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jinjeriffic · 3 months

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DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 3

Part 2

Tim reached up to rub at his temples and groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Normally he enjoyed going down the research rabbit-hole but this was ridiculous! Paranormal sciences were a bad joke. Most of it was conjecture, hearsay and unprovable theories with just enough scientific sounding jargon peppered in to confuse a layperson. Peer-review was practically non-existent, not to mention a proper scientific method. Francis Bacon would be rolling in his grave!

The slight hiss of the elevator doors opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Replacement, you missed dinner!” Jason called, sauntering over with a loaded plate in hand. He set down a sandwich next to Tim’s elbow. “Alfie says he’s cutting off your coffee supply until you get some damn sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna start prepping the knock-out gas soon!” he quipped, leaning his hip against the Batcomputer’s console. “Research on the League giving you trouble?”

“I wish.” Tim sighed, reaching for the sandwich, “The Assassins have actually been pretty quiet recently. I found some leads on suspicious political donations in Italy, but nothing I can tie to them directly. Talia’s in Paris as far as I can tell, working at an investment firm for God knows what reason. Probably money laundering related. And the ones holed up in Nanda Parbat have been quiet as murderous little church mice.”

“Ra’s isn’t up to anything? Colour me shocked.” Jason drawled sardonically, “You sure he’s not cooking up a new batch of demon spawn in that mountain of his?”

Tim shook his head. “You know Bruce destroyed his cloning labs after the last… incident. And I’ve found no records of the League procuring the necessary materials or equipment to restart production.” he wrinkled his nose, “Of course it’s possible that they used a shell company we haven’t come across yet, but I believe the odds are pretty low.”

“So what’s got your panties in a bunch then?”

Tim’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Ghosts.”

“Ah.”

Jason stared off into space and Tim took a bite of his sandwich. Egg-salad, score! The Cave was silent for a while, only disturbed by the noise of the actual bats heading out for their nightly hunt.

“I can’t tell you for sure if ghosts are real or not. I don’t remember anything from when I was… dead.” Jason said haltingly, and Tim stilled. “But we’ve seen people come back under pretty weird circumstances. So why not ghosts?” Jason shrugged.

Tim chewed and swallowed before replying. “Because it’s one thing for the physical body to be restored, but some kind of nebulous ‘spirit’ lingering? Why don’t we see ghosts all the time then? Why don’t people come back? Why not…” Tim broke off.

“Your Dad?”

Tim nodded and dropped the remains of the sandwich back on the plate. It suddenly looked as appetising as cardboard.

“I don’t know, birdie. We still don’t know why I came back.” Jason snorted “Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour.”

Tim’s lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “Maybe the universe missed your terrible puns. Some of those still haunt me.”

Jason barked out a surprised laugh. “That was terrible!”

“The universe clearly made a grave mistake.”

“Stop it, I can feel my brain cells dying!” Jason groaned and gave Tim a light punch to the shoulder.

“Well we can’t have that, you have so few already!” Tim snarked, then quickly leaned to the side to evade Jason’s attempted noogie. Jason huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“All right mister teenage genius. What have you dug up about ghosts then?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There’s obviously tons of folklore from all over the world. Pretty much every mythology has stories about the spirits or souls of the dead returning to haunt the living. But if there’s a scientific basis to all this then it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even the supposed leaders in the field are hopelessly biased.” He pulled up some documents on the screen. “Take these for example. The Doctors Fenton are supposed experts in the field of ‘Ecto-Biology’ as they call it, but their research papers would never fly with a proper scientific journal. A lot of it comes across as blatantly xenophobic towards the entities they are supposedly studying and their research methods seem geared towards confirming what they view as foregone conclusions. And most of their peers operate on the same track.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed one of the articles in question. “Do you think there’s anything to this, or is it all just a hoax?”

Tim snorted. “If there is, they haven’t offered any conclusive proof. Though they certainly seem to have made it work for them. The Fentons have a series of patents for weapons and defenses against these supposed ‘ecto-entities’ and it looks like there’s plenty of people gullible enough to buy them. I haven’t taken a closer look at their products yet, but a lot of it looks like something out of a pulp sci-fi movie.” He pulled up the image of what looked like a bazooka with green glowing parts. Jason whistled.

“So, con artists or mad scientists?”

“Could be both. Their financial records are all over the place and they’ve had some large transactions with what I’m pretty sure are shell companies in recent years. They live and operate out of a small city in Illinois.” Tim said, pulling up the relevant documents on screen.

“Amity Park?” Jason read aloud.

“Supposedly it’s ‘The Most Haunted City in America’. Seems on brand, doesn’t it?”

“It probably helps them stay in business. It looks like they have kids?” Jason pointed at the tax returns. Tim typed some search queries into the system.

“Two. One in high school, one just started her first semester at Metropolis University. With a full scholarship to boot.” He spent a few more minutes hacking into the university’s systems. “Here we go, Jasmine Fenton. Looks like she’s going for a psychology degree. And… hm…” Tim trailed off. Jason quickly realised what had caught his attention.

“‘The Damaging Effects of Envy Towards Metahumans? That’s a hell of a topic for a freshman-year essay.” Jason remarked.

“Yes. I wonder…” Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “She might have some insight into her parents’ research.”

“And at a cursory glance, she didn’t drink whatever Kool-Aid her parents were serving.” Jason finished for him. “You wanna go pump her for information?”

“I might as well. If nothing else, maybe we can shut down a couple of mad scientists before they become a problem.” Tim stood up and stretched. “Time for a field trip!”

Part 4

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #no beta we die like danny #I'm sick and wordvomited this out at like 4am #send throat lozenges #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)

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oliveroctavius · 11 months

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okay this is a Fresh-off-the-movie take and not a properly thought out essay yet, but ATSV reminded me of thoughts I was having on the diversification of superheroes.

Superheroes have a long history of popular (predominantly white male presumably cishet) characters. Because of the MarvelDC model, any new diverse writers/characters have to be slotted into the preexisting structure. Brand new characters are a risk; the popular ones tend to be (1) AU versions or (2) legacy characters.

there's this bit, in the Spider-Verse comics, where Pavitr has this cosmic horror moment where he suddenly understands that he's a 4-issue miniseries variant of a popular character.

This gets brushed off with a "how do you know they're not copies of you? You Have Worth!!" speech, but Pavitr's observation is objectively correct.

Miguel's line is that some things are "canon events", neutral laws of the universe. But the projection in his web are all of Peter's story being told and re-told, revealing the truth: This is a particular person's story. To treat it as universal makes the variants' diversity no more than aesthetic-level deep. Which isn't how it has to be.

In the context of the comics, both Miles and Miguel aren't AUs, but legacy characters, and not even traditional ones--the torch isn't passed on, Spider-Man just died and they have his name now! "Peter Parker died because you became Spider-Man!" Miguel screams at Miles in ATSV, an insane thing to say. It's also objectively true. Spider-Man only dies for good when Marvel has found another Spider-Man to replace him.

ATSV isn't the first to touch this theme (Kamala Khan's comics intro gets into it bigtime) but man. Is there a place for new voices at the franchise-table if their perspectives say something structurally different? Will your book get cancelled and your world end? Is a place at the table truly something you want?

#atsv spoilers #spiderverse #I'll have proper character thoughts later because Oh Boy but let me wordvomit this out first

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leechteethwrites · 5 days

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a piece of something i wrote

#poetry #poets of tumblr #prose #poem #original poem #artists on tumblr #dark academia #light academia #chaotic academia #love #quotes #my art #spilled poetry #spilled ink #spilled words #wordvomit

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omegalomania · 1 month

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the thing is that i can still remember the way it felt.

end of november, 2022, suddenly every feed lights up. they're doing something. people are posting images of the chicago tribune, a full page ad that has this bicolored logo, a face both happy and sad, black and white, and it simply says: FOB8.

"is this real?" quite a few people were skeptical after the years-long pause between mania and now. "i'm not convinced."

"it's a full-page ad in a single chicago newspaper out of nowhere, right after joe got finished doing a whole book tour where he insisted they had no new music to speak of," i answered. "of fucking course it's real. it has fall out boy all over it."

i remember so vividly the sense of wonder that arrived on christmas morning of that same year, when i woke up at the exact right moment to learn that fall out boy did something again. an eerie, playful, earnest, weird claymation video with a haunting soundtrack, featuring a little black and brown dog. it was mystifying and bizarre and striking - a sprinkling of stardust on the dog's muzzle that prompted it to sneeze - and the adrenaline rush i got from the snippet of heart-pounding drums and guitar was the best gift i'd received all year.

so much (for) stardust. i've said it before and i'll say it again - it's a damn near perfect title. it's a play on words, it has multiple meanings nested into one another. given enough time, we all fall apart like so much dust, like so much stardust because that's where we came from. we are made of and from stardust. for stardust. so much for stardust. so much for the cosmic clay that shaped us. so much for this life, so much for the very foundational fucking firmament from which we we all sprang, so much for this whole strange weird existence. it's exhaustion and anger and spite and frustration and, at the same time - it's wonder. it's love. it's a doberman frozen in an instant of elated play, snapping at bubbles. it's a dog breed conventionally associated with danger captured in a moment of buoyant delight. it's an oil painting, surrounded by words shaped from sparkling clay.

it's love.

it's a record full to bursting with love. it's in the very first song they sent to us, sending us their love from the other side of the apocalypse. it's a record that says yes, the world is a mess and it feels insurmountable. maybe existence is meaningless. maybe it's all fucking pointless and we're all gonna die anyway. but like hell that means i'm not going to love life with all that i am. like hell i am going to let that stifle me. if nothing matters, then love is what matters.

and they committed to it, too. if there's one thing we can take away from so much for (tour)dust, it's that fall out boy loves us the way we love them. they'd have to, right? they could have called it quits years ago. hell, they could've packed it up after the hiatus and just never come back. they'd have to really love doing this to want to keep at it, years later, and look at that. they have.

fall out boy, at the end of the day, is propelled by love. they have to really love what they do to keep doing it. they have to love each other, love the music, love the fans, to keep doing what they do. this is something they've repeatedly asserted over the course of this tour and record cycle: the sheer, shared joy, the positive feedback loop of creative energy that comes from sharing something you made with the world and seeing the world respond in turn.

the world is a wreck and it feels, at times, like nothing you do matters or changes anything. so much (for) stardust is the antithesis to that kind of existential apathy. look, it says. look at what your love has changed. because as desolate and nightmarish and inescapable as the pitfalls of this strange, oftentimes terrifying existence can be - we have laughter, we have good friends, we have good music, and we have the ability to not let our own ennui defeat us. there are things in this world worth living for. there are things in this world worth loving. you have to love one another. you have to laugh and do whatever silly, inane thing makes you feel alive. you have to hug your friends and sing with them, cry with them, and savor every drop of this life that we get. prioritize love. be seriously unserious.

a week before this record came out, i spent some 6-7 hours in a car driving to a record store to hear it with a bunch of people, many of them strangers. i heard so much (for) stardust in its entirety in a record store with one of my favorite people, surrounded by awed chatter as we all drank it in. we didn't catch all the words, but the ones we heard sank into us and took root. i almost couldn't bear to wait for to hear the record properly.

a year later, it's sunk into the recesses of my soul. i'm not sure it'll ever come unstuck there. i don't think i want it to.

thanks for the stardust, fall out boy.

we love you back.

#fall out boy #*making poasts #ok emotional wordvomit that just HAPPENED right after i got groceries #didnt plan this but im letting it happen. this is all freeform hope its not riddled w errors lol

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hana-no-seiiki · 10 months

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YANDERE! ALPHA x DEMON! READER ( PART ONE )

inspired by those ABO BLs where the MC avoids the ML lol.

tw/cw : ABO Dynamics, Fantasy-Modern Setting. Angst. Dom! Reader. GN! Reader

“Why are you avoiding me?”

You were a Dominant Alpha. The same as Kasumi, or so he thought. For some reason unlike the usual, your smell attracted him. Kasumi hated the pheromones of others ever since he first presented, but the way you smelled always made his knees weak and his body heat up uncontrollably.

He loved you, he knew that a long time ago. He also knew that whatever you became he’d still love you.

He just didn’t expect the two of you to be so incompatible.

“Did it feel that way? I’m sorry.” Despite your words your eyes failed to meet his. “I’ve been seeing this omega lately. Perhaps I was just too distracted by them.”

You always loved rubbing salt into the wound. As if the rumors between you two weren’t enough, you constantly reminded him that you two are and will never be together as long as one of you continued to be an alpha.

What hurt the most was the fact that you knew of his feelings and still acted this way.

He didn’t mind it if society- hell even the world - didn’t want you two together. But when you so blatantly rejected him it never failed to bring him to tears.

Most already laughed at his lack of experience and knowledge in comparison to other macho alphas, if they knew he always cried just because of one person. . .

“My partners have always been beta you know. Sex with them was alright, nothing too mind-blowing. But with an omega,” Your face was covered in pink, ecstasy written all over it.

And then you leaned forward to whisper into his ears, “I can fuck them all day.”

Kasumi couldn’t help it. His blood vessels expand as a rapid torrent of hormones entered his body. Anger, lust, sadness. You toyed with him for far too long.

Before he could even think his hands were already on your throat, squeezing down on it with an intent to kill.

“Why . . . why do you keep doing this to me?”

Despite the lack of air entering your lungs and your ensnared state, the smirk on your face does not falter, “Kasumi, don’t you know?” Your eyes glowed a menacing scarlet as you started cackling. Blood spurts from your mouth from the force of both yours and his actions.

“Pleasure is sweetest when it’s paid for in other’s pain.”

#and then they fuck. the end.#the hate seggs will probably be posted on my new account #but yes have my brainrot wordvomit of the day #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #abo #alpha reader #dom reader

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cashmere-caveman · 17 days

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read a post about there being next to no record abt the historic edward little again (we dont even know what he looked like!!!) and now im thinking a lot about how he died in uniform again.

hes far from the only character to die in uniform (the marines die in uniform! franklin dies in uniform!) and he isn't even the only lieutenant to do so (gore, under his slops, was in uniform; fairholme, too presumably; irving famously wore his coat that hickey steals later; george wore something that used to be his uniform when he got eaten but imo atp he did not wear it as A Uniform anymore that were just the clothes that he had on if that makes sense) but at the end, he is the only one where i still felt that it was an active choice to wear it.

almost everyone else sheds their layers along the way or turns into something else, but ned starts in uniform and he stays in uniform and that's it.

fitzjames famously sheds his vanity and dies in his shirtsleeves, without any of the pomp and pizzazz of his uniform.

jopson, another character who is to me really connected with a certain mindset of holding up appearances, dies in his shirtsleeves, believing himself abandoned by the very person that was his reason to even wear a uniform at all.

goodsir as a doctor/assistant surgeon doesn't really have a uniform in quite the same sense as many others but when he dresses himself before his suicide it is not as an affirmation of his role, or at least not a positive one. he has sworn to do no harm, but he was forced to do it anyway and now he will add a final evil to his toll of sins in the hopes to balance the scales at least somewhat and for that to work, he must wear his outfit as always. he ends up with all pretenses stripped bare anyway.

tozer, a man so proud of his uniform in the beginning, again, dies in his shirtsleeves, no rank left, betrayed by someone who had convinced him to give up everything and yet! reduced to nothing but an ordinary man, he tries again where before he had given up. he cooperates, he coordinates, he even calls crozier captain again, he tries very hard to do the right thing in what looks like a no win scenario from the get go!! and he fails, of course, but he tried.

almost everyone else also ends up either dressed down (bridgens, armitage, dundy, des voeux etc) or somehow transformed (blanky, to some extend silna with her patched and bloody furs) or in hickeys case, both (iconic underwear & greatcoat combo). little never changes. he sometimes has a little scarf, theres the bandage for his headwound for a bit, he sometimes wears the full parade uniform with epaulettes and sometimes just the regular one, there are at least two different uniform hats and ofc you can tell that he loses weight by the way his shape chages under all that wool but he is always. in. uniform.

and maybe this is just my mind making up dots to connect but i think he might even be the last character that crozier ever gives an order to in his official function as a captain (in the tuunbaq seduction/boss fight scene he has been stripped of his rank, at least according to e.c.).

before his final scene, all we get is little arguing over the orders they are given, and how to interpret them. and he is still wearing his uniform!!! wait hold on im not gonna check but maybe he might only wear a jumper in the tent where dundy lauches his soft mutiny actually, so maybe this whole post is crumbling like a domino line but!!! ignoring this. moving on. (even if it is a jumper i remember him wearing sth dark blue aka Uniform Colour so im claiming it doesnt even matter bc spiritually that hypothetical jumper still is a uniform. im not going to let anything like "accuracy" and "real details" fuck up my post smh 🙄. im joking. however! Moving On as i said)

he doesnt even dress up for carnivale! the only other characters that are not in costume are jopson and crozier and they were literally too busy keeping crozier from dying to even begin thinking about joining the communal arts and crafts session! little is atp the acting no2 of the expedition so u might say he was busy but fitzjames has the overall command and still finds time to have a little gender moment in private and the imperialism-approved version of it for the Big Crowd!! (u could ofc argue that fitzy Always has time for a gender moment and who would i be to argue but my point is: i have no doubt that man was fucking busy preparing carnivale & beginning to prepare the walkout and there still was time to Express Some Character!! so how come ned didn't do anything?)

the one other scene we get where we can catch a small glimpse of characters out of their element before it all unravels (pre tuunbaq attack on the camp) is the scene at night when morfin gets shot. it shows lots of characters in various states of undress (silna big blanket burrito i love you) that allows us to see them differently, like their costumes at carnivale did, but in an entirely opposite direction. while carnivale was about putting on masks, this scene is about taking them off. and it drives me insane because i know that little must be there. he is somewhere in the crowd when morfin gets shot but so far i havent been able to make him out and i need to know what he is wearing so bad. it is actually for science (my own curiosity) ! i really need to know. and i cant help but feel that maybe it is intentional that he is just ~somewhere~ instead of In Front of the Fucking Camera because, well. that would be just ned little, wouldnt it? and we dont even know who that is.

#edward little #the terror #can u tell i got my brain fried by working on our research project paper all day until we finally turned it in at midnight #we met at 12 and didnt leave the library until it closed and then we went home to one of the members and continued working there #and now i am still sitting in the hallway from when i came in through the door even thought its past 3am bc im just so done #nothing left. no energy no braincells no filter. which is why u get this unstructured wordvomit #and i try to find the strength to get up from the floor so i dont fall asleep here. okay goodnight #cavetext

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wordvomitgenerator · 2 months

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Once again the time of year has come where I am itching to dress like a slut again. I can’t wait for it to be warmer so I can wear basically nothing but in the most slay way possible.

#wordvomit #wordvomits #seriously I want it to be warmer so baaad #I have so many cute outfit ideas but they are all too cold rn

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juliacruz-rml · 10 months

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#wordvomits #teacher life #school #me

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cybervom1t · 3 months

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if you ever jack off to pictures of me you are legally required to tell me which one you busted to

#wordvomit

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lxmelle · 1 month

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Thoughts/Ponderings/Musings on ch 236. About Gojo reaching Sukuna, his death, his relationships, etc.

I know there are people who really dislike the characterisation here, expressing that Gojo is likely far more kind and caring for his students, etc.

Gege and his infinite wisdom over his creation seems to like encouraging headcanon kaisen, lol. He certainly keeps things quite true to life and allows the reader to make their own conclusions.

It is not my place as a casual reader to judge his writing, and I will defend it inasmuch as I also had hoped for more: Just because it isn’t explicitly said, doesn’t mean those things we have seen about Gojo aren’t true. I agree that it is also a shame that more wasn’t or couldn’t be included in this chapter to either dispel or confirm, but that’s masterful writing in itself, I guess.

I take small refuge in my interpretation that this is a glimpse of a conversation; as in real life, we ease into conversations. I enjoyed the dynamics and overall tone. I like to remember that each expression was a decision made, and these details can hold a lot of weight in meaning.

So we see that Gojo prefaces with something else and was responding rather specifically to Geto’s question regarding his fight, his end.

Geto, a natural conversationalist, who is said to be good at being at Gojo’s level, enquires about his fight - entering into neutral territory after Gojo expressed frustration and being stunned after his sudden arrival there.

Geto reads him / the atmosphere well and responds to tune the conversation to a level he can reach Gojo, despite possibly having a lot to say and catch up on himself. (Like, we never hear him talk about his family aside from confirming they escaped.)

He is showing respect for his friend. What do they have to rush for, anyway? I don’t think there is a specific afterlife if they chose to go south. Time may be infinite?

—

A lot more under the cut. Feel free to skim and apologies in advance for tangents. I hope it makes sense overall. I tried to make it as cohesive as possible despite being lengthy.

:: Beware the Word Vomit, overall reaching, meta, interpretations, some satosugu shipping, and general weaving and stringing of themes. ::

Disclaimer: I’m fully aware I may be wrong, as I am with many things, and you’re welcome to drop me any comments or thoughts.

One of the glaring issues was the “Sukuna glazing” as some fans called it. To see Gojo having regard for Sukuna’s strength doesn’t take anything away from Gojo imho, but I get it. What was all this reaching that Gojo was expressing? Surely that doesn’t that precedence? Of all things, is this what he’s regretting in what is possibly his last significant scene in the manga?

A part of me relates to this outrage, but then I try to bring myself down, because we are often kept out of what intimacies are exchanged between Gojo and significant ones (Geto, students, etc.) and we aren’t / haven’t been privy to many deep and elaborate reflections of Gojo or Geto. All we get are ellipses “...” and depictions of longing stares that don’t quite betray their honest thoughts.

So, within the context of the above, Geto asks directly and Gojo describes. Of course he’d want to know how Gojo experienced it. He’s always been the one who cared about how Gojo actually feels or experiences things. He might join in a bit of friendly ribbing, but Geto and Gojo communicate on another level with banter, etc. there’s a reason they’re each other’s best friend.

I also see an interpretation where it cycles back to love is the most twisted curse: it can save people, but it may hold you back from being the strongest. Love has been a theme since the origin story in jjk 0. Gojo’s love for his students and Megumi may or may not have affected their chances of success, but he nevertheless cares and bets on the future (students).

Geto has always been shown to be Gojo’s significant person - a safe person, if you will. Thematically, their designs are two parts of a whole. Their fates intertwine in so many ways, only to be separated ultimately to death.

Since, he’s described not feeling lonely anymore, through love for this students (his legacy and will) and even more now (for himself) that he was wrong about dying alone. He had wanted to find a way to bring Geto home (to jujutsu high [Geto’s theme song “come back home” given by Gege is all about this after all]) but despite all that’s happened, he is with him at the airport, and Gojo is satisfied enough with that, but won’t waste time not bridging gaps any longer -

Gojo is so very forthcoming with Geto in his adult years. Given the opportunity in jjk 0, he not only asks for his last wishes, but conveys his as well. He then speaks his heart in his conversation with Geto; he is candid, yet serious.

I’d like to think it’s infused with more emotion than he ever did in their early days. He confirms his feelings to Geto and confesses his desire to have had him there to send him off. More on this later.

In the original version of the manga, Gojo momentarily reverts back to the use of “ore” just once, before it becomes “boku” again - a shift had taken place in him due to what Geto said in the past. To demonstrate that in a few short panels is quite something too. People change; we evolve through the influence of significant others.

Gojo knows loneliness as he has learnt about love in its different forms. To really know it is perchance what Sukuna doesn’t, despite saying he does.

From this point of view, he says he is sorry for him, as he’s got empathy for Sukuna; that Sukuna couldn’t learn what he had wanted to convey, but perhaps the emphasis was more of a pity for him than feeling disappointed.

In a typical Gojo fashion, he captures it clumsily and makes it about strength in his speech, as if punches and skills thrown at each other could convey that it doesn’t have to be lonely and that they could understand each other - that having a peer would be interesting / satisfying - perhaps also seeking a sense of validation himself in Sukuna. It’s possibly also what prompts people like Nanami to call him out on the extreme emphasis on strength. But maybe that’s Gojo’s defence mechanism too, who knows. If Gojo had a love language, would it be fighting talk? Ha ha.

This reminds me of how Gojo was perhaps unintentionally condescending to Geto at the KFC breakup scene - it was the final nail in the coffin for Geto and he shut down completely, remarking the now infamous, “Are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest or are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru?” But that’s by the by I guess. It wasn’t as if Sukuna was going in for therapy / love intervention with anyone, lol. Fighting was the conversation.

So moving on, what is Sukuna’s perspective and what could it be that Gojo wanted to convey, and presumably died trying? Looking at the next fight, he is asked directly about his perspective as the strongest in history who stands above the rest.

Sukuna. The pinnacle; the epitome of strength, solitude, and one who has cast away everything - seemingly peacefully - in favour of being formidable at the top. Revered and feared in equal measure.

He is so strong yet he doesn’t need anything the others facing off with him seem to yearn. The all want to reach him for their own reasons. Maybe like disciples chasing the Buddha. What is his message? Can I understand him, and he, me? And then, ourselves?

This fight was supposedly for himself too - but what was he yearning? Gojo at first glance appears to wish to defend himself, everyone, and save megumi. Mourn Geto too. From what we understand, he's been lonely, despite this improving over the past year (through his admission to Geto later on in the airport scene).

The mark of The Strongest has been left: As soon as Gojo became strong, Geto left. Geto didn’t love him for his strength - he had to leave; in part, because feeling out of place and left behind in the a shadow of a person who is now living by “the strongest, alone” hurt, making the ills of the world unbearable, as it tipped the balance greatly for him. He could not see beyond Gojo’s apparent selfless selfishness, and he did the same with his own version of it. He had to pave his own way and build another family & world - even if it was a shell of what he had with Gojo.

But I digress. Gojo had strength but it wasn’t enough to reach Geto. He has been using his Strength as a teacher to foster a new generation, allies, in a bid to change the Jujutsu world in a different way to Geto. Yes, they shared a dream. (I hope this comes back into the picture with Geto's side fighting Sukuna too.)

He sees this curse taking shape - first with Yuji and then Megumi. I can’t imagine the outrage, and how it’s internalised by Gojo. He possibly dissociates to some degree, as one wouldn’t be able to function if they carried the weight of the world (in information and in sensation overload) all the time. He’s trained himself to be selective. So, nevertheless, there is a call to defend his title; he is also bored, wants to be a good example, and plays his part to assist with defeating Sukuna - tries to reach him but maybe it just wasn’t his message to relay. Gojo’s job was done here. He got what he wanted - a satisfying fight. More on this later.

We see the futility this far in reaching Sukuna across chapters. Responding to “love”… Harming those along the way carelessly, as he wanders simply proving his existence, as if that alone is enough to justify and bring it purpose. As a calamity or curse, he doesn’t need to consider what he is.

This is the extreme of what strength is - of what Gojo could have become. Perhaps if he wasn't so deeply touched by having someone complete him, so he could be a brat in his youth and actually trust someone to fall back on. And had he not suffered loss through Geto leaving, would've meant he never had to question himself or experience doubt or longing in his life, as he was gifted, was he not? Or was it actually a curse?

Is it meaningful to be the only one at the top of the mountain where nobody can even reach? What good does the embodiment of strength bring, if there is nobody to recognise that it is, no one to yield the power for to give it meaning, and no use for the sheer magnitude of what you can do to give it purpose?

Sukuna says he knows love and cast it away, finding it worthless, that he responds to others’ strength with love through besting them in a fight. He gets his “kicks” like Gojo did to some degree like in the theme song for Gojo by Aviccii:

(Oh, my, my) That's what I get for lovin' you

(Lie, lie, lie) You know I can't live without you

(Why, why, why?) And all the things you put me through

(Cry, cry, cry) 'Cause I'll get my kicks without you

Life must be pretty monochromatic as The Strongest. Rinse repeat until no one is left.

Following the loss of love, Gojo tried to find meaning and pass the time in ways befitting of him too. Everyone has to find a way to move on, right? But it doesn’t mean everyone feels fulfilled or healed. He drilled skills into his tempered body throughout the years of his existence; he wanted to showcase it all to Sukuna - the reason he fought and battled and trained and developed his incredible sense - his spirit that does so for himself (yes he does get kicks from it) but also for others - because Gojo is an evolved form of The Strongest. Maybe The Strongest 2.0 and Yuta is version 3.0. You get my drift.

Gojo is representing the sorcerers of the modern world. Whilst Gege likes to poke fun and say he is devoid of a personality; I’d say that isn’t it quite natural when your role in life has already been partially determined for you at birth? Further, as a “victim” of circumstance due to the setting, trauma and heavy reliance on Gojo to fulfil all sorcerer duties from a young age (esp after Geto left) can certainly leave you in a state of emotional arrested development.

To reiterate, Gojo, unlike Sukuna, DOES find meaning and purpose in his students. He wised up and found the sense in what he and Geto discussed, learning from the past and adopting certain philosophies that suited him.

But still, as the strongest, Gojo was lonely with the line drawn - as a human being (self/identity) hiding behind a living creature (of strength/facade); Gojo seemed to be saying through the blooming lotuses (flowers growing out of literal muddy waters - rich in religious and cultural sumbolism) that he loves everyone but despite that they couldn’t understand him, and him, them. This is the main interpretation that makes sense as Gojo is talking about himself, his allies (esp Megumi), even possibly Geto, but he is also talking about reaching Sukuna.

Considering the possible interpretations for who the lotuses symbolise... he less common one from my readings thus far would be Sukuna; but it kinda makes sense: Sukuna, who was born to unfavourable circumstances, and similar to Hakari who described the strong looking down at others as if they were dirt. And achieving so much like a rising from the ashes. We also see him glorified as the strongest of all time now.

And it reinforces the “unreachability” (made up a word here) and how it was an impossible task in the first place.

The message being: How can Gojo reach someone who does not want to be reached? This cycles back to what he said to Yaga when Geto left. He cannot save anyone who does not want to be saved by others.

If Sukuna was the lotus, and was a beautiful flower in strength that defied odds to bloom in the murky depths of dirt - he certainly isn’t pure as the flower symbolises, but he certainly is some kind of divinity. But I really don’t want to glorify Sukuna.

I prefer the interpretation of the lotus being Gojo or those around him, but narratively, it is simply possible he is describing several people’s parallels here with how solitude accompanies being strong. Sukuna is like the unreachable Enlightened One. Yet, he strangely doesn’t seem to have a solid sense of identity - there is no “I am the strongest” that Gojo embraces, not that this is anything to hinge one’s identity upon, as it is part of Gojo’s problem.

And yet this still brings us to what Gojo wanted to reach Sukuna with aside from a demonstration of his skills. Does Yuta have anything to add to this, as the next Gojo Satoru?

Yuta, if we can appeal to his character for parallels in messages, and if we can consider him The Strongest 3.0 asked Uro - don’t you have a lover or friends? Implying that if one fights so desperately for their own sake, it reaches a dead end fairly quickly. Just WHO are you fighting for, and doesn’t fighting for yourself get a little old after decades?

Even Toji (without his soul when ressurected) instinctively ended his rampage at the sight of what his reason for living was, his son, albeit he cared for Megumi in a very dodgy roundabout way, fearing his closeness would ruin / stain his son. I’m reminded here of how Geto’s body reacted to Gojo’s voice; momentarily seizing Kenjaku by the throat.

Somehow the bond between Gojo and Geto is marking its significance again, isn’t it? They all had reasons they fought for, and through the many evidences of these, we are allowed insight into recurring ones that may hold more significance than others. You know, like: my students are watching, let’s schedule it on the 24th of December.

These are important things to gojo, he is also showing Sukuna what he doesn’t have. He didn’t need to live like a cursed object for decades, etc and his significance doesn’t die when he does. Yes, a big part of Gojo had craved this “all out” but as he lives his life and engages in the battle, all the pieces of WHY, WHO, and WHAT he is wielding power for start to surface.

As the reader we are finding these Easter eggs along with him, because the narrator and Gojo don’t disclose this openly. Gojo has people modelling this for him throughout his short life, and he seems to be quick on the uptake, despite preaching about strength. Maybe he isn’t terribly aware, but he knows more than he lets on - Gojo had a persona.

We probably can say the same about the “I’d win” scene that pretty much foreshadowed his defeat. That kind of a Champion enters the ring without fighting talk?

The scene depicting him reflecting upon his first ever defeat showed him to be chasing a “high” of satisfaction from going all out and fulfilling the itch of Boredom and Loneliness that plagues the unimaginably strong. Pursuing and honing his skill, getting stronger and stronger, drew him further and further away from anything meaningful - ending up in a state where he never really gets the satisfying release he craves.

Like a runner who is only allowed to run at 5kmph for a short distance; an artist who isn’t able to paint their desired masterpiece; a singer whose voice can only whispered to an audience; the strongest weightlifter who can only utilise 20% of his max strength... How terribly dissatisfying.

How stifling it is to have such a limitation. And yes, his skill is limitless. How ironic indeed - the repression, the impotence strength imposes.

And while we are on skill/technique names, others have pointed out before - unlimited void? What a perfect description of what felt meaninglessness / existential emptiness is.

The underside of this however was how it also alluded to the possibility that he was going to experience another enlightenment - but of a final kind of his physical form. It implies he was tired from his isolation or that there was at least no remedy for it, and therefore his present sense of fulfilment was to engage in battle and enjoy it - although he recognised signs of defeat - it would be satisfying as he could go all out or die trying.

It would fulfill the purpose of his existence as The Strongest contender anyway. He, could be the victor, or the pawn, who plays his part in the universe. His reigning time as the champion needed to be defended with dignity anyway. It reminds me of his conversation with Megumi about death and being selfish.

I mean, that's just imbued with meaning there. A whole post needs to be dedicated to It, and I'm not the subject matter expert by a long mile. Gojo’s bottom line was that strength did define him; he was born with it.

Watching Megumi possibly minimise his worth and clip his wings without pursuing / living up to his potential may be a waste, as a person who inherited the skills that took their ancestors down. However, the selfish path may not be for everyone.

Other writers’ meta I’ve read seem to touch on this too - that Gojo unwittingly became a form of the old Jujutsu world himself due to being a product of it himself, but he did do his best by his students to inspire change. This, to me, speaks volumes about him entrusting them to live out their paths upon his passing - what could he do in death, anyway? He taught them the importance of accountability and his own version of the truth - that power and strength - living to your potential is certainly one way of living, and they can expect to die alone, so make the most of their youth!

We witnessed Gojo making preparations for the match, following setting the date on 24th December. How romantic of Geto, to try and either seek Rika in jjk 0 or die to Gojo’s hand - and then now, Gojo, who may mourn Geto again, or die trying on the same day. It begs the question: was he also secretly at peace with the possibility of dying to Sukuna? At not being the strongest? It seems that him being a pragmatist (or “resignation man” as Gege apparently once put it) he would find some peace, especially since he was Geto in the afterlife and could see that his soul wasn’t trapped in his physical body or something - their corpses could be left to the living and Shoko, which seems to be the faithful stance they both take in trusting the living to “carry on” their respective teachings.

Nevertheless, Gojo is trying to reach Megumi here. But as the incredibly gifted, talented, and strongest - albeit as cursed as it is to be afflicted with it all, Gojo may not empathise with the struggles of the weaker. It is reminiscent of how he approaches the battle with Sukuna in the first place. He was challenged and he accepted.

A sport. That's not to say he lost sight of the bigger picture - we saw Gojo making preparations for a possible reality where he does not return.

Unfortunately, his skills also lend towards fighting alone, unless they were back-to-back with him. (I still hold onto the belief he and Geto could be a dynamic duo). Which Sukuna also used against him in their match in order to not get hit. Gojo has never learnt what it would be like to fight with others and it's old-fashioned egoist rules about matches when viewing it as a sport rather than of survival. But, Gojo had changed enough to feel he could reach Sukuna and had desired to impart something - maybe to have significance or be regarded by an equal - once again - for this would be of utmost satisfaction for him to receive.

He had learnt a whole lot about things in his short life. He did well. In a final battle of 3 vs 1? Against Sukuna in the body of Megumi and the 10 shadows that his ancestors had died to? That’s already unprecedented. But strength aside, Gojo had reached many people and it’s time for him to pass on the baton and be where he wants to be, in the version of himself where he is the happiest.

Gojo admits to being wrong about dying alone, further listening to how Nanami and Haibara reflected on the former's death betting on the future seemed to solidify some kind of understanding for him.

That he didn’t have regrets either. He, too, fought for a purpose beyond seeing satisfaction of being strong; it just became evident as it surfaced to his awareness. With his six eyes, he couldn’t see everything. With limitless, he couldn’t reach it all either. Even if you have everything, you can’t do anything. It is not enough to just be strong. And Gojo wasn’t just strong in the end.

He may or may not have reached Sukuna, but maybe, just maybe, in being wrong about dying alone, the necessity for everyone to be both selfless and selfish, was enough for Gojo. To reach and arrive at: Acceptance.

Seems pretty good to me, to be at peace.

—

“The absolute strongest, the loneliness that follows, the one who will teach you about love is... “

Yorozu’s haunting words.

Gojo is not the strongest anymore

Gojo didn’t feel lonely anymore

The one who will teach has taught him about love is...

You, Geto Suguru. It started with you, and it ends with you.

—

Yes, sound the alarm! It's satosugu brainrot headcanon.

Gojo seems to be saying, and I’ll phrase this as if he were speaking to Geto in his mind’s voice:

Yes, I was undeniably the strongest; until I wasn't. It was a fun fight. My students are my legacy; I trust them to take it from here too. They know they have the permission to be selfish. I trust that they have their own wisdom to know the difference; it is up to them now. I did my best to change the world that let us down in our youth; and fostered and shielded those under my care as best as I could with what I had. I think they had some good memories; I sought to give them a flavour of what we had, preserving the treasure that it was for us. I was never the teacher type, but I wanted to do something and clung onto a dream you and I shared.

I responded to others who loved me and surrounded me for my strength (living creature); but for me as a human, I am undeniably greedy and longed, pined for you (the only one who saw me: Satoru). You held the space as my one and only. I let you go back then in Shinjuku, and couldn’t let your body go when you died, and you came back as a puppet... I didn’t get to mourn you, but here we are: dying on the same date a year apart. Others still don’t quite get me (like Nanami and Haibara) but they understand the creature that is a part of me. They accept me; in itself, it’s enough, for a part of it is true.

As for the rest of me: you complete me with your understanding of me; parts of me that I don’t see or have forgotten. Just as unchanging as it was before, I’ve only ever needed you to satisfy me (and ease my solitude) ; no matter who filled the space around me, your absence spoke the loudest, because your presence alone would have been the most profound - I’d have felt satisfied / complete.

And yes, I am 100% romanticising here. Unashamedly!

—

A more pragmatic take would be:

He could be quite simply implying that he carried a guilt for the longest time and the one thing he couldn't achieve was to bring his best friend back home to Jujutsu High. I mean I adore Teacher AU and I'm totally open to this more shonen interpretation too.

The finale was as he entered the other land, in a dreamlike state, he sees Geto, remembers he’s tasked Shoko to tell Megumi, demonstrating he has infinite faith in the next generation to survive, and it’s sufficient, it seems, to have a death without regret.

We see Sukuna offering recognition of his skill and existence after he is slashed, laying on the floor, as it begins to snow. A small smirk appears that seems to also mirror the same on his expression in the cover of volume 26. Satisfaction. Gojo might’ve been a worthy opponent and reached Sukuna in that regard after all; maybe love was not his lesson to teach Sukuna. He has died a noble death befitting of a warrior to be surrounded by camellias.

Gojo Satoru passes onto the afterlife and heads south.

—

It’s controversial somehow; it is both enough, and leaves me wanting more. Here’s to hoping it’s not the last of Gojo (or Geto).

Maybe I did just want to dream a little. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. My tapestries tend to get quite complicated, and I wouldn’t blame anyone if they bailed!

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whumpshaped · 4 months

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whumpee who's loud. prideful. egotistical. always going on and on about how great they are. how they're better and faster and stronger than anybody else. how they're the best suited for the job, how they're doing amazing at everything on the first try, how everything is so easy and they're so good at it.

everybody is annoyed. everybody is hellbent on knocking them down a peg. and truthfully? it's not that hard to do. whumpee is... quite average. but whenever the others point something out, whumpee acts totally delusional or makes up an excuse. it's infuriating.

caretaker is whumpee's only friend. their childhood friend. they seem to have a dynamic no one understands: caretaker seems genuinely loving and fond of whumpee half the time, but kind of bitter, resentful and angry the other half. whumpee's not even exceptionally nice to caretaker, not enough to warrant them sticking around for so long... and yet, well, it seems to work for them.

in truth, both whumpee and caretaker had a rough time growing up. they were both required to be the best at everything. anything less was a failure, anything less meant losing the fickle warmth of the home. they both put in the work, but only whumpee managed a part-time success.

whumpee was the best at some things, allowing them to experience some sort of acknowledgment and praise. it wasn't a lot, but it was enough to be the carrot on the stick, a high whumpee never learned to stop chasing. when the fountain of success dried up and it became obvious that they were woefully average, or at least something was standing in the way of them living up to the expectation, whumpee continued coping the only way they learned how: loudly exclaiming they were the best, hoping that if they repeated it enough it'd become true, get back to their family, and earn them love. they lie and lie and lie and tell everyone of how great they are even when they know it just makes them unlikeable, even when they know it's not true, even when they know it's so horribly easy to humble them. they lie and say it anyway because if they can't offer being the best, then what can they offer? and they used to be the best, once. they can be the best again. they can be loved again.

caretaker never met the expectations. they grew up jealous and resentful, they grew up angry and feeling slighted. they grew up rebellious, because their imperfect existence in itself was considered an act of defiance, so what difference would it make if they swung in the other direction? of course they longed for approval, but they never had it, they never lost it. most importantly, they saw what losing that approval and placing all their self-worth on being successful had done to whumpee. jealousy still plagues them from time to time, but what they feel is mostly pity nowadays. pity and utter rage towards the people who made both of them this way.

of course caretaker yells at whumpee every now and then. they're so much further ahead in their journey of trying to untangle self-worth from unattainable perfection, even if not by choice. even if their childhood dreams were violently shattered, it ended up serving them in the long run. but now they have to watch whumpee be stuck in that mindset they'd left behind decades ago, and it feels like dealing with a child, it feels like dealing with their own younger self, and it's impossible not to grab whumpee by the shoulders and shake them.

but at the end of the day, that bond won't be broken. they've gone through too much together not to have unending compassion for one another.

#am i writing proper stuff?#no <3 #sorry wordvomit is the best i can do #im exhausted #i will continue to apologise every day until i can get myself to write #whump #whump prompt

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yaderyngoch · 8 months

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I made a comment a while ago about a JayTim Tailor AU, and then the brainworms wouldn't stop so now I've actually written it.

Disclaimer that I'm super new to the fandom so this is my first time writing for it, and I also written one little fanfic in the past 3 years for a different fandom so I am Rusty and they're probably very OOC lol.

Tailor’s shops, Tim had found, were rather soothing places. Quiet and smelling faintly of amber and cedar. His chosen shop was an octagonal room lined with built-in shelves and racks of suits and armoires of darkly stained mahogany. A table in the centre of the room housed a swatch book of different types of wool and lining silks that Tim liked to flip through just to feel the delicately woven fabrics.

On one side of the shop window, there was a mannequin dressed in a half-finished suit, one side left without the facing so onlookers could see the canvas and careful stitching that gave the suit its structure. On the other there was an old treadle sewing machine, though Tim doubted it was still functional. Nevertheless it helped add to the timeless sort of atmosphere of the shop, something that felt so far removed from all the computers and cold artificial displays Tim usually worked with.

He’d been coming to this tailor for a few years now. Bruce had recommended him, and Tim had been coming ever since. There was something calming about the familiarity. Coming in and greeting the salesman who recommended a few suits for him to try on, settling on one that he thought looked best before the salesperson called the tailor out to him. It was always the same tailor, an elderly man with small, quick hands and soft eyes by the name of Lucius Fox.

Tim waited for him now, dressed in a neat blue suit the salesperson had chosen off the rack for Tim. The shop did offer entirely bespoke suits, but Tim had always found that to be much more elaborate than he felt he needed. As long as he looked neat and presentable, it worked for him.

He flipped through that fabric swatch book, tracing fingertips along the pinked edges of soft blue wool and reading the sticker on the back of the previous swatch as though he had any idea what any of it meant. Camel hair, it said. Tim didn’t think the fur of a camel would be particularly soft or good for suitmaking but evidently he was wrong.

“Mr. Drake?” Called a voice from the door to the tailor’s workshop itself, a voice lower and smoother than Tim had been expecting.

Tim looked up to see a man walking towards him, tall and broad with a streak of white through dark hair, a ruler and chalk in one hand and a pincushion secured to the other wrist with a band of black elastic. He’d forgone the jacket of his three-piece suit, the sleeves of his dress shirt neatly rolled up to his elbows, a tape measure draped around his neck. The suit was fitted just enough to display a figure far sturdier than Tim would’ve expected for a tailor, just hints of a broad chest and arms that filled out the sleeves far better than most.

His face was just as chiselled, with sharp green eyes that seemed to shimmer with amusement, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly.

It took Tim far too long to realise he’d been staring, and he quite quickly flicked his eyes back down to the book before him, feeling warmth rise on his cheeks. “Yes, that’s- uhm.” He cleared his throat. “That’s me.” He looked back up at the Tailor. “Sorry, I just was expecting someone… else.”

The Tailor smiled in something between understanding and amusement. “Yes, Mr. Fox is out for the week so he’s left me to handle the shop. I’ll be taking care of you today.” The blush rose higher on Tim’s cheeks, and if he didn’t know better he’d assume the Tailor was doing that on purpose, with that honeyed voice of his and those smoothly spoken words. “My name is Jason.”

“Tim,” he answered, picking at the band of his watch.

“A pleasure to meet you, Tim,” answered Jason, and Tim was almost irritated at how well such a simple and common name rolled off Jason’s tongue. Jason gestured towards the pedestal in front of the three-way mirror, a platform just a little bit above the ground that made fittings easier, evidently. “Stand up there and face the mirror,” said Jason, tone polite and professional despite the command.

Tim nodded, trying not to follow Jason’s order too quickly and trying even harder not to fidget. He’d gotten better at it over the years. At his first fitting, Mr. Fox had smacked him upside the head with a ruler and told him to sit still. Now though, he had a feeling he’d find it just as difficult to behave as he had back then.

Jason came to stand close behind Tim, and it was with another small amount of irritation that Tim noticed even atop the pedestal, Jason was still slightly taller than him. “Tell me a little more about how you like your suits to fit.” His voice was softer now that they stood closer together, a gentle sound rather close to Tim’s ear. Tim couldn’t tell if he could feel the body heat radiating off of Jason, or if it was his own body that was warming up.

“Well… I’m not really sure I have much of a preference. Mr. Fox just fixed whatever he thought looked bad.” Tim wasn’t particularly meticulous when it came to fashion.

Jason hummed in understanding, stepping back just slightly to sweep his eyes over Tim, analysing the way the suit fit him with a careful, sharp stare. “Well, Mr. Fox is very good at what he does, but between you and I? He's also ancient and tends to prefer older, boxier styles, which I don’t think particularly suit you.” Tim felt rather like a blank canvas, where Jason could see the vision of the finished piece and Tim couldn’t. “You have a much narrower waist than most of the men I see. I think you’d look far better in something that showed that off a little more.”

Tim tugged at the hem of the jacket, trying to see what it was that Jason saw, but as far as he was concerned a suit was a suit and as long as it fit he wasn’t sure the cut of it made much of a difference. It was something to wear to a formal event and want to take off as soon as he got home. As far as he knew, the one he had on already fit fairly well for the most part.

“Here, I’ll show you what I mean and you can see what you think,” Jason continued, stepping closer to Tim again, standing right behind him so that in the mirror he could see his own silhouette overshadowed by Jason’s. Jason stroked gentle fingers up Tim’s spine, a featherlight touch to smooth out the wrinkle at the base of his neck. Tim suppressed a shiver as Jason leaned in close to place a pin to mark where the extra fabric near the collar needed to be taken in.

“Generally, off the rack suits were designed to fit men with far worse posture than you,” Jason explained, moving on to pin the sides of the suit. He sounded… appreciative, nearly praising despite the aforementioned posture making more work for him.

Tim could definitely feel his body heat now, attention narrowed down to where he could feel the delicate brush of skilled fingers along his waist, sliding a pin through the fabric with ease and precision Tim wouldn’t have associated with larger, stronger hands, far less wrinkled than Mr. Fox.

Tim could feel the warmth of Jason’s breath, could see him leaning in close in the reflection of the mirror. Now that Jason wasn’t looking at Tim’s face, Tim couldn’t help but stare at Jason’s, at the piercing, intense gaze, careful and precise in his work. He was much younger than Tim assumed most tailors were, likely only a few years older than Tim himself.

Jason moved to the other side, momentarily placing a hand on Tim’s waist to pull away the fabric needed. Tim wondered what he was thinking, so focused and diligent, fingers so much more skilled than Tim would’ve expected. It was an art, really, and there was beauty in simply watching the way Jason worked, in feeling each gentle brush of fingertips along the fabric, light and delicate and telling of so much skill in those hands. Some part within Tim desperately wanted to ask for more, for a taste of what those feathery sweeping touches promised.

“How does that feel?” Tim snapped his eyes away from Jason’s face and back to his own reflection, reminded quite quickly that Jason was a professional only doing his job and Tim desperately needed to get it together. Jason was reminding Tim that he desperately needed a few things.

“Uh… what?” Tim asked, feeling suddenly rather silly and realising he hadn’t been paying any attention at all to any of the things he was supposed to be paying attention to.

Fortunately, instead of the irritation Tim had been expecting, Jason simply laughed, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “The suit. Does it feel too tight? Too loose?” Oh- right. That was why Tim was here.

He looked at his silhouette in the mirror again, this time actually looking at himself instead of at Jason, and found he quite immediately knew what Jason had been talking about before. More than just fitting him better, Tim felt like he looked more… like himself. Not someone putting on a costume to go play the character of some high-society heir. He looked… really good, and good in a way he hadn’t expected to see in himself.

“Well?” Jason asked, smirk tugging at his lips again. “You seem quite easy to leave speechless, but I would appreciate at least some feedback.”

“Oh- sorry. It feels good. Thank you,” Tim answered, looking back at Jason in time to see his satisfied smile.

“Good,” said Jason, stepping closer again. “Now for the sleeves, I think they’re a little long for you, hmm?”

Tim nodded, knowing at least that much needed to be fixed. The hem of the sleeve was barely above his knuckles. Jason leaned in, left shoulder brushing Tim’s right as he slid one hand past Tim’s hip, one hand on either side of Tim’s.

Tim’s breath hitched, trying to calm the way his heart raced at their proximity. He knew this was part of the fitting, that this was the easiest way for a tailor to roll up his sleeve. Mr. Fox had done it too, but when Jason touched him, it was… different. No- Jason was just doing his job. He was a professional, Tim shouldn’t be thinking these things.

Jason’s index finger brushed Tim’s palm as he started to roll the sleeve up, tucking the excess fabric inward so it looked more like what the finished product might be. He slid two fingers beneath the sleeve to help smooth out the folded edge, the backs of them brushing along the sensitive skin of Tim’s wrist. Tim would be surprised if Jason couldn’t feel his racing heartbeat like this, but if he did, he didn’t say anything of it, simply curling his fingers and bringing them down slightly to bring the sleeve down just a little.

“How’s that?” Jason asked, voice hardly above a whisper now that he was practically speaking in Tim’s ear, their faces only a few inches apart. He slid his fingers out of the sleeve, pulling away again so Tim could examine the length for himself.

“Yeah,” Tim answered breathlessly. “Yeah, I like that.” He realised now that Jason had pulled away, he very nearly felt cold. But at least the distance gave Tim room to catch his breath and chase away those creeping thoughts.

Then, Jason stepped in front of Tim, between him and the mirror, and Tim’s heart stuttered in his chest. Tim had nearly forgotten about how Tailors marked the second sleeve, and he was swiftly reminded when Jason dropped to his knees in front of him.

Tim immediately held his breath, staring directly forward and absolutely refusing to look down.

“You know, I can’t do this if you don’t relax,” Jason teased. It was then that Tim realised he’d balled his hands into fists, and then that he knew that Jason definitely knew what he was doing. He released the breath he’d been holding, unclenching his fists and relaxing his arms at his sides.

Jason hummed in satisfaction, and Tim felt that gentle brush of warm fingers against his own as Jason held the ruler up to measure the new length of the sleeve from the tip of his thumb, sliding a pin into place before repeating the process with the other sleeve. Tim was trying not to tremble, trying to ignore what he could see of Jason in his peripheral vision, trying not to wonder what it might be like if he used that tape measure for something other than its intended purpose.

Finally, Jason stood again, face so close to Tim’s that Tim could make out the different shades of green and blue in his eyes.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Now, if you’d please remove the jacket, it’s time to mark the pants.”

Tim was going to die in this tailor’s shop.

#jaytim #jaytim fic #my fic #my writing #*wordvomits 2k of technical sewing jargon* lick it up baby #I highly doubt there is actual interest in this but that's Okay because I am my own target audience

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