrated!!

[sayruq]

Police in the Turkish city of Adana detained 11 suspects, five Israeli and two Syrian, on allegations of organ trafficking, the Daily Sabah reported on 5 May. The Provincial Directorate of Security's Anti-Smuggling and Border Gates Branch began investigating after examining the passports of seven individuals who arrived in Adana from Israel about a month ago by plane for the purpose of health tourism. The two Syrian nationals, ages 20 and 21, were found to have fake passports. Further investigation revealed that Syrian nationals had each agreed to sell one of their own kidneys to two of the Israeli nationals, ages 68 and 28, for kidney transplants in Adana. During searches at the suspects' residences, $65,000 and numerous fake passports were seized. Israel has long been at the center of what Bloomberg described in 2011 as a “sprawling global black market in organs where brokers use deception, violence, and coercion to buy kidneys from impoverished people, mainly in underdeveloped countries, and then sell them to critically ill patients in more-affluent nations.” The financial newspaper added, “Many of the black-market kidneys harvested by these gangs are destined for people who live in Israel.” The organ-trafficking network extends from former Soviet Republics such as Azerbaijan, Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova to Brazil, the Philippines, South Africa, and beyond, the Bloomberg investigation showed. Accusations of Israeli involvement in organ trafficking also apply to the occupied Palestinian territories. In 2009, Sweden's largest daily newspaper, Aftonbladet, reported testimony that the Israeli army was kidnapping and murdering Palestinians to harvest their organs. The report quotes Palestinian claims that young men from the occupied West Bank and Gaza Strip had been seized by the Israeli army, and their bodies returned to the families with missing organs. "'Our sons are used as involuntary organ donors,' relatives of Khaled from Nablus said to me, as did the mother of Raed from Jenin as well as the uncles of Machmod and Nafes from Gaza, who all had disappeared for a few days and returned by night, dead and autopsied," wrote Donald Bostrom, the author of the report.Bostrom also cites an incident of alleged organ theft during the the first Palestinian intifada in 1992. He says that the Israeli army abducted a young man known for throwing stones at Israeli troops in the Nablus area. The young man was shot in the chest, both legs, and the stomach before being taken to a military helicopter, which transported him to an unknown location. Five nights later, Bostrom said, the young man's body was returned, wrapped in green hospital sheets. Israel’s Channel 2 TV reported that in the 1990s, specialists at Abu Kabir Forensic Medicine Institute harvested skin, corneas, heart valves, and bones from the bodies of Israeli soldiers, Israeli citizens, Palestinians, and foreign workers without permission from relatives. The Israeli military confirmed that the practice took place, but claimed, "This activity ended a decade ago and does not happen any longer." Israel’s assault on Gaza since 7 October has provided further opportunities for the theft and harvesting of Palestinians’ organs. On 30 January, WAFA news agency reported that the Israeli army returned the bodies of 100 Palestinian civilians it had stolen from hospitals and cemeteries in various areas in Gaza. According to medical sources, inspection of some of the bodies showed that organs were missing from some of them. On 18 January, the Times of Israel reported that the Israeli army confirmed reports that its soldiers dug up graves in a Gaza cemetery, claiming its soldiers were trying to “confirm that the bodies of hostages were not buried there.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him instead of using reversed technique

Pairing: husband! Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, Yuji's "death" scnene in season 1, blood lol

Thank you dear anon for aggressively reminding me that it's canon for Gojo to not have any scars, it really helped me cooking up that fic! 🤍

Every step feels like hell, the only thing that keeps you from collapsing onto the floor being the reassuring hand of your husband on your shoulder.

This can’t be true, it’s just impossible. Yuji Itadori was a member of Jujutsu High for a few weeks, just started to get to know this world better. This was supposed to be an easy mission, the three of them should have made it out alive with ease. But apparently, Sukuna decided to show up. And apart from injuring Megumi, he violently took Yuji’s life by ripping his heart out. A heart made of pure gold, a heart so precious that you couldn’t help but care for that boy the minute you saw him.

But now he’s dead.

Your hands start shaking immediately the minute you step into this cursed room you visited far too often, gazing at Yuji’s body covered by a cloak. This isn’t a bad dream. No, the blood covering the white cloak tells you more than urgently that Yuji Itadori isn’t there anymore.

“Please tell me that there’s a chance he’ll come back”, you mutter.

Oh, how much both Shoko and Satoru hate to see you like that. It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High how deeply you care about your students, loving them like your own children. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen a student die in front of your eyes. In times like these, jujutsu sorcerers pass away like flies. But Satoru knows what you’ve seen in Yuji, that he somehow reflected parts of yourself. And still, you weren’t able to protect that boy, both Satoru and you coming too late to rescue him.

“I really wish I could, but he shows no signs of life. I’ll move on to autopsy now. If you want to say goodbye…Maybe do it now and leave afterwards.”

Satoru wraps his arms around you just in time before you slide onto the ground, holding you tightly against his chest.

“This is not fair”, you breathe out, head still not able to accept Yuji’s farewell.

He was so young, so full of life. He doesn’t deserve to die, he still had so much ahead of him. There needs to be something you are able to do. Aren’t Satoru or Shoko able to use their cursed technique?

“He didn’t show any signs of life for hours by now, (y/n). Not even Shoko or me are able to bring him back to life. I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against your ear out of nowhere.

So this is really how it ended? With Yuji getting killed by none other than Sukuna himself? Like in trance, your wobbly legs carry you to the autopsy table his lifeless body lays on. You want to stretch out your arm, want to look at that precious boy one last time before Shoko does her job.

But you can’t.

“I can’t look at him”, you blurt out.

With a swift motion, you turn around and burry your face against your husband’s chest.

“It’s okay babe, just look at me, okay? You don’t have to do this.”

Satoru’s arms keep you from losing yourself completely, soak up your falling tears while his head rests against yours. Oh Yuji, you’ll never be forgotten. All the laughter’s both of you shared, his potential, how he always cared about others. You will think about him every time the sun starts to rise, when new students get greeted, when you kill another curse-

“Hey, what’s up? Huh, what are both of you doing here, Gojo-sensei?”

This voice…

That was Yuji Itadori.

Out of instinct you turn around rapidly, not even noticing how the back of your head crushes into Satoru’s forehead with full force. He sees starts, blood taking his sight in an instant while his mind isn’t even able to comprehend it was Yuji who just spoke.

“Yuji! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re back!”, you babble out, embracing the boy in a tight hug.

“To be honest I don’t even know what happened last and I’m pretty hungry…Oh, you’re bleeding Gojo-sensei!”

You’re…bleeding? You turn around in confusion, following Yuji’s eyes.

“OMG SATORU!”, you cry out, the sight of your husband covered in his own blood shocking you to your core.

When did that happened…Was it…you?

“I guess you were so happy to see Itadori that you’ve forgot about me standing behind you”, he mutters amused.

“Babe I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so carried away and-“

“Don’t worry about me. Reversed technique, remember? I’ll be whole in seconds. Just look after Yuji, I love you.”

You let out the breath you were holding, the bright smile forming on your gorgeous face making Satoru forget the world around him for a moment. You are so caring, so passionate. And you are his wife.

“I’m a lucky man”, he mutters to himself while pressing the tissue Shoko handed him against his wound.

There you sit, gently caressing Yuji’s cheeks and asking him over and over if he’s okay.

“You really are. This isn’t a problem for you, right?”, Shoko questions with one glance at the laceration on his forehead.

The shocked look on your face replays itself over and over in his mind, lets a chuckle escape his lips. With the help but his reversed technique, it would be way too easy to get rid of that minor wound. Within seconds, there wouldn’t even be a scar left, just his flawless skin. But…it was you who did this to him out of sheer excitement. It sure would be nice to look into the mirror and get reminded of you daily, right?

“Oh, I might as well keep that”, he replies with a sly grin.

- a few weeks later -

You sit on the edge of the couch, desperately waiting for that time of the day. Even after being married to that force of a man for 4 years now, you find yourself getting all excited when he announces that he’s going to shower. Because going to shower means that he’ll come out just wearing boxers with his body still a little wet and his hair sticking to his face in that delicate way.

“Still waiting for me, huh? It’s not like you can see me naked every time you want, babe”, he finally purrs.

Your heart skips a beat. This man…How is it even allowed to look so breathtakingly gorgeous? The way a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, how he gently strokes his damp hair back.

Wait. You squint your eyes a little harder. What is that on his forehead?

“What do you have there?”, you question, rubbing your own hand against the ride side of your forehead.

This almost looks like a scar. But Satoru shouldn’t have scars. After all, he’s able to use reversed technique, healing himself in the matter of seconds. Is it just dirt? No, that definitely looks like scar tissue.

“Oh, it’s nothing”, he immediately tries to brush you off, pulling his hair back into his face.

“No way Romeo, come back here right now”, you demand.

With a swift motion you lift yourself off the couch and hunt after him.

“Is that a scar?”

“It might be…”

“Why didn’t you just heal it? Show it to me!”

When you finally catch him, you slick his hair back again. Only to be greeted what indeed looks like a middle-sized scar. But why and how did this happen, why didn’t he just heal like he usually does?

“You really don’t know where this came from?”, he challenges you.

You blink a few times. What the hell is your husband talking about?

“Why would I know where this came from?”

“Because it was you, (y/n)?”, he playfully bites back.

You? Your mind races, searching for a single moment you ever hurt your husband. You were never really able to even hurt him, no matter how berserk you went in training. When was the last time you even wounded him? But wait, there was this one time you made him bleed, that one time when…

“This was when Yuji woke up-“

“EXACTLY!”, Satoru cries out and gives you a round of applause.

“But why did you keep it? You said you’d be able to heal it…”

“Because I didn’t want to. This scar right here”

Gently, he takes your hand in his and traces the soft scar with your fingertips.

“will always remind me of what a wonderful human being you are.”

Oh. Your eyes turn glossy in an instant, staring up at your loving husband while he gifts you with the most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen.

“Satoru”, you breathe out.

There is no time to waste. You wrap your longing arms around his tall frame tightly, aiming to never let him go again.

“Every time I look into the mirror, I think about my wonderful wife”, he mutters into your hair.

“Y’know, you could just take a picture of me or something-“

“No. I would rather just keep that scar of my wonderful wife smacking me over a student.”

You hit him playfully over his comment, a giggle escaping your precious lips.

“Come on, it wasn’t like that…”

“I’ll always tell the story like this.”

Tags: @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp@localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo

Dividers by @saradika 🤍

[fairuzfan]

Also re:necropolitics of israel (click)

A few days ago there were reports of Israeli soldiers "returning" bodies of martyrs they took like just straight up from Gaza. Here is a report about bodies being stolen from al-Shifa (click).

The director of Al-Shifa had reported the bodies being stolen back in November (click) before his arrest. The hospital workers mentioned not knowing why the soldiers would do that. The speculation of the photo-op arose because the photo-op of October 7th within Israel happened a month and a half after October 7th, after the Al-Shifa raid. People (Palestinians) noted that the level of violence done to the bodies seemed similar to what they had been seeing with the bombs in Gaza, and found it hard to believe that Hamas could inflict that much damage. There was a thread that was examining this idea but I haven't found it as it's been a bit. If I find it, I'll comment on this post.

But even then, Israel routinely makes corpses serve out their sentences or even outright steals them for the sake of enacting psychological torture onto the relatives of the martyr (click). The burial process is an essential step in mourning and grief, which means by withholding the bodies, they ensure that the family is unable to recover emotionally from the death of their loved one nor are they allowed to move on. This is essentially a form of ensuring that people are unable to resist as the emotional toll this takes on them is quite high.

A variety of reports and testimonies are linked in this article regarding the harvesting and removal of organs throughout the years by Israel (click). The most damning of the evidence is a testimony by Dr. Meira Weiss in her book "Over Their Dead Bodies." The article has a translated passage from Hebrew about the period at the turn of the century and their practices then (roughly 1996-2002):

“They would take corneas, skin, and heart valves, while noting that non-professionals would not notice the absence of these organs as they would place something plastic in place of the corneas and ‘take’ the skin from the back so that the family wouldn’t see it. In addition, the bodies of detained martyrs are used in medical colleges at Israeli universities for research purposes.” Weiss confirmed that “in the first Intifada, the army effectively allowed the institute to extract organs from Palestinians under a military procedure that required the autopsy of a Palestinian prisoner. The autopsy procedure was accompanied by organ removal, which was used by the Israeli Skin Bank established in 1985 to treat burns suffered by Israeli soldiers. This was after the Chief Rabbinate Council issued a ruling legitimizing it, which led to saving the lives of many Israelis who were injured during attacks on Palestinian citizens, continuous assaults, and wars — at the expense of Palestinian martyrs, according to specialized Israeli medical sources for burn treatment.”

It's worthy to note: as an occupying force especially, Israel should not be doing ANYTHING with these bodies and just returning them to the families. I've seen some people say "they didn't JUST harvest Palestinians' organs, they also harvested Israeli organs." It doesn't matter. They are an occupying force that enacts systematic violence on Palestinians especially and within this context, anything Israel does towards Palestinians is a targeted, racialized violence. It is widely known that Israel denies crimes it has committed until many, many years, especially from during the Nakba, such as well poisoning.

People provide evidence that organs can't be used after a certain point in time.... in this context (October 2023-December 2023), it's not about whether or not the organs were used for anything. It is specifically for the purpose of body desecration which Israeli soldiers especially have not been shy about. Here is a report during the bulldozer massacre in which people report that Israeli soldiers run over bodies for no other reason than desecration (click).

Also, remember the grave desecration that happened a few days ago? It was reported that they had stolen bodies believed to belong to young Palestinian activists then (click). This is widely known as 'necroviolence' on Palestinian bodies in order to humiliate them (click).

You cannot remove the context of an oppressive force (Israel) that is documented to have disrespected graves and bodies. You must analyze it within this context, not any others. Withholding bodies of Palestinians, no matter what they did while they were alive, is a form of disrespect and oppression on a subjugated population. To deny that this happens and to attribute it to antisemitism is not only disrespectful of Palestinians' mourning rights, but also an effort to remold the narrative into one of "Jewish people against Palestinians" by emphasizing the Jewishness of the occupying force rather than focusing on... you know... the fact that they're an occupying force known to enact violence on Palestinian martyrs.

[croquis-el]

We all know the fact that Naruhodou (Wright) passed the bar exam to get the opportunity to face Mitsurugi (Edgeworth) in court.

This is all, as it seems at first glance, naive, a little retrospective, selfish, romantic, and so on. However, no matter how clinging to the past Naruhodou may seem, is he really that loyal and forgiving to his old childhood friend?

Nothing like that. Nah. Not a chance.

When Mitsurugi is first mentioned by Detective Itonoko in an office conversation in the Turnabout Sisters (jp. 逆転姉妹), we are given two answer options - first: Of course i don't know him, second: Of course, I know him.

If we choose the first option, the detective will tell us a little backstory about the prodigy prosecutor and express the opinion that it is strange that Naruhodou hasn't heard about him. To which Naruhodou will answer that he simply feigned ignorance and will express his opinion about the prosecutor in an internal monologue.

If we choose the second option, Naruhodou will loudly share his immodest conclusions about Mitsurugi, which will displease the detective.

Even the beginning of the meeting is accompanied by Naruhodou’s thoughts that he must not relax and show weakness, otherwise Mitsurugi will swallow him alive.

From the very beginning, Naruhodou isn't in the mood to play on emotions and press on pity, instead preparing himself for the worst.

He understands that time spent together in childhood is not an argument or a reason to start a conversation.

The entire court hearing is accompanied by Naruhodou's evaluative comments about Mitsurugi - he curses him, out loud questions some of the actions of the prosecutor (updated autopsy report), calls and interrogates inconvenient witnesses for the prosecution (Mitsurugi doesn't want me to question the witness, but I don't care), answers him with the same barbs (Wasn't it you who told me "proof is everything"? Well, I was listening.), denounces the collusion of the prosecution with the witnesses, protests against the postponement of the hearings in order to prevent manipulation of the evidence, in general, by any means, unbalances Mitsurugi.

He is literally: Is there something you don’t like? I don't care.

In the next case - Turnabout Samurai (jp. 逆転のトノサマン), Detective Itonoko is angry at Naruhodou for upsetting the prosecutor, but his response is not remorseful: "Umm... so?"

During the first day of the hearing, Naruhodou literally laughs at the confrontation between the prosecution and his own witness ("Wow, old windbag has left even Mitsurugi speechless. She's good!" or "Mitsurugi found himself a worthy opponent"). He also sincerely doesn't understand why Mitsurugi’s behavior has changed, and he seems out of place, but he doesn't stop creating problems for the prosecution.

He doesn't soften towards him until the Turnabout Goodbyes (jp. 逆転、そしてサヨナラ), in which Mitsurugi becomes his client, and even later, when they begin to build a trusting relationship, Naruhodou does not make concessions for Mitsurugi and does not bend under his pressure.

So, Naruhodou did pass a very difficult exam to gain access to the courtroom, but he essentially created a hopeless situation for Mitsurugi. In the conditions of the court hearing, the prosecutor had no other chance than to listen to the arguments of the defense. Naruhodou may not have addressed Mitsurugi directly at first, saying that his ideology was terrible, but he did, proving with his words and actions right in the halls of the law that this is not how things are done and there is a limit to cruelty. He calmly used the letter of the law and jurisprudence - the language that Mitsurugi respects and lives by.

Defeat your opponent with his own weapon when you think he is wrong.

Naruhodou is a stubborn, purposeful, and quite strict person of character who lives without regrets, takes big risks, and doesn't allow himself to relax in any difficult situation.

He is gorgeous.

P.S. I don’t have some screenshots from the court and from the office because I don’t have the English version of the game, and in the video the author did not check all the options (I don’t blame the author, thank her for screenrecord)

[creatingblackcharacters]

Just to set the record for everyone wanting to draw Black vampires/zombies/the undead, bc it's come up a bit:

Black people do not get lighter skinned when we die!

Not that I expect a lot of y'all to have seen a corpse laid out for autopsy, but like... DO NOT LIGHTEN THAT PERSON'S SKIN!!! We are not chameleons- we do not change color when we die! I lived caramel brown, I'll die caramel brown lmao (unless I have vitiligo, which is different).

I've discussed it before, but what changes is the PALLOR of the skin, due to the loss of blood thats usually close to the surface. When you lose that blood (bc your hearts not pumping, bc you're dead), the complexion will look different without it. That's how Black and Brown people can still blanch (losing blood in the face, a physiological response to mortification or fear) and blush (a physiological response to many things). That's not the changing of the skin color itself.

If you want to make your zombies green for cartoon purposes, that's fine. But if you're trying to express "realistic" decomp, we're not turning white. This is the one time having your Black characters be desaturated, or have more of their undertone showing, makes sense. Please refer to my lesson Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life 👍🏾

[troloxyn]

Self Control. (Jason Todd x Reader)

TW- Smut, drinking!!

One night at a party, you and Jason hook up, and now you're both too afraid to speak to one another. That is until he decides to help you with homework two weeks later, breaking the silence.

Listen, I haven't been able to do any school work because my mind decided it HAD to finish this first. so i hope yall enjoy! Deadass over five thousand words, I think my brain melted a little bit writing this.

Word count: 5,366

--

Having aspirations outside of vigilantism was ideal, as long as you could keep up with the pressure. Piles of overdue assignments, paperwork, case studies and unread emails clawed at her from inside of her computer. You should have something outside of your nightlife escapades- it was encouraged, expected. Keeping up with the workload was just second nature. Which right now, she could not. If she gave into the pressure of her inability to focus, she would have dropped out of her bachelors classes two semesters ago. However, the eating force of fear of failure won her over. Not only was she not one to accept failure, her entire ride to college was free- on behalf of the Wayne estate- and she definitely couldn’t disappoint him of all people. 

This one was destroying her. A case study in her criminal psychology class. If the world hadn’t moved digitally, her entire desk would be littered with notes. She avoided this project on purpose- and now that she came to face it, she realized perhaps waiting until a week before it was due was giving herself too much credit. She whisked through photos, police reports, fake-autopsies, psychologist interviews- the pages were on a never ending loop. She was tearing her hair out by the time she made it to the end of the information portion, her wrist becoming sore from endless clicking. Time to focus. Lock the fuck in, girl, she tried to tell herself. 

“How’s the six figure amount of debt going?” 

She jumped out the sound of his voice, turning in her chair to face him. Standing in the door frame, leaned against the wooden, cherry kissed wall of the library with his arms crossed. Of course, he looked incredible. She could tell he just got back from the gym, his sleeveless black shirt over his toned frame and a pair of gray sweatpants she wouldn’t let him walk out of the house in if they were a couple. His face gleamed as if he was sweating, his hair pushed back in a mess. She didn’t do a double take because she knew she’d lose some form of her composure. 

The other reason she couldn’t focus. 

“Great, considering I'm not paying for it.” She scooted closer to her computer, as if it could pull her away from his magnetizing grip on her. She could feel his eyes behind her in the grazing of an awkward, heavy silence. 

“So, what are you working on?” 

One could say the two had gotten closer within the past couple of months. Before, he practically ignored her. As they got closer, their main interactions were chastising her over being late to school. Scolding her, as if Bruce didn’t do it enough. It was never condescending- when she slept in for classes, Jason would be pounding on her door or dragging her out of bed. 

The pressure caused by him came to a halt, though, after a drunken night of intimacy. Now she was definitely waking up late for school. She’d gotten sort of used to him forcing her out of bed.  It was an accident, she thinks to herself over and over every time her body recalled his touch. That’s what was really bothering her. The two would meet eyes around others and he wouldn’t tease her the way he usually did- something lingered behind his gaze and it bothered her- the way their eyes would meet when everyone got together. The way she’d catch him looking over at her from across the room- even before that night, but more often now. Neither of them spoke about it, she didn’t think they really had the guts to. Besides him initiating a few conversations, they haven’t talked at all. It happened rather quickly between them. He had her in the bathroom on the sink, tearing off her dress and squeezing her exposed breasts, his thick and strong legs pressed between her thighs so intimately. Bites all over her neck- bites that certainly bruised her collarbone and shoulders, uncaring for her sleeveless dress as long as it came off. A party on the outside, people babbling in conversation and music blaring louder than Bruce would have liked. Dick had poured heavy drinks that night. In those moments, nothing else mattered. It was between Jason and her, the clothes he was tearing off of her and all the frustrations he’d ignored. His free hand around the back of her neck, forcing her into a sloppy, messy, kiss- her lathered moans of excitement and the friction of his jeans to her thin panties. Quieting her with his lips, drenching her entire face with kisses. rubbing her swollen clit, unzipping his jeans- slipping her panties to the side, pushing himself in. Her gasping, parted lips and wide eyes- “Shush, baby- fuck- They’re gonna hear us-“

“A case study,” she replied, snapping out of her memories into reality. She could feel his presence behind her chair, feeling a hand come onto its back rest, gently making contact with her incidentally. She cleared her throat. “It’s a research project and a case study. It’s very long. I decided to ignore it for.. a while.” 

He hummed. “Shouldn’t be too hard. We’re used to this kind of stuff anyway.” 

“It’s not that,” she replied, scooting away from his touch. “It’s uh- Just can’t focus.” 

“That’s no excuse.” She rolled her eyes at his comment. She tried not to look at him too much- His ungloved, veined hands that trailed up to his tight arms. His fingers tapped one by one on her desk. He towered over her, he was so huge- “You need help?” 

“Help? No way,” she replied. She could smell whatever cologne he was wearing and she remembered it vividly from that night. She cleared her throat awkwardly, laughing a little at his suggestion in sheer intimidation of his looming  presence. “No. I wouldn’t want to bother you with this.”

He shrugged. Finding an excuse to at least be around her since it all happened. “I ‘ont got shit else to do. Plus, might be fun. You got other homework?” 

She cried, shrinking into her arms. “Fighting with you guys and being a college student- I don’t know which is gonna kill me first.” 

He was silent for a little bit and it ate at her. She was anticipating a sly remark, a comment about needing to get her life together, pull yourself up by the bootstraps, not an invasive silence- 

“You should be proud. It’s not easy.” 

His comment almost left her crippled. 

“Huh?” She looked back at him, giving him a look. He immediately froze up, frowning at her, flustered by her reaction. “Dammit- I try to be nice for once- I’m saying you’re doing a good job. I certainly couldn’t give a fuck enough to do what you do.” She smiled a bit and turned back to her screen. 

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He smacked his lips and leaned in closer to read the text on her screen, shaking his head. “Don’t be weird. I won’t do it again.” 

Except, that wasn’t the nicest thing he’d said to her. Maybe while sober, but that night in the bathroom through the suffocated echoes of laughter and music, he practically fawned over her. Spilling words of affection, calling her a goddess, treating every part of her body with an intense passion she didn’t expect he held for her. She’d never expected him to be like this, thrusting himself into her and gripping her ass tightly, mouth pressed against one another and still looking for oxygen through painted moans. Kissing every area of exposed skin he could breathe near, worshiping her body like it was a drying resource. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he moaned, pulling back while fucking her into the sink to get a look at her taking him. His thumb brushed her clit with enough force to form a knot in her stomach.  “J-jason-” He cut her off moans with more kisses, never stopping his rhythm.  “Better be quiet, baby,” he said through her lips. “You want this whole house to know what I’m doing to you?” Her moans were muffled by her whining, biting her lips closed as he looked into her eyes. “You want everyone to know how good I’m fucking you?” She nodded her head yes, barely able to manage the words out of her desperate mouth and he chuckled. “Oh yeah?” His voice made the knot in her stomach tighten like a balled fist. He could see it in her face and feel it inside of her, each word he spoke and every thrust she was being knocked over the edge. “Keep up them pretty moans then, baby, everyone’s gonna know who’s making you feel this good-” Her moans peaked and through his drunken state he wondered if anyone really heard them in here. He couldn’t care less, being knuckle deep into the girl he’d had dreams about for months and constantly stealing looks when he thought she didn’t notice. “You gonna cum for me, baby? That’s it, keep going, I won’t stop until you do.”

She wondered how he could act so cordial now. 

She didn’t forget any moment of that night. How they took shots together from a nearly failed mission, how they argued over comics, how they fought or threw their jackets at each other. How during their fake fight, he picked her up by her legs, slamming her into the couch. How easily he moved her around, how huge he was in comparison. How his arms felt on her body. How she swore she could totally beat his ass and how they had to fight- she just wanted him to put his hands on her for some reason, badly. How he had opened up to her in such a way she hadn’t seen before. How she noticed that night how incredibly handsome his smile was, or how his eyes gleamed in an almost squint when he laughed. How Dick had teased him for fighting with her. How when the party got louder and they kept talking and stumbling into each other, giggling and pushing each other into walls. Or how she’d pulled him into the bathroom and almost immediately were kissing, pressing into each other’s bodies like they’d been together for years. How the next day they couldn’t even look at each other. 

“Why don’t you start by organizing your sources? I can help with the interviews,” he said, snapping her out of her day dream. “You’re really gonna help me?” “Don’t think you could do it without me,” he smiled, something she didn’t catch him doing often. 

After a solid thirty minutes of reading, she realized she was going in circles. Each part of the overlapping case study was drowned out by the wretched banter of her memories. It felt impossible to not steal glances at him. Ever so often she would feel eyes on her and she would let him stare- moments at a time felt like minutes, they traded glances awkwardly.  She watched him as he intensely scrolled on the spare laptop, taking physical notes in one of her journals. His fist propping up his head as he wrote, eyebrows knitted in concentration. Recently, she started to notice how handsome he was. How the intensity of his personality took over his dark features in contrast to that pretty smile he gave when he was drinking the other night. He looked up at her, catching her stare red handed and she smiled. “How’s it coming?” She asked. She felt flustered and nervous, unable to diminish the little smiles that came to her face as she took glances at him. He closed the notebook and stretched his hands into the air, lifting his black shirt to reveal some of his stomach. “I should be asking you that,” he said in a yawn. “What’s the matter? Still can’t focus?” He asked. She shook her head no. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she muttered with an awkward laugh, turning back to her computer. She knew exactly what was wrong with her- and so did he. 

“Lemme’ see,” He said, sliding past her to her computer. Now they were dangerously close- his arm going underneath hers to reach her keyboard, their hands brushing against one another so he could move the mouse. They stayed like this for a few minutes, slowly getting closer to one another, his broad shoulders near her face. Gently, she placed her temple against his shoulder, scooting closer to him. She noticed him stop typing, the silence in the room drowned out by her laptop’s fans thudding every now and then. Snapping his concentration once more and putting him more on edge than he thought she could, “Do you wanna sit?” She asked. “We can sit together,” she was being bold.

 For ignoring his existence for almost two weeks, she had an awful lot of forced confidence. That whiplash scarred him, made his stomach turn, assuming he heard her incorrectly. He thought maybe he came off too strong that night, in the bathroom- perhaps it was the way he talked to her while he fucked her. Maybe it threw her off, perhaps he said too much. He was a passionate man and she had gotten a hold of him at the height of his yearning. She wanted to be close to him again- even if not in the same way, to be engulfed by his arms might be enough to help her focus. He agreed with great hesitation, feeling flustered and unlike himself. It wasn’t often when he felt put on edge, and everything about her was making something in him tick. Her soft touches, whatever perfume or shampoo she used, her quiet hums while she tried to work. He almost resented her for making him feel so self conscious. 

Watching her sit down into his lap, biting down on his tongue. For two weeks, ever since that night, he’d been trying to suppress the feelings that got worse with time. Confusion, anxiety, yearning for her all over again. He had a whiplash that he couldn’t lick to heal like other wounds. Approaching her was incredibly difficult, especially since she’d disappear whenever he came around. Months of dreaming about her in those positions were taken to reality and he savored every moment of licking up her body and taking her over and over again- but when he had felt that coldness from her, he wished he hadn’t even been there that night. He would have rather suffered in silence longer than for her to not talk to him. The night of the party was an accident, sure, but not a bad one- just not one he would’ve expected. Not one he knew how to confront properly. How could he be around her and act like nothing happened that night, when he had to cover her mouth to not let veracious moans leak out of the bathroom? Neither of them expected it to get to that point. He didn’t know where it came from. He had a certain amount of self control, self control that was tested- self control that failed with every racking thrust he slammed into her. He thought about it almost every minute of every day, slamming inside of her and grabbing her hair, the way she moaned and sighed in appreciation- the way his name rolled off her tongue like an orgasm building up in his body-

He had to stop thinking about it. He could feel an erection press his sweats and he huffed, moving her away from his crotch with ease. What was he doing here anyway? He wanted to talk to her- he’s wanted to since it happened- but it was too much to confront. Everytime he even got near her he could sense her discomfort. Dick asked him about her several times after that night. “Everybody knew you guys were flirting. You were body slamming her into the couch and twirling her around, and then you guys disappeared for an hour-” He was nervous, maybe even scared of her emotions, not knowing if she resented him for that night. But the way she was leaning back for comfortability against his chest, and the way she held onto his free arm so innocently, he sincerely doubted it now. With an arm wrapped around her waist, she moved back to the center of his lap. 

Maybe they would just never bring it up, he thought. Maybe they’ll just keep moving forward and with disdain or limerence for one another. He didn’t wanna do this every couple of weeks without talking to her in between, or having to pretend a part of him wasn’t deeply infatuated by her. He felt her shift and he could’ve let out a whimper- he had a feeling she knew what he was doing and it was torturing him. A hand fell to her thigh. He traced it a bit, as if it were casual- he was beginning to get light headed. She wore a skirt and thigh highs, so he played with the elasticity of her socks, snapping them onto her skin gently. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, his heart pounding like it was his first time. From over her shoulder, He looked at her thighs. He remembered that night, spreading them apart and pounding her. He buried his face into her neck, his member twitching from the memory, her smell, her ass pressing and shifting on him. He knew she could feel it and now he wanted to ask her all of those questions he had asked that same night while he had her on the sink.

 His hands slid down her thigh, squeezing them firmly, lightly parting them over his knees. She hummed. It was rather meak and it made him nervous with excitement. “Hmm?” He asked. “You’re distracting me,” she told him. Not like she didn’t enjoy it. 

“Excuses,” he mumbled into her neck. “What you need to do is focus.” He said, traveling further up her body. Bold, very bold. She could feel tightness in her stomach and her face flush with heat. “I’m trying,” she stuttered out as he explored more coverage of her thigh. His fingers traced her flesh, drawing closer and closer to her skirt. “Good,” he huffed. “Keep going.” His voice was more gentle than it usually was, slower and muffled into her shoulder. He watched as she organized her work, skipping through her case file and summarizing the prompt questions. His hands met her panties and her entire body tensed, he watched as she began to mistype on her keyboard and fumble with commands. Through the cloth of her panties, he felt damp fabric as he slid down her slit, coming back up and making full circles around her clit with his other hand squeezing her thigh. He held her thighs open with his own, fully spread out, only covered by the cloth of her skirt. She whined, hummed, mumbled his name, shifted against his stiff erection. “Why’d you stop typing?” He asked, his fingers in locomotion. She whined through closed lips, thighs twitching and tensing against his own. “Jason- It feels good-” “You’re gonna get in trouble if you don’t finish that work, girl.” He taunted her, quick but heavy moans escaping her lips. “Keep goin’,” he demanded. She did as she was told, trying to write sentences through a building orgasm. He could feel it from the way her thighs tensed and how her back arched that she was close. He wanted to give it to her so badly it made him ache, make her cum over and over again- he didn’t know if it was right, if they could be friends after this. He didn’t know if he could watch her act like he didn’t do these things to her after it was over. Was this worth whatever relationship they had left? Even as he contemplated it, his hands couldn’t stop roaming. He couldn’t fake it- he couldn’t act like he didn’t want her and he wouldn’t, either. He watched as she struggled to type and flip through files on her computer. “Good job, baby. You’re being sucha’ good girl.” He kissed her ears as she let out a soft moan, slipping his free hand up her loose fitted shirt, going under her bra. “Jason- I’m-” “Keep saying it, say my name again,” the friction of their clothes were making him raw with desperation, bucking his hips up as she melted onto him. He felt her tense up, longer than before, letting out a sigh of his name, gripping the sides of the chair and the mouse. He continued to touch the fabric covering her swollen clit, letting her ride out her orgasm as he kissed her face. The way she moaned and moved around in his lap could make anyone fall in love, he thought. That was dangerous. She was pressed completely into his back, humming his name, touching his face with her soft hands. He brought his fingers back to that sweet spot, making her finish even faster the second time. He could feel the dampness on her thighs, sweating onto his pants and he hadn’t even fingered her. 

He stood up, holding her by her waist as he did so, bending her back over the keyboard. “Keep working, baby. Don’t mind me, okay?” He kissed the sides of her face while he was pressed against her back. She heard his sweatpants shift as she worked his boxers. She tried to look back but he grabbed her face, pushing it down into the screen. “Work,” he ordered, more intensely this time. With her bent over her keyboard, her lifted skirt exposed her thin panties, working them halfway down her thighs. He removed his member from his boxers, precum staining his clothes and dripping from the tip. “What are you working on now, baby?” He asked. His voice made knots in her stomach as she tried to flip through pages and explain what she was doing. Her mouth parted to speak but was interrupted as his erection poked through her thighs, rubbing against her leaking mess. He had a strong grip on her ass, moving her hips back and forth on his cock, watching the gleam from her soaked cunt make noises. He moved slowly and with ease, her thighs were soaked from his teasing. “T- I’m- I’m working- Trying to-” He gave her ass a firm slap. “Speak up,” he groaned. His cock ached with every sliding motion, he could probably cum himself but he held back, satiating every movement. “The introduction- to my- my um..,” she panted. He laughed as she scrambled through her moans. “Please, Jason?” He hummed in appreciation. He kept working his dick back and forth against her slit, pushing himself faster each time from pure bliss. Now he was a moaning mess, low groans he tried to silence as he fucked her thighs. “Keep working,” he huffed. “You still have so much to do. You’ve been waking up late every day for classes, and you expect me to let you get away with that?” He watched as she cried, trying to type and retain information. Her brain, too distracted by his aching cock pleasing himself between her. She wanted to protest, to blame him for not waking her up like she’d gotten used to. So spoiled of her. Firmly she squeezed her thighs, earning a moan from his parted lips, stroking her hair with his free hand and tightly gripping it. With a quick gasp, he pulled her face back, kissing her gently. “I missed you,” he mumbled into her mouth. She almost didn’t hear him but she spoke through his moaning kisses when it registered. “I missed you so much, Jason,” he was now squeezing her breasts and rocking against her hips, steady moans he didn’t care to suppress anymore. “I thought about you everyday,” he admitted. “I thought about you in every single way.” He moaned, bending to kiss the back of her shoulders, trailing down her neck to the sensitivity of her spine. His words earned a yearning cry from her, and the part that wasn’t enjoying every engulfing moan of hers felt a slight dread about their future. As he kissed her shoulders, he wondered if she would come back to him after this. If they would be able to be normal like how it was before. Her back arched from the sweetness of his lips as he ran his hands underneath her clothes. Great, he thought. Go ahead and say a bunch of sweet shit to the girl you won’t talk to for the next month.

Pulling out his soaked member from her thighs, with ease, he pushed himself into her. Honest, drawn moans escaped their lips, saliva trailing from their lips as they departed. He grabbed her hips, forcing her down into the keyboard once more, taking in every part of her soaked cunt and moaning her name. She shifted, struggled against his hips, his length believably long for a man of his stature- something she was not used to. “C’mon, baby. Take it for me, like before,” He cooed, keeping his hand firm on her back as he fucked her, louder, sloppier moans of pain and pleasure from him poking parts of her that had only been reached by him. He was so different when they had sex, she had realized. So sweet and affectionate, intensely passionate and loving. Meekly she reached her hand to his hip, stopping his motion momentarily- he chuckled, grabbing ahold of the hand and holding it to her back. “What’s wrong? Can’t take it?” He asked through thrusts that made her unable to form words.  “Jason- feels so good, it’s so much,” she stuttered out, rocking her hips slowly. He grabbed her other arm, holding her back like a pair of handcuffs as his breathing hitched.

 “Oh yeah?” He asked. “You want me to keep going?” He said, slowing his thrusts. Her hips rocked promptly against his throbbing member, “please, please don’t stop,” she mumbled, her face now down into the coldness of the Wayne manor’s library desk. “No problem, sweetheart,” he spoke with confidence, picking up his speed, giving her no time to adjust. Fucking her almost senselessly, her moans now cries as his mercy ran thin. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t slow down, mindlessly knocking over her book bag and other school supplies as he broke into her. His pace was rapid and without any consideration of how she was going to sit down for the next few days. Slamming a hand down onto the table for added pressure while still restraining her, “-Tell me how much you enjoy this,” he panted, watching her struggle against him as her ass bounced against him every time he plunged into her. Her words were melted ice cream, scrambled word vomit, he fucked her so hard she could barely manage to spit anything but the word Jason out, which she mumbled with each thrust- and it drove him over the edge. “Tell me how much you missed this feeling, tell me how much you missed me,” he spat, grabbing her hair and forcing her face up. He looked at her with sincere need- not just a sexual one. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you Jason,” she confessed through stutters. It made him smile, a sweet, almost drunken smile as he laughed through huffs of pleasure. “So good for me,” he said through kisses. Her stomach fluttered from a softness she’d only seen once before in him. 

He picked up her leg, throwing it on the table to make sure he fucked her thoroughly enough to get his point across. With her arms now free, she grabbed onto the table for dear life, biting her tongue from letting out a scream she knew someone would hear from above the floorboards. They didn’t need Alfred coming in to check on if someone was getting murdered down here. Holding one leg up as he pounded into her, his breathing racking from every thrust that brought him closer to satisfaction, he grabbed a fistfull of her hair. “You’re gonna talk to me tomorrow, right?” The question threw her off guard, her moaning dimming as she tried to piece the words together. The grip on her hair tightened and she winced. “You’re not gonna ignore me after I fucked you this good?” He asked, getting closer to her ear, making sure he heard her right. “Because,” he panted as his hips bucked further into her, the grip on her elevated leg almost bruising. “I’m gonna fuck you like this every chance that I get.” The words edged her, he felt her body tensing, aching for release as he picked up his pace. “You don’t have a choice- me ‘nd you- we’re gonna do this a lot more.” He felt her cumming, squeezing around him, her back arching as he muttered filth into her ear, indescribable moans and thank you’s. “Don’t thank me yet,” he told her. “You’re not getting rid of me, girl. Try to ignore me again. You won’t forget how much I made you cum. You won’t forget how good I fucked you.” Her face felt hot and so did her entire body, more of a promise than a threat and she was fine with that. “I won’t forget,” she repeated as he kissed the lobe of her ear.  His chest now pressed against her back with a hand around her throat, “You’re mine. You’re all mine. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll see you tomorrow, and the day after that- everyday,” She felt herself cumming again as he beat into every corner of her walls, nodding profusely. “I’m all yours, Jay,” she whimpered. “Thank you- thank you-” She forced, her entire body squirming under pleasure. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Where do you want me to cum?” He asked. “Inside of me, please,” desperate and filled with need. “You want me to fill you up, princess?” She nodded, begging. “Look at me,” he demanded, forcing her face to his, eyes interlocking. “-Need to see that pretty face when I cum-” It was less of a demand and more of his own whimpering pleading. His hips bucked one last time into her, her mouth open for a kiss as she watched him finish, a range of emotion hitting his face as he tightened the grip on her leg, stroking her face with his free palm. It was incredibly hot, she thought, watching his face while he came.

 He pulled out with a sharp gasp. He bent over, kissing her exposed ass before pulling up her panties and fixing her skirt, fixing his own clothes afterwards. He grabbed a hold of her, sitting back down into the chair, stroking her hair and giving her small pecks on her face. With a sigh of content, he kissed her temple. “Alright, baby. Can you focus now for me?”

Meanwhile, upstairs. 

“Alfred,” Dick interrupted as Alfred tried for the door. “Why don’t you ever hangout with me anymore?” Alfred raised his eyebrow at the young man he practically raised in front of him. “Master Dick, whatever do you mean? Is our spare time spent with one another inefficient?” “Yes, right now it is,” Dick said with crossed arms. “We could be hanging out, right now.” “Sounds lovely. I just need to check the library-” “So, you don’t like me anymore?” Dick huffed, covering his face. “Can’t we go make cookies? Please?” Alfred sighed. “Master Dick, is there something wrong?’ “Yes, Alfred, there actually is.” Alfred raised his brow once again. “But if you bake with me right now, there won’t be. And I will be much happier.” “Is there something going on downstairs you don’t want me to know about?” Alfred asked with a concerned look. Maybe he didn’t want to know. “I think we should make sugar cookies this time,” Dick said with a grin, placing his hand on Alfred’s shoulder and leading him away from a now closed door.

[seniorpollinationtechnician]

June 3, 2024 | 10:32 AM

This is Dr. ■■■■■■, conducting the autopsy of the decedent, identified as Subject Six, case number 24-81. The subject appears to be a humanoid alien female, approximately five feet five inches, weighing one hundred and forty pounds. The body was received in a sealed containment unit, transported from the scene by the ■■■■■■■■■■■■. The external examination reveals the subject to have been in good health; skin is free of lesions or signs of malnutrition. The subject's complexion is a golden hue with a slight luminescence that could indicate bioluminescent properties, potentially serving to warn or evade predators, lure prey, or communicate between members of her species. The subject possesses a total of eight ocular-like structures, four are located on the forehead, one on each side of the maxillary sinus and a pair in the standard human positions. Visual acuity and range of vision likely exceed human capabilities. The individual exhibits an unusual ocular condition characterized by completely black sclera and irises. Additionally, six of the eight eyes lack visible eyelids. This configuration suggests a highly specialized evolutionary trait but further analysis is required to ascertain the purpose of this feature. They display an elaborate, tattoo-like pattern across their forehead and cheeks. This pattern is symmetrical, with bold, sweeping lines that mimic the the natural markings found on a tiger's face. The pigmentation is deeply embedded, suggesting either an advanced tattooing technique or a possible dermal anomaly. The individual exhibits elongated, pointed ears. They extend upward and taper to a fine point. Additionally, each ear is adorned with multiple piercings, ranging from the lobe to the upper cartilage, indicating influence by cultural or subcultural aesthetics. The subject's hair is long, black and appears well-maintained, indicative of good health and grooming hab━━oh my god, she's alive! ■■■■■■■■, get the medical team here immediately! ....this is Dr. ■■■■■■, Subject Six, case number 24-81, just regained consciousness at 11:00 AM. I need to...we need to... (The recorder is turned off abruptly.)

[foursaints]

re: last post. evan rosier being sacked from st. mungo's & then swiftly scooped up by tom to fill the death eater's need for a healer is something that can be so personal

evan had his own room at the back of riddle house. it was filled with antique surgical devices and "medical" textbooks with the most concerning titles & absolutely NOBODY ever wanted to get healed. i picture like, avery or whoever clumsily healing lucius's wounds until tom comes upon this like ? i've specifically enlisted a VERY SKILLED healer for this exact purpose. and the other death eaters are just like.... i don't know how to tactfully say that you couldn't PAY me to enter evan rosier's den of inferi autopsies & rusty bone-saws. he was FIRED from st. mungo's. his healing magic hurts WORSE than the original wound. he's WEIRD and it smells like DEATH in there

they go anyway because they're scared of tom. barty is the only one who just simply can't relate. that's his happy place

[fucking-leave-me-alone-pornbots]

Miles have no idea how to flirt and he is too ashamed to ask so he takes inspirations from cliche romance shows and steel samurai fanfictions. It goes as well as you expect.

He runs on Nick on purpose while he is turning the corner so Phoenix can drop his files, Miles can apologise and maybe invite him out for drinks right?? right???

Oh shit he was holding a coffee. Coffee landed on Phoenix's legs. Phoenix is screaming. He burned his legs. Oh no.

He invites him for lunch anyway. They chat nicely, right when he is about to make his move someone gets killed and Phoenix swears they find the killer within an hour thanks to Miles' murder glare.

Miles sends roses alongside updated autopsy repord for his case. He even writes something poetic on card. Except he writes it in a way that it's so vague Phoenix has no idea that poem might be about him. Not only that Phoenix is so used to one sided love and pinning he forgot the possibility of that beautiful man might be into him too. Instead he thinks Miles send him evidence (??) as an apology for coffee accident. They are not evidence. They have nothing to do with the case. Everyone laughs at him.

He invites Phoenix to somehwere fancy and oh no, it turns out they have to share a bed which is absolutelly not acording to plan. Miles tells him again and again he is fine with sharing bed but Phoenix believes he is just trying to be kind. So he drags whatever he could find on ground and spends the night on DIY bed which destroys his back.

Next time he tries to act all tsundere and stuff. "it's not like i care about you, stupid" he says (or some variation) he wasn't expecting Nick to burst into tears. Maya gives him stink eye. He is an asshole.

Miles is nuts. He is unstoppable. He cuts Gumshoe's salary dolar by dolar everytime he fails. Gumshoe is crying too.

bonus:

During 7 years gap, Miles invites Phoenix and Trucy to somehwere in Europe for holiday. Turns out the room (2 rooms, one with 2 bingle beds and one with king size) was double booked and they have to share single bed. Phoenix offers to sleep on couch so Trucy and Miles can share the bed but Miles declines, saying three of them can fit easly.

He is not wrong. They put Trucy inbetween them and they whisper-talk until midnight because Trucy is asleep.

Phoenix wakes up to see his daughter and Miles asleep and instead of goung back to sleep, he just watches them because he knows even if he tries to sleep with all his might there is no way he can close his eyes to them.

[cursed-and-haunted]

web weaving for my oc, Graves

Re-animator dir. Stuart Gordon / No Ghost Abandoned, Tyree Daye / Another Last Day, Aex Lemon / Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Willem van Der Meer, Michiel Jansz van Mierevelt / Jenny Holzer / Practice of Autopsies, G. Reign / The Book of X, Rose Etter / haruspice, Yves Olade / self portrait as a murderer, Juliusz Lewandowski / Love via Purpose, I.B. Vyache / Anatomy Lesson by Dr. F. Ruysch, Adriaen Backer / Blood Wedding, Federico Garcia Lorca / The Gross Clinic, Thomas Eakins / On The Romance of Cannibalism, Silas Denver Melvin / Blood Tin Straw, Sharon Olds / All the Wrong Colours, Yrsa Daley-Ward / Bride of Re-animator dir. Brain Yuzna / Baby Teeth, Laura Villareal / I Keep a Strange List, Talin Tahajian / Hannibal 1x05

[mrtequilasunset]

Okay so Harry is very explicitly suicidal, right? like it isn’t even subtext, that mfer wants to be dead. But also, I think there’s something to be said about this physical instrument check that comes up during the autopsy

Like Harry has tried to hang himself before, it’s something he’s heavily implied to have done on purpose, but when considering the hypothetical possibility of being in Lely’s spot, it’s interesting that he’d want to escape. I don’t really have the words to eloquently express how this makes me feel, but it is interesting to me that of all the suicidal things that could have been said in this moment, all the parallels that could have been made, PhysIn chooses instead to remark that he’d want to live. Idk

[jasntodds]

Broken Heart Of Gold [J.T.]

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Request: yes, here

Summary: After Jason messes up on a mission, he goes to you

Warnings: Swearing, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, self-deprecating thoughts (jason), mentions of previous homelessness, mentions of death

Words: 2,514

A/n: I was listening to You Are Enough by Citizen Soldier and Broken Heart Of Gold by One OK Rock so here we are lol I also have another fic similar to this here because I will write this concept a million times if no one stops me. If you wanna be tagged in my fics, you can click the link below, send me an ask/comment, or follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

masterlist | request info | tag list

He’s been doing this for years. He was just thirteen when he first put on the Robin suit. And it was magical.

Being Robin always made Jason feel like he was magic. He was invincible and strong and worthy and enough and important. He had a purpose. For so much of his life, he was the one taking care of his mom and then she died. She died and it left him cold and alone and on the streets. But Robin brought him importance and safety and warmth. Being Robin meant he lived in a home where he was cared for and never asked to care for them. Not that he ever minded caring for his mom because he never did. But it was nice not having to take care of himself, even if he always did anyway. Being Robin gave him freedom and he got to kick ass. He got to go out there and he got to help Batman bring down some of the worst of the worst. He was enough and important. And worthy. But he wasn’t invincible. Because the Joker killed him.

He died and that was that. Robin wasn’t magic or invincible. Robin was just some kid in a mask and cape. But, then a betrayal to death and fate happened and Jason’s alive again. He came back and became Red Hood because the Joker was alive and well, Bruce had a new Robin, and the world left Jason behind.

He came back and it’s as if he wasn’t even wanted. He became Red Hood for people like him. The ones left behind. The ones Bruce won’t help in the way he should. Jason became Red Hood, knowing this life only leads to pain and death, to do what Bruce is too cowardly to do. He became Red Hood to be the voice for all the victims like him. That could have been saved if the hard choices were just made but weren’t. He is their voice and their protector. So, he’s been doing this for years. And the missions that go south, still never get any easier.

There’s a loud thud coming from your window, snapping you from your shallow sleep on the couch. You sit up quickly, your head slightly spinning with the sudden movement and you look over to your window, seeing the reflective red helmet shining back at you in the low light of the city and your apartment.

Jason takes the helmet, a mild quiver to his fingertips. “Sorry.” Jason mutters. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, moving to your knees so you can get a better look at him. “No, I was just lying down.” You lie, knowing he hates waking you up and you hadn’t been asleep more than twenty minutes anyway.

“That’s good.” Jason clears his throat but he hasn’t made any attempt to get up off the floor or make direct eye contact with you.

It’s all feeling heavy. His head, his eyes, his limps. Everything around him feels like it’s starting to close in. The adrenaline is crashing and everything feels like it’s about to suck the last breath from his lungs. It all hurts and aches and he usually handles it well, the injuries just come with the territory. He’s used to the pain but then nights like tonight happen and everything hurts. Every passed injury is echoing in pain, coming back for vengeance. The autopsy scars burn even though they shouldn’t, his face feels numb even though those injuries have been long healed from the pit. Every haunted injury comes back with a shattering echo.

“Jay?” You ask softly, trying to get him to look at you.

Usually, when Jason comes back from patrol, he's injured in some capacity. But, most of the time, he has this grin anyway that could light up Gotham's darkest alleyways. It's always a little cheeky and always a little arrogant. And charming. Because he went out and he did something good, for people who can't help themselves. His eyes are usually bright, blue and bold with enough energy to power your apartment. Those are the times he usually comes to you but then sometimes, like tonight, it's like every ghost comes back and takes over. The light is gone from his eyes and it's as if he's physically incapable of managing even a fake reassuring smile. It's these nights that are always the most worrisome because you know Jason has a habit of beating himself up relentlessly when something bad happens.

For a second, he’s not sure why he showed up here. You always clean him up and stitch him up. You’ve been doing it since he was Robin. A routine because you always understood when he needed to talk or sit in silence. But tonight, he’s not even feeling like he’s worthy of the kindness that radiates from your unbroken bones. He doesn’t think he deserves the help you always offer and the understanding because he failed tonight. And it was his fault. It was so bad that his jaw clenches as his heart starts to thunder.

"Are you okay?" You keep your voice soft, just above a whisper as if speaking too loudly will shatter him entirely.

His breath hitches in his throat with the question. He nearly shatters into a billion pieces right into your carpet. Jason Todd, on a good day, is rarely ever really okay but tonight it’s so much worse. He’s trapped in a harsh reality of what he does every night and he’s trapped in his own head, haunted by every passed mistake he’s ever made. Is he doing the right thing? Is this the only way? Is Bruce right? Maybe he is fucked up and maybe he never should have been brought back. Maybe those people would be alive right now if it weren’t for him.

Jason swallows his own heartbeat, a task that feels more like swallowing river rocks. "Yeah, I'm fine." His words are short and brittle while a redness starts to wash over his eyes.

You nod slowly before you get up from your spot on the couch. Jason watches you carefully and he knows you’re about to offer him the care he swears up and down he does not deserve. You crouch in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. Jason nearly pulls away but he knows it would hurt you if he did and he doesn’t want to cause anyone else any more pain. Not tonight.

“You don’t look fine.” You say softly as you tilt your head to the right. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jason nods as his mouth runs dry. “A few places.”

“Okay so I’ll get the kit and you can move the couch.”

“You don’t have to fucking help, alright? I don’t know why I came here.” Jason huffs but it's weak and ragged, forced as if speaking is too much of a task.

“You always come to me for help, Jay.” Your voice is kind and gentle as your thumbs lightly run over his knees.

“I know but I’ve already stained your carpet and couch. It’s late and you have work. I’ll just go home. It’s fine.” Jason shakes his head, his eyes plastered where your hands meet his knees.

“I don’t mind.” You shrug as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Taking care of you, I mean. It doesn’t bother me.” You offer him a soft smile once he glances up to you. “And Alfred told me how to get the stains out so…you really wanna use that as an excuse or you gonna let him help you?”

Jason lets out a sigh. “I don’t know.” There's a quiver in his voice.

You tap his head lightly with your finger, Jason's eyes finally locking on yours. "What's going on up there?"

You were on the streets together before he got lucky, well, depending how you want to look at it. You've known him for years and Jason has always been the one who wants better for people, Robin and Red Hood just gave him the opportunity to actually help those people. But, with that, he's also been the person who doesn't really know his worth or believes he's enough. A lot of things have happened, a lot of people have come and gone to nail those thoughts into the deepest parts of his mind. Those are always the thoughts that tend to be the ones that stick, even if they aren't true and you know they aren't.

You know Jason has a heart of gold and always has, always will. He thinks dying charged a part of that because sometimes, it feels like he should still be dead. So, he beats his heart out of his chest until he shatters into pieces, the shards always ricocheting back at him. He breaks his own heart because he thinks he deserves it, scattering the pieces in hopes the pain will always be true to what he deserves. But, you come around and pick up the pieces anyway because you always knew he was enough and worthy and important. You always knew that Jason would do what was best, for him and for other people who needed help.

"I got a damn cipher wrong and I was too late." Jason's voice finally cracks, his words harsh and aimed at himself.

His eyes always turn to almost a navy blue whenever he starts crying. It doesn't happen often, at least not around you, but you notice it. It's as if the emotional turmoil takes over every part of him stripping him of the liviness he usually has and that includes the brightness of his eyes. And it breaks your heart every time.

Jason has always had a thing about not being enough. He wasn't enough for either of his parents to stop using or enough for his dad to stick around, get a legal job. He wasn't enough for Bruce. A lot of people have tried over the years for him and tried with good intentions to just genuinely help because he deserved to be happy and healthy and safe but for some reason, it was never enough. Something else would happen and it'd mess it all up and the only one who ever got hurt in the mess was Jason. He's mentioned, a handful of times, maybe it was just him. Destined to like this forever. But you never saw it that way.

"I'm sorry, Jay." You brush the white streak of hair out of his eyes. "Do you wanna talk about it?" You ask, your brows pulled together.

You never saw him as not enough or damaged. He's an asshole, sure, but he's also kind and forgiving. He just wants to help people. Even when you were kids, questioning where your next meal was coming from, he'd try to help other kids if he could. It's what he did. It's what he does. You found out he was Robin and all you could do was laugh because the whole vigilante thing really fit him. Maybe not the way Bruce wanted things done, but helping people who the GCPD can't or won't help. But, even beyond being a vigilante, he's your favorite person. And you wouldn't trade him for the entire world. You desperately wish he could see himself through your eyes. Maybe it would help on nights like tonight.

"No." Jason scoffs, shaking his head. "No, I don't wanna talk or think about it anymore."

"Okay." You shrug casually, knowing he'll talk in bits and pieces later. "So, why don't we get you cleaned up and stitched up then we lay down. We can watch something or I can read to you until you fall asleep. Your choice." You offer him a gentle and kind smile.

"I don't wanna keep you up later. You'll be late for work again." Jason huffs, guilty pulling at the pit of his stomach.

You shrug, giving him a cheeky grin. "Eh, yeah, I can take some PTO." Your face suddenly lights up. "What if I take PTO and we go to Petsmart tomorrow, pick up some food and we go see the kittens at the shelter? If we bring in food, we can hang out with them for a little while."

The excitement in your voice gets Jason to crack a small and fragile smile. You know how much he likes cats. It's a silly offer, maybe, but it is nice and Jason will never understand why you try to hard to make him feel better, even when he thinks he doesn't deserve it. But, he does know, he is thankful for you anyway,

"That's how you wanna spend your precious time off?" Jason's voice is rough this time but it doesn't crack.

"With you and like twenty kittens? Yes." You nod quickly. "And I think you need it, anyway." Your smile falls into something comforting and honest. It feels like home. "Hanging out with animals is good for your mental health."

"Really?" Jason raises a brow at you.

"Oh, are you gonna tell me you're not beating yourself up and thinking you're the worst? You're not. I think you're the best but I know you well enough to know you don't think so when something happens." You suck in a breath, your hands sliding over his knees a few times. "So, we go hang out with some kittens and you'll feel a little better to tell me what happened and then I'll tell you that you still did your best."

"How do you even know that?" Jason scoffs, dodging your eyes again as the guilt starts pulling on his vocal cords.

"Because you always try your best." You answer simply. "It's not always easy, Jay and it's not always gonna work out. But, you always try and that's enough." You place your hand on his cheek, getting him to look at you. "So, what'd ya say?" The corner of your mouth perks up into a gentle and hopeful smile.

The last thing he wants to do is disappoint you, let someone else down. But, he also knows, deep down, that you do it because you care and you really believe everything you tell him. All you want to do is be there for him and maybe it does take some of the weight off of his shoulders. When he's carrying the world, you stand under it with him. And when he's taking a hammer to his own heart, you yank the hammer away and swap it out with glue, helping him put it back together. And on nights like tonight, he's not sure where he'd up if it weren't for you.

Jason nods softly, taking your hand in his. "Yeah, alright, thanks." Jason leans closer, resting his forehead against yours.

"Of course, Jay." You press a quick kiss to his nose. "Now, come on, lemme help you." You get to your feet and offer your hands to help Jason up.

He shakes his head, his chest still feeling heavy but knowing you'll always be here makes things easier. So, he sticks out of his own hands and encompasses yours in his before he stands up.

Tag list: @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai  // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonsss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duckk// @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @septixtrash // @kplatzman // @killxz