#Jason: -biting down on his glove and screaming into it-

[thedevilsfamiliar]

Jason: tf you mean you killed the Joker. What do you mean.

Other!Dick: he joked about your death and almost killed Tim.

Other!Tim: technically he brainwashed me to be his kid.

Jason:

Jason: I… the questions…

[visionsofcarnality]

Make-A-Wish

Summary: You ask your boyfriend to fuck you as his vigilante persona. Oh… and the helmet stays on. 🫵❤️

Warnings: Rough sex, Jaybird is a meanie in this one, degradation, name calling, use of slùt and whöre. Crude language, crying, ass slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it this is tumblr where people don’t get pregnant or STDs), cræmpie, slight overstim, Jason’s baby bird helmet hair.

a/n: i saw this pop up in my feed and i have to say this idea hijacked all common sense in my brain. I hope i did you justice- @smutinlove

(mdni below the cut, I am dead serious)

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” Was growled in your ear through the voice modulator installed in the helmet that you could currently feel pressing against the side of your head while the man wearing it pounded into you from behind. “You wanted the Red Hood? You fucking got it, bitch…” His sentence trailed off into a groan when you clenched around him from the harsh words.

“Fuck… You like this shit?” His thrusts were punishing, driving your legs even farther apart than you’d already stretched them, back forced into an arch by one of his big, thick hands on your spine.

You had no response for him, mewling and babbling into the dark sheets that you tried to grip between your scrambling fingers, simultaneously trying to push back onto him and pull yourself off.

“Jay-“ You cried, and the word was cut off when he used his other gloved hand to grip your hair, pulling you up by the nape of your neck so your chest was flush against his back.

“I don’t know who you’re calling for, princess.” He teased cruelly into your ear while the hand that had previously taken residence on your back circled around your shaking thighs to the little spot between your legs that made you see stars. “Is that good? That feel good? Such a dirty fucking whore for me, yeah?” He panted through the helmet, hot metal replacing what would have been hot breath on your neck.

“You like fucking the Red Hood?” He jeered, a dark chuckle escaping the covered mouth behind you. “Yeah, you fucking love this shit. Get off on being treated like a slut?” You couldn’t even respond with the way he was fucking you, forcing the flesh between your thighs to part and your body to take more and more of his fat fucking cock. He wasn’t the longest you’d had, but he definitely was the thickest. No matter how he tried to prepare you you always felt him for days after he fucked you… Especially like this. Your poor cunt would no doubt be dripping, leaking, and bruised tomorrow morning.

The thought alone triggered your orgasm and you came with a high, keening cry. Pussy damn-near crushing his cock as he continued thrusting, working your exhausted body through the waves of ecstasy. The sound of skin on wet skin filled the room as your cunt gushed and creamed for him, creating a white ring around the base of his cock as evidence of his prowess. Through the helmet he looked down quickly to watch your spasming pussy continue to spread around his cock. Your pretty little lips sucking him in while your muscles tried to push him out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking soak it.” He encouraged, finally getting tired of the helmet and yanking it from his head with one gloved hand. Underneath he was damp with sweat and condensation from his ragged breathing as he fucked you. Still, he fucked you, wringing the last dregs of pleasure from your body and starting another race to the peak. “Thought i’d let you off that easy?” He spoke into your ear, finally feeling his lips instead of metal on your skin. He took your earlobe into his teeth, biting the flesh with a nip like a kitten.

“Not gonna stop until you’re fucking screaming.” And scream you did, especially when his teeth sank into the flesh of the top of your shoulder as he came. The hot, wet feeling of his orgasm inside you triggered the second orgasm and you stopped making sounds that could be described as human.

He rutted against you still, torturing you both with the pleasure until you were sure it was more pain than sensation. Still he ground his pelvis against yours, so you could feel his heavy balls against your pussy as he emptied himself for all he was worth, painting your insides with the evidence of your mutual depravity.

Finally, after what felt like years he let go of your hair, letting you collapse to the bed gently, his other arm lowering you gently so as to not hurt your nose.

When he was assured you were able to let your weight onto the mattress he finally pulled out, moaning under his breath at the cold air on his previously cozy cock that was now creamy and shiny with your mixed juices. With both hands he harshly gripped the globes of your ass and lifted gently, exposing your ruined and still-twitching hole to his hungry eyes. Especially when the first drop of milky white cum appeared at your entrance and slid down to your clit where it hung like a pearly stalactite before plummeting to the sheets. Jason loved to watch his cum pour out of your cunt after you’d been thoroughly fucked out on his cock, something about the sight made him almost ready to go again at that exact second.

Only your soft sounds of requested affection broke him from the trance and he abandoned his show to laze down beside you, grabbing a soft tissue from beside the bed and cleaning between your legs before more of him dripped onto the sheets.

“How you doing baby?” He crooned gently, so at odds with how he’d spoken to you during the act. He gently ran a hand over your head and waited for your words.

The laugh that came out of him was enough to shake the building when you held up a singular hand for a high five.

[millyhelp]

I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS 😂

Dumb Girlfriend.

I just cleaned my bathroom. If you are Brazilian, you will know that we mix several chemical products to clean the bathroom, and well, it was no different for me. I did it and almost died from chlorine poisoning, so I thought, why not write about it?? Im dumb, I know it

warnings: Chemicals, worried Jason, somewhat stubborn reader, mentions of death (may be seen as Brazilian or not).

You and Jason used to share household chores. Nothing too elaborate, just helping each other. But there was one thing you liked to do, clean the bathroom.

And today was Wednesday. House cleaning day. Jason was cleaning the dust off the furniture in the living room and you were cleaning the bathroom in your bedroom.

Chlorine, disinfectant, detergent, fabric softener and something white that you forgot the name of. All of these products you was using to clean the bathroom.

Lastly, you added some water and started scrubbing. It was so customary to do this since you were a teenager that you didn't even care anymore. You started to scrub the floor hard, removing all the mud and dirt you found. Of course it worked, but your eyes started to burn. You didn't care, it was normal.

You continued to scrub, fast and hard, the floor and walls. The strong smell of chemicals started to enter yours nostrils very quickly.

Your head started to spin and you felt like you were losing air. To help, the bathroom didn't have any windows.

As despair covered your mind, you ran to the bathroom door and opened it quickly.

"Jason!" was the last thing you screamed before passing out.

Upon hearing your scream, Jason became worried. He quickly ran to the room and panic covered his face when he saw you on the floor.

"Yn! What happened?!" He took you in his arms and shook your face lightly. He smelled a strong smell of chemicals coming from the bathroom. "Oh God..."

Jason walked with you in his arms to the bed and laid you down on it.

"Princess, wake up, please." Jason caressed your face with his thumb.

You were out for a good 5 minutes. Jason was already thinking about taking you to the hospital, but before he could pick you up again, you started to open your eyes.

"Are you there? Huh?" He asked looking at your eyes opening. He was checking every part of your face for any reaction.

"Jay..." You whispered and then started laughing. Jason looked at you in disbelief and confusion. "I fainted?"

"Yes! Why are you laughing?" He frowned "You could have died! What did you put in there?"

"Calm down, Jaybird..." You felt yourself on the bed with his help. His head was still spinning. You have one last laugh. "I already do this with..." you look into Jason's eyes "often?"

Jason gave you a stern look.

"Are you trying to kill yourself or something?!" He said in a stern voice, the red hood's voice. You shivered.

"No..." You lowered your head "It's not the first time it's happened..."

"What?!" Jason runs his hand through his hair "You kidding, right?"

You shake your head and Jason sighs.

"Do not do that again." He grabs your face with both hands and makes you look at him "Fuck, just... don't do it! You should at least wear protective gear! I don't know what it would be like if I lost you!"

"I'm sorry, Jay..." You bite your lip and look into his pleading eyes. You can see the fear in him.

"Just... use protection when doing these things. Masks, gloves, glasses, anything!" He kissed you sweetly. "Don't scare me like that again!" He placed his forehead on yours

"I won't." You gave a small smile

"My stubborn little girl." He smiled, "What do I do with you?..."

In fact, he already knew he was going to do it.

[brucewaynehater101]

Very angsty hurt no comfort :)

TW: death, major character deaths, blood

"We can't win."

Batman's back is to the teen. Though Tim can't see his face, he knows the man is clenching his teeth. His shoulders are tense, his gloves strain under the tension of his fist, and the cape is rigid in its stillness. Every signal of the "unreadable" Batman is screaming stubborn resolution.

"B."

The man still won't turn to face his son.

"Bruce."

The man closes his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling. He let's out a shaky exhale.

His voice is hoarse. It's almost a whisper as he begs Tim for respite.

"We have to try."

Red Robin wants to cry.

He is a witness to a man out of options. He's watching a hero without hope. He's observing the infallible crumble. He sees Batman pleading for just one more plan.

Tim closes his eyes.

He can't... He can't see his dad like this. Not Bruce.

The son bites his lip until copper coats his tongue.

There has to be something. Anything. Between Tim, Bruce, and the entire hero community, there has to be a solution. They've got time.

Never mind the hours of research, calculations, simulations, and data that proves otherwise.

Tim nods to himself. He swallows the blood gushing in his mouth. His breath shakes, but he manages to pull his voice into a steady cadence.

"Okay."

His eyes slid open.

"Okay."

Bruce still won't face Tim, but the teen expected that. The man had never been good at facing what he perceives as his failures. He won't be able to look at Tim without berating himself for his inability to protect his children.

"Tim."

Through the reflection of the WatchTower window, Bruce meets his gaze. The father scrutinizes the teen as if he'll never lay his eyes upon him again. A flicker of regret passes Bruce's eyes.

Tim assumes the man condemns himself for not being able to save his family.

"Whatever the outcome may be, we will be together. All of us."

Those words burn as much as they comfort. At the very least, none of them would be alone.

Tim, as all Robins are prone to do, cracks a sly grin. "I'm not sure one place could contain us all."

Bruce, as Batman is prone to do, allows his lips to twitch upwards in response.

~~~

It's been 36 hours, but they have mere minutes left.

Barbara's hands had left her keyboard thirty minutes ago. Her left one tightly grips Dick's wrist. The other runs through Cass's hair. Black Bat has her head in Barbara's lap as her eyes dart between her family members.

Tim offers her a soft, pained smiled when their eyes meet. Cass mouths the words "I love you."

Dick is seated on the floor next to Bab's wheelchair. Two minutes ago, he had started humming a Romani tune as he rocked Damian in his lap. All conversation stilled as his voice gently carried.

Damian has gone quiet. No one has heard him speak in four hours.

Steph is curled around Cass. Tears silently stream down her face, but no one acknowledges it.

Duke stands behind Barbara's chair with one hand on her shoulder. He intermittently starts up breathing exercises to calm his shaking.

Jason Todd is present, but he's slightly distant from the group. He stares ahead in reluctance as imminent death stares back at him once again.

Tim's eyes keep drifting to the door.

Bruce had promised.

He promised Tim that, in the end, he'd be here with them.

He promised.

With three minutes to go, Tim knows he's not coming. He knows Bruce will never make it.

It's a cruel pain to bear when his life is ending.

Tim's just glad he never told his siblings otherwise.

The teen allows himself one moment. One moment to collect himself.

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

He nods to himself.

Tim walks over to Jason with another melancholic smile. He holds up his hand.

The older brother pauses. He glances down at the hand, and his expression carefully breaks. He allows his younger brother to pull him back into the group.

Everyone stares out of the WatchTower windows at the cause of their death. Dick's voice carries, even when it wavers in emotion.

This is it. The end.

At least they're together.

[trashytummies]

Swallowed Pride (DC vore fic)

a/n: have a protective Nightwing ft. unwilling Jason prey vore fic. lil batfamily vibsey <3. oh and jason also has some not fun memories of dying. I adore vore fics with swapping perspectives so I'm sorry if this is confusing ;_; word count: ~4100?

_____

Jason groaned, a low rasp slipping out of his throat. His surroundings pulsed with a damp, oppressive heat that clawed at his skin, slicking his gloves and making it almost impossible to catch his breath. His ribs ached, and every inch of him felt trapped in this unrelenting, humid vise. He tried to shift, to get his back against something solid, but every motion was swallowed up, met with a suffocating resistance.

"Alright," he muttered, voice hoarse. “This is… new.”

The taste in the air was wrong. A grimace twisted his face as he tried to shift, finding no space to move, wedged between layers of damp, fleshy walls. Not rock. Not exactly wet stone, either. Just too soft. Too warm.

Not rubble. Nothing jagged. Smooth. 

The sound of his own breathing grew louder, rasping in and out as he tried to twist himself free. But all he managed was to slide further down this bizarre chute. A flicker of panic flashed across his mind, sharp and unwelcome. It tugged at something buried deep, something he didn’t let himself think about, ever. But it was there now; the sensation of heat, tightness, the press of earth and smoke. Like that day. Like-- 

No. Nope, he wasn’t doing that. Not thinking about that, not now.

His mind buzzed, digging through memories. He’d been with the team; Red, Nightwing, and yeah, of course, Bats. The mission had gotten a little out of hand; Tim needed backup, and -- then what? Everything between then and now was a haze. A big, dripping, burning haze.

Jason tried to focus, replaying the moments just before; the alley, then that abandoned office building, and then… nothing. And now this cave-like, sweltering pit. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, smearing against his mask as he twisted, trying to plant his knees against something solid. Every breath felt like he was sucking down steam, heat pressing on him from every angle.

"Okay, Todd. Get it together. Think.” He glanced around --or tried to, anyway, but there was no way to tell which way was up or down. Just that same smooth, slimy pressure squeezing in on all sides, his own breaths coming back hot against his face.

“Hey, anyone out there?” he called, the words half-lost in the wet slap of whatever lined this... place. But all he got was a soft, rhythmic groan surrounding him, almost like a heartbeat, steady and smothering.

Another wave of pressure tightened around him, shoving him further into the suffocating darkness. His heart pounded, thoughts scattering like shrapnel, sharp and fast. Buried alive. That sick, clawing sensation washed over him, dredging up memories he had no intention of revisiting. Explosions. Dirt pressing in on him, the weight of concrete and metal trapping him, his own voice screaming for help, and--

No. Not now.

He gritted his teeth, frustration biting deep. “Red? Wing? I swear, if you two left me in a sewer pipe or something...” He twisted his head, grumbling to himself, but everything came out muffled, absorbed by this pulsing, humid space.

_________________________

Rewind 

Rewind

Rewind

The scene swirled back into focus, through the last thirty chaotic minutes that landed on the exact moment Dick realized something was really wrong.

Jason was supposed to be covering the south side, running point with Tim across the courtyard. But when Dick looked back after clearing a corner, he’d caught sight of Jason crumpling, mid-swing, into the pavement. Jason wasn’t just down; he was tiny. Like, two inches max, knocked out cold, and sprawled out on the ground.

Dick’s jaw had practically hit the rooftop. “Holy shit,” he hissed, blinking hard like maybe he’d just taken a hit to the head himself.

Nope.

That was definitely Jason, definitely bite-sized, and lying defenseless in the middle of Gotham’s grimiest alley. He barely had time to process it, and he was not about to leave Jason sitting in the gutter like some abandoned Happy Meal toy.

Okay, Grayson. Think.

He glanced down at his suit, mentally running through every hidden pocket and compartment. Utility belt? No way -- too much jostling. The pocket lining would probably suffocate the guy, or worse, turn him into shrunken pulp if Dick took a hit. Same with any of his stash spots. Then the next best thought crossed his mind -- and immediately died a fiery death.

But hell, with the goons doubling back, any hesitation could leave Jason vulnerable, or worse. He had seconds to act.

So he did something that, in his defense, seemed like the only solution in the moment.

One quick breath, and he scooped Jason up, tipping him carefully onto his tongue. Jason’s tiny body felt solid, almost surprisingly weighty, considering his new size. Dick hesitated, the reality of this insane decision finally hitting home. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and with the gentlest nudge, he swallowed.

It was, well, uncomfortable didn’t even start to cover it. Jason slipped down in a slow, thick slide, an odd pressure that made Dick grit his teeth. Each inch felt painfully deliberate, his throat constricting around Jason’s shape until he finally, mercifully, settled in place. Dick coughed, trying to compose himself just in time to hear Tim's footsteps against the concrete as he caught up.

“Dick!” Tim called, eyes scanning him over, then narrowing. “What the hell was that?”

Dick barely managed to suppress another cough, swallowing hard. “What was what?” he choked out, voice barely steady.

Tim’s brow arched, skeptical, like he’d seen through every bullshit excuse Dick had ever tried in his entire life. “I saw you cough up a lung. And you’re still flushed. Look, if you’ve got something going on with your suit tech or whatever--”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Dick cut in, waving it off, trying to play up his usual charm. He gave Tim a reassuring, if slightly strained, grin. “Just--went down the wrong pipe. Happens to the best of us, right?”

Tim looked at him for a long second, head tilted, the gears clearly turning. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Dick cleared his throat one more time for emphasis. “Trust me, if I had something important to tell you, I’d tell you. Now, can we focus? There’s still three of them left.” He jerked his thumb toward the next building. “I’ll take the high ground. You flush them out?”

Tim still looked at him sideways, but he gave a reluctant nod, his gaze flicking down to Dick’s throat once more before turning back to the mission. “Fine, but if you pass out mid-jump or whatever, I’m telling Babs.”

Dick barely restrained a wince, waving Tim off as he darted toward the next alleyway. One hour, tops, he told himself. Just get the job done, clear out the area, and get Jason out safely before he has a chance to do more than mumble a few pissed-off words.

“Hang tight, Jaybird,” he muttered under his breath.

_______________________

The tight, slick walls squeezed in around him, pressing at his shoulders and ribs, forcing him to push forward just to breathe. Every inch he gained seemed to make it worse --the stifling heat, the reek of rot, like old food left out too long. Jason sucked in a shallow breath, trying to steady himself, only for the sour stench to claw at his throat. He grimaced.

"Great," he muttered, voice muffled and weak in the humid dark. "I get to suffocate and smell like someone’s garbage disposal. Just my luck."

He shoved forward, the cramped space finally loosening just enough for him to wriggle through, half crawling, half dragged along by whatever was coating these walls. He pushed his hands out and found --thank god-- something resembling open space. Not by much, but he could almost stretch out his arms, which had to count for something.

Except it didn’t. If anything, it was somehow worse in here.

The stench punched him square in the gut, stomach-churning in a way that brought back memories he’d worked pretty damn hard to bury. The heat. The way it pressed down on him, cloying, sticky, unyielding. The dark was so thick it was like he could feel it pressing in on his skin. Too close to those old memories. Too close to the kind of helpless that made his chest feel like it might cave in.

Jason let out a low, shaky breath, pressing his palm to the wall for some semblance of stability. "Come on, Todd. Focus. Think." He closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to training, his instincts settling in. What the hell even is this place? The entire thing was soft, slick, like… flesh.

“Okay, no, that’s insane. I’m not…” He swallowed, panic prickling at the edges of his mind. But the clues pieced together too neatly, each one sliding in like a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. The walls, the cramped squeeze, the pulsing, muffled beat that droned around him like a heartbeat. His mind filled in the blanks faster than he wanted, and all at once, the truth slammed into him, cold and hard.

I’m in a stomach.

A stomach. A literal fucking stomach.

The idea hit him with a nauseating kind of clarity that almost made him laugh. He’d been trained by the world’s greatest detective, could read Gotham’s dirtbags better than most, and now he was trapped here, in someone’s gut, like the punchline to a twisted joke he never asked for.

He blinked, swallowing down a rush of bile. “So that’s it, huh?” he rasped, pressing his back to the fleshy wall, the whole setup feeling like some cruel rerun of a life he’d already lived. “I got blown up once. Came back, just to get tossed down the gullet. Nice. Really nice, universe. I appreciate it.”

The walls around him pulsed again, contracting in a slow, smothering rhythm, dragging his thoughts to that dark corner of his mind he tried to keep locked away. Buried alive. Alone. Left for dead. Panic tried clawing its way up his throat, but he shoved it down, clenching his fists until his gloves squeaked against the slick wall. Not like this.

No way he was letting some freak’s digestive tract do him in.

________________________________

Dick ducked under a swinging fist, pivoting out of the way with practiced ease. But the moment he twisted, a sudden sharp scratch clawed up from the pit of his stomach. He doubled over, a hand instinctively pressing against his abdomen, muttering under his breath.

“Oh, so you’re awake,” he grunted, voice low enough to avoid Tim’s ears but sharp enough to keep his irritation real. “And apparently pissed off.”

Jason gave another few furious kicks --or punches, maybe a full-body tantrum-- against the walls of Dick’s stomach, which only made him wince harder. Man, this is… Well, it was something. Distracting as hell, actually, when he was in the middle of a brawl with some of Gotham’s least creative henchmen.

Tim’s eyes zeroed in on him, skeptical, a hard squint as he landed a punch and sidled up. “Uh, you good? ‘Cause you’re making faces like you just ate bad sushi.”

“Yeah, yeah, just a little… stomach thing,” Dick managed, breath catching as Jason squirmed again. He leaned into his strikes, using the motion to cover a particularly sharp jab coming from inside.

Tim just kept staring, a brow arching. “In the middle of a fight? You’re usually more… I dunno. Here.”

“I am here,” Dick muttered through clenched teeth, grabbing the last thug by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall. Jason gave one last pointed kick that nearly knocked the wind out of him, and he couldn’t help it -- his hand went to his stomach again. He tried to school his face, look normal, like he wasn’t dealing with a very angry, very miniature Jason Todd wreaking havoc from within.

The final goon dropped, and before Dick could so much as take a breath, Tim was right there, narrowing his eyes in that too-perceptive way he always did when he suspected something was up.

“Alright,” Tim said, crossing his arms, his usual calm replaced with the full-blown Red Robin glare. “Mind telling me what’s going on with you tonight? I’m standing there, fighting for my life, and you’re out here rubbing your stomach like you’re at a bad buffet.” He tilted his head, lowering his voice. “And where the hell is Jason? He just up and left us? Doesn’t strike me as his style.”

Dick stifled the urge to cough again, glancing away to avoid Tim’s piercing gaze. Damn it, he’s good at this. “Maybe he had somewhere else to be,” he said, attempting casual. “You know how he is. Doesn’t tell us everything.”

Tim’s eyebrow crept higher, skepticism practically radiating off him. “He doesn’t tell Bruce everything, but he doesn’t just disappear mid-mission with no heads-up. I get he’s Jason, but this is Gotham. And you’re… weirdly calm about it.”

Dick forced a quick shrug, looking anywhere but Tim’s face. “Maybe I just trust him to handle himself.” He winced as Jason scratched at him again, pressing his hand to his side as subtly as he could. “Ow-- I mean, what? You know, he’s--he’s Jason.”

Tim folded his arms tighter, a smirk quirking at his lips. “And you’re stammering like you’ve got a guilty conscience. What gives?”

Dick could feel his cover slipping fast, and he knew he’d have to come up with something, and soon. For now, he just put on his best carefree grin, hoping it was enough to get Tim to lay off.

_______________________________

The reality of his situation settled in slowly, like the world's worst punchline unfurling in slow motion. Inside a stomach. He could practically feel the bile rising. Yeah, Jason Todd had been through his share of nightmares, but this was a new low even for him. Of all the places to wind up, he’d somehow managed to get himself swallowed. Just phenomenal.

"Just where I always wanted to end up," he muttered to himself, voice barely a whisper against the damp walls pressing around him. "A one-way ticket back to near-death, and for what? One more brush with the great beyond? Because dying was just such a blast the first time.”

He took a breath, trying to steady himself against the rippling walls, feeling the clench and pull of the gut as it tried to drag him deeper. He stifled a gag, the acrid stench of half-digested food coating every breath he took. Focus, Todd. Don’t think about the smell. Or the rotting mush sliding under his feet. Or that disgusting, rhythmic gurgle echoing in his ears like a twisted lullaby.

Alright, let's see if he could at least figure out who this idiot was. He couldn’t tell much by sound -- the voice was muted, a low vibration rumbling around him like he was underwater, though he could at least pick out a male inflection. But he couldn’t just be in some random guy’s gut, right? There was someone out there with a reason to swallow the Red Hood, and… actually, nope. Scratch that. He couldn’t think of a single person willing or twisted enough to get him into this mess.

Well, almost no one.

The last thing he remembered was dealing with Clayface’s thugs, swinging punches alongside Nightwing and Red Robin. He’d been right there with them, taking out the stragglers and rounding up the goons. And then… well, then things got fuzzy. Had he been teleported? Knocked out? Honestly, being devoured alive was just insane enough to be one of Joker’s sick stunts, but no—it didn’t feel… Joker-y enough. Even he’d probably keep Jason alive just to laugh in his face.

Jason sucked in another breath, fighting the nausea clawing up his throat. “So, let’s recap,” he mumbled, digging his nails into the slippery wall. “Stuck in a guy’s gut, no memory of how I got here, no idea who the hell ate me, and oh--right. I’m literally going to die in here. Just peachy.”

The stomach lurched suddenly, sending him sliding down, only to be shoved back up again by another ripple of muscle. He grimaced, trying to brace himself. And then, through the muffled tones and the heavy, distorted beat of the stomach around him, he caught something he’d recognize anywhere--a voice. And not just any voice, that same light, upbeat cadence that he’d heard a million times, the one that used to ring in his ears with the kind of brightness that could only belong to one person.

“No way,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing in the darkness as the realization hit him like a sucker punch. It couldn’t be. He’d never be stupid enough to do something like this. But the voice, the stupid cadence, and the sheer insanity of it all were enough to make it click. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Nightwing. Dick freaking Grayson.

Jason clenched his fists, the weight of his current humiliation settling like lead in his stomach. “Of all the stupid, reckless--” he muttered, barely able to believe it. Out of every sadistic nutcase in Gotham, he’d somehow ended up inside Dick. If it weren’t happening to him right now, he’d actually laugh.

Great. Just great. Buried, literally, in the “Golden Boy.” There was something sickeningly poetic about it, and he almost hated how much it fit. The guy he’d spent years trying to measure up to, fighting to be worthy of the role, who he’d half-convinced himself Bruce could never replace. And now here he was, trapped in the one guy he’d always felt himself shadowed by. Life had a real sense of humor sometimes.

“Grayson,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his chest to keep himself from dry-heaving, “you better pray I don’t get out of here.”

Because the dark, cramped, disgustingly hot pit was a nightmare Jason wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. The fact that it was Dick’s stomach? Oh, that just made it all the worse.

Jason shifted, grimacing as his fingers slid against the slick, half-digested remnants of… falafel? He gagged, pressing his hands against the walls as best as he could to brace himself, feeling another wave of that foul, acidic slosh roll over his boots.

“This is the absolute last time I team up with Grayson,” he muttered, gritting his teeth as he shoved his way up, the sour smell sticking to him, burning his throat with every breath. “And when I get out of here, I swear to god, I’m gonna make him regret every single inch of it.”

Of course, it couldn’t be anyone else’s stomach, right? Oh no. This whole thing was practically a sick joke. Here he was, stuck inside the guy he’d spent years trying to compete with, the guy who --whether Jason wanted to admit it or not-- always seemed to have it together. Meanwhile, Jason Todd was three inches tall, covered in stomach acid, and stuck in Grayson’s gut. Story of his life.

Just then, he felt a jolt, followed by a shift that had him sliding, face-first, right back into the half-digested slush at the bottom. He clenched his teeth, fighting back a wave of frustration. “Of all the idiotic, harebrained ideas, this was the best he could come up with?”

______________________________

Outside, things were deceptively calm. The last of the thugs had been cuffed and loaded up for the GCPD, and Tim and Dick were strolling down the street toward one of Gotham’s all-night fast-food joints. Tim was keeping pace beside him, shooting glances at Dick every few steps.

“So… we’re not going to talk about how Jason just vanished?” Tim asked, giving him a look that was a few levels below ‘judgmental’ but still in ‘I’m not buying this’ territory.

Dick shrugged, a bit too casually. “He’s Jason. Vanishing is half his style.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim muttered, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “Except usually, he at least gives us a heads-up, or a ‘screw you guys’ wave before bailing. And you’re weirdly chill about it.”

Dick held back a sigh, trying not to squirm under the scrutiny. Just play it cool, he told himself. “I’m telling you, Tim, he’s fine. He probably just needed a minute. You know him. He’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy regroup type.”

Tim’s frown only deepened, and he looked one small mental step away from phoning Bruce for a full-scale intervention. “Fine, you’re not gonna tell me. But if he’s actually in trouble, I’ll drag his ass back here myself.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re acting weird tonight, just so you know.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence,” Dick muttered. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look casual as they stepped inside the fast-food joint. After ordering, he gave Tim a quick pat on the shoulder. “Hey, I’ll be right back -- gotta hit the bathroom.”

Tim didn’t even try to hide his suspicion. “Yeah, sure. Take your time,” he muttered, watching him disappear down the hallway like he was mentally cataloging every weird thing Dick had done that night.

________________________________

The bathroom was barely cleaner than the streets outside, but Dick didn’t have time to be picky. He closed the door behind him and took a breath, steadying himself as he braced against the sink. He could feel Jason still squirming, punching and scratching against the walls of his stomach.

“Alright, here goes…” he muttered, hoping to hell this wasn’t about to go from weird to grotesque.

With a few deep breaths and a not-so-gentle cough, he felt the painful push as Jason finally slid up and out, spilling into his hand. Dick exhaled heavily, trying to shake off the discomfort as he looked down at the soaked, very, very irritated mini-Jason sprawled out in his palm.

Jason wiped the gunk off his helmet with a grimace, barely glancing at Dick as he dragged himself to his feet. “Well, that was disgusting.”

Dick forced a grin, trying to keep things light. “Hey, I got you out, didn’t I?”

Jason’s glare could’ve cut through concrete. “In your stomach, Grayson. I spent the last hour drowning in… whatever the hell that was!” He flicked another glob of half-digested falafel off his jacket. “Didn’t exactly help that you ate before deciding to pull that little stunt.”

Dick winced. “I mean, it’s not like I��planned on eating you, Jay. Just… improvised.”

“Yeah, well, next time, how about you don’t improvise by swallowing me whole?” Jason shot back, crossing his arms and bristling like a wet, angry cat. “Who even thinks swallowing someone is a good idea? Couldn’t just carry me around in your pocket or -- oh, I don’t know, figure out literally anything else?”

Dick shrugged, still trying to play it cool. “I was out of options. And I kept you safe, didn’t I?”

“Oh yeah, thanks. Real safe, Grayson. Look at me.” Jason held his arms out, dripping, his jacket half-eaten by stomach acid. “I look like I got tossed in a blender with a lunch special.”

Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. Maybe it wasn’t my best idea. But hey, you’re not too worse for wear, right?”

Jason let out a laugh, bitter and biting, eyes narrowed. “Right. Well, good to know that I rank just below ‘half-eaten falafel’ on your list of things that matter. Just toss me in the garbage while you’re at it.”

Dick’s face softened, a flicker of guilt creeping in. “C’mon, Jay, that’s not--”

Jason held up a hand, cutting him off. “Save it. And for the record? Releasing me in a fast food bathroom? Way to show the love, Grayson. Real classy.”

Dick pressed his lips together, barely holding back a smirk. “Well, next time, maybe try to stay regular-sized, and we won’t have this problem.”

Jason shot him a look that could freeze lava. “Next time, Grayson, I’m shoving you into a sewer pipe and seeing how long it takes for you to complain about it.”

Dick raised his hands in mock surrender. “Noted.” He glanced down at the tiny, furious figure in his hand and gave him a soft, almost apologetic smile. “You, uh, need a rinse or…?”

Jason rolled his eyes, wiping another layer of gunk off his boots. “Yeah, try a hundred. And maybe a therapist on standby after all this.”

Dick grinned, finally letting out a small chuckle. “Fair enough. Remind me not to tell Tim about this?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to remind me,” Jason grumbled, crossing his arms. “Now, can we please get me out of this hellhole? And, for the record, if you ever pull this crap again…” He trailed off, fixing Dick with a hard glare. “Let’s just say I know exactly where to aim the next time I get a crowbar in my hands.”

Dick just shook his head, chuckling as he carefully tucked Jason --dignity shot, pride thoroughly bruised-- into his jacket pocket. “Alright, Red. I owe you one.”

[swift-creates]

@chrumblr-whumblr day 8: blood covered hands

wc: 613 | warnings: gunshot injury, blood, swearing, stitching and dressing a wound without anaesthesia, medical inaccuracies | characters: Jason Todd (pov), Dick Grayson

—

Jason staggered into the Batcave, holding onto one of the railings with one hand and holding his guts in with the other. Figuratively. He hoped. One of the thugs had gotten in a lucky shot during his latest drug lord takedown, and he'd dragged himself all the way back here like an injured dog. It was just past one. The night was young; Duke would be asleep and the others would still be out on patrol.

He pulled open a drawer and yanked out one of the first aid kits, then took a wad of dressing and pressed it to the wound, letting a breath hiss out through his teeth. Blood covered his gloves and jacket, and some of it was slowly dripping down onto his boots and the metal floor. He watched the red spots bloom on silver idly.

"Jay?" His head snapped up at Dick's voice. Too fast. The movement sent a stab of pain through his side, and he had to fight not to double over. "What?" he forced out through gritted teeth. "You're back early-" Dick's eyes widened as he saw the blood. "You need help? What happened?" "Got shot. I'm fine." He limped two steps toward the lift, then promptly crumpled.

"Jason!" Dick lunged to catch him, steadying Jason against himself. "You don't seem very fine." He maneuvered him over to a couch and set him down, then darted to retrieve the first aid kit.

"Let me see." "I don't need your help," Jason growled. "Your fucking gunshot wound says otherwise. Let me see." Dick returned his glare, and Jason gave up, lifting his shirt to reveal the bloody hole. "It looks worse than it feels." His brother gave him a look.

"Breathe." "I am breathing. What you need to worry about is if I stop." "Stop deliriously mouthing off and listen to me. That's a lot of blood, Jason." Worry crinkled the little line between his eyebrows as Dick leaned in to put pressure on the wound. "-'m not delirious," he ground out, fingers digging into the plush cushions beneath him. "Sure, little Wing." For once, he didn't have enough energy to protest at the nickname.

Dick took a needle and thread from the box, then tied a knot as Jason panted. He wiped carefully at the wound for a moment, then looked up at him. "Breathe." This time, he didn't bite back. Jason counted the stitches as Dick made them, if only in an effort not to scream. It failed on stitch six.

"Shhhh. All done." Dick cut off the thread and put away the needle, then made as if to cradle the side of Jason's face, but stopped short at the sight of his hands soaked in blood. He gave the tiniest wince and wiped them clean on a cloth, then set about dressing the wound.

Jason closed his eyes and listened to the faint din of Dick bustling around the Batcave. There was the soft tap of fingers against his leg, then a pad of gauze to his torso. The sound of tape being pulled out and torn off, then the slight pressure of a piece being stuck on top of the gauze. He stopped paying attention after that, he was so tired, more tired than he'd realised before, and-

"Done. You get some sleep, Jay. I got you." He let out a wordless mumble, feeling faintly annoyed at being told to do what he'd already been about to. Dick shuffled around a bit more, then there was a soft kiss pressed to the top of his head. Then the sound of receding footsteps, and then the darkness was all he was aware of.

[camsthisky]

I love your writing so much, I’m so excited for this event! How about “Tell me who did this to you” from the protective/loyal prompt list, with Jason and hurt!Dick? Thank you!!

Dick has the absolute worst luck.

Sometimes he wonders if there’s just something about him that screams hit me with a dump truck full of baddies and throw me into the river to drown, because this is the third time he’s been tossed into the water this year.

The moment he’s airborne and heading towards the water, Dick is hitting the panic button in his glove and praying that he’s going to be able to survive this attempted drowning as well as he did the other two.

The tricky thing about this time, though, is that he’s been tied up, and while Nightwing has been in some sticky situations, Dick isn’t sure that he’s going to come out of this one whole and hale.

Because, come on. Chains? Really? The baddies this time had slapped manacles on him and wrapped him in chains and tossed him into the dirty river and Dick is pretty sure he’s going to die if he doesn’t find a way out of this. Quick.

At least if they tied him up with rope, he’d probably have a much better chance of surviving. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a handy dandy pair of bolt cutters in his utility belt. If it’s supposed to be there, then that was a lesson Dick had missed during vigilante lessons.

At some point, Dick blacks out, and as his vision goes dark, all he can think is, “I didn’t get to tell Damian that I love his new suit design.”

—

He wakes up choking on water. Dirty Gotham river water. Gross.

“Breathe, dammit!” someone yells at him, and miraculously, as he’s turned on his side, Dick manages to cough out the nasty water taking up the space in his lungs where the air is supposed to be. Someone thumps his back, and—

well. Eventually, he sucks in a huge heaving breath and coughs out some more. His throat is absolutely ripped to shreds and he’s still chained up.

But! He’s not underwater anymore. Which is a major plus. And Dick can mark a three-for-three on his score of surviving being thrown in the Gotham River. So take that, bad luck.

“What the hell, ‘Wing?!” that same someone—Jason, Dick realizes. No helmet, but anger and spite in spades—bites out. “Are these fucking manacles?!”

“Yeah,” Dick croaks. He’s exhausted, and Jason is leaning over him now, flipping up the lenses in Dick’s mask to check his pupils. “Not my century of style, I know. But I think I pull them off pretty well.”

“You’re a fashion disaster,” Jason mutters. “Who the heck even managed to catch you like this?”

“Oh, you know,” Dick says, very expertly avoiding answering the question directly. “I’m just a magnet for trouble. All the weirdos are out to kill me in the most ridiculous ways. Including manacled river drownings like we’re in medieval times. Gotta love Gotham.”

Jason flips Dick’s lenses back down, and gives him an unimpressed look. Even with Jason’s mask still on, Dick can see the sheer unimpressibility—is that even a word? Dick’s brain is not operating at full capacity—in Jason’s face based on his micro expressions.

“Tell me who did this to you, Dickhead,” Jason says, hauling Dick to his very uncoordinated feet and then swinging him up over his shoulders.

Someone needs to tell Jason to stop growing. Or not. Growing means Jason is alive, after all. Even if he is taller than Dick by a good few inches.

“We gotta tell Oracle that there’s some loser chaining people and throwing them in the river to drown. God, why couldn’t it be ropes? You could have cut the ropes and I wouldn’t have had to save your stupid ass.”

“My ass is not stupid,” Dick wheezes as he hangs from Jason’s shoulders. He’s pretty sure Jason’s dumb body armor is digging into his stomach. “My ass is amazing.”

Dick can practically hear the eyeroll.

“Give me their names, Nightwing.”

“You sound like B.”

“And you sound like someone who doesn’t know what’s coming to him,” Jason says. “The hell are you so reluctant for?”

“So,” Dick says, still kind of sounding like one of those stupid rubber chicken toys if it had gone through ten rounds with Titus and was on its last freaking leg. “I may or may not have figured out who chained me up and threw me in the river.”

Jason groans. “I am so angry at you right now.”

“Cool,” Dick says, and he’ll come back to Jason’s emotions later when he has the brain capacity to actually deal with them. “You got any bolt cutters?”

“Why me,” Jason complains.

“Why me?” Dick throws out, a little offended. “I’m the one who almost drowned.”

“I’m honestly having second thoughts about saving you.”

“No you’re not.”

Jason sighs, finally setting Dick—chains and all—on the ground. They’re a couple blocks away from the river now, and the streets are deserted.

“No,” Jason admits, exasperated. “I’m not. Why are you so annoying?”

“Older brother privileges,” Dick tells him, blinking rapidly to try and reduce the fuzzy feeling in his brain to maybe zero. That’d be great, yeah. Zero is a good number.

Another eye roll. Probably. Dick can feel it in the universe, even if he can’t actually see Jason doing it.

Dick must lose time at some point, because when he blinks next, he’s on the couch in Jason’s apartment, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, and miraculously unchained.

His head is a bit floaty, but he’ll take all the wins he can get tonight.

“—dumbass who got himself manacled, for fuck’s sake,” Jason is saying as he walks back in the living room. They make eye contact and Jason scoffs into the phone. “He’s awake, so come get him before I throw him back into the river and let him drown for real.”

Jason hangs up and throws his phone onto the coffee table.

“That was mean,” Dick says. “Even if B’s an ass, it’s mean to say things like that.”

“He was pissing me off,” Jason mutters, but he plops down on the floor in front of the couch. “He’s gonna be here in twenty to pick your sorry ass up for a medical check. Pretty sure you have a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head?” Dick asks more than says.

Jason snorts. “Yeah, sure. That explains why there’s a knot the size of a walnut on the back of your head.”

Dick blinks. “Oh.”

“That’s the only reason I’m letting you off the hook about not knowing who those guys were,” Jason tells him.

“Sure,” Dick says, eyelids feeling heavy again. “Whatever you say, Jay.”

[tielwrites]

BAT!DAD finding out Jason’s death.

I was inspired by Neytiri’s rage in ATWOW, like damn that is a parent’s anguish and rage. So for now let’s bask into the grief.

WARNING: ANGST, CHARACTER DEATH, VIOLENCE, and BLOOD.

M/N paces around the living room in the manor, waiting in on the update about Jason’s whereabouts. He tries to will himself to calm down, however his patience is running thin from his worry. Every second that he does not hear anything about his son.

The father deeply sighing, remembering what he saw earlier in the bat cave. Joker’s maniacal laugh blasting from the speakers as he shows a beaten up Jason on the wheelchair.

His face was branded with a ‘J’ on his left cheek, nose dripping with blood. His face black and blue, face streamed down with blood. Making M/N gag at the pool of blood on the floor.

His Jason, his son, tortured and kept down in the chair.

Oh how M/N wanted to grab him from there and free him, holding him and protecting him from this evil bastard of a clown.

But no, all he could do is watch as the villain bashes shadow with a crowbar on his hand, the crack of the bone going around the cave, making M/N’s stomach churn and his chest going tight at the horrid and cruel scene.

“You have one hour batsy!” The Joker says with a manic smile, eyes staring at the camera as if looking at the two parents.

Bruce takes off with his Batmobile to wherever Joker’s whereabouts were. Leaving M/N staring at the screen, now black, his heart pounding fast and ears ringing.

—————————————

An hour has passed and M/N is biting at his nails on the couch. No updates yet, the wait is grating on the male, making his stomach churn in worry.

Alfred goes to him, seeing his state, the butler walks towards him stopping a few feet away from the man.

“Would you like some tea Master M/N? It could help you.” Alfred says.

The father looks up at the butler and sighs, willing his heart rate to calm down.

“Yes please Alfred, thank you.”

Alfred nods and goes to the kitchen to prepare the herbal tea. M/N now pulls his knees to his chest to curl into a ball. Trying to calm himself.

It wasn’t until the door slams open, making the father jump from the seat in surprise.

Bruce is here.

M/N races to the front and as he nears the hallway, he comes into a sudden halt. His eyes wide as he stares at the two figures at the entrance.

Bruce carrying Jason in his arms.

Dead.

His sweet boy in his husband’s arms. Bloody and DEAD.

The male raises a shaky hand to cover his mouth in shock and anguish.

“No, no, no, no,” M/N says softly, eyes starting to tear up, “no, Jason, no.”

Bruce still looking down, not daring to look up to see his husband’s grief stricken face.

“No, no, NO! NOOO!” The father screams out as he moves forward to get closer to his husband and son. His boy, who was far too young to be taken from this cruel world. It was as if a part of his heart was ripped off his chest.

“JASON! NOOO, MY SON!” M/N continues to scream as tears started to stream down his cheeks, ears ringing and legs shaking from the sight.

M/N drops to his knees on the ground, Bruce going with him. The father takes Jason from the vigilante’s arms and hugs him close. Bruce lets him as he now stares at his bloodied gloves.

“NO, MY SON. NOT MY SON. GOD WHY. WHY!?” The grieving father continues to scream out, his voice straining.

M/N continues to rock his body, his son close to his chest, his arms tight around the cold, dead body. His shoulder’s shake from his continuous sobs.

Alfred saw the whole scene with shock, as he hears your anguish wails echoing in the corridor.

The butler steels himself and goes to the pair, he kneels down and placed a hand on the crying father, making him turn to the butler.

M/N let’s out a loud wail, as he looks up, his eyes blurry from all the hot tears flowing out of him.

“Master M/N,” Alfred says softly, “we need to bring him to the cave to clean him.”

M/N bawls out more as he presses Jason closer to his body. Not wanting to let go of him. His cheek onto the boy’s hair.

“No, Alfred. Please, don’t take him away.” M/N sobs out as he starts to cough, his throat scratchy from how tight and strained it has become.

Alfred sighs as he turns to the quiet vigilante, still out from the world. Wallowing into himself in his head.

“We must clean his body from the blood Master M/N so Master Jason can finally rest.”

The father shakes his head and grits his teeth.

“You can carry him, I will not take Master Jason from you, we will just need to clean him in the bat cave.”

M/N starts to consider it in his hazy mind, as he tries to calm his cries down. He coughs out as he tries to clear his throat, he turns back to Jason in his arms and bites his lip to not let anymore cries out.

“A-Alright.”

Alfred then stands up straight and waits for M/N to stand up, he then turns to Bruce.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred calls out.

Bruce finally looks up at the butler and sighs out a shaky breath and nods. He turns to his husband and helps him up as Jason stays in M/N’s arms. Bruce looks at his husband’s face, eyes red and swollen, tears staining his cheeks.

Grief has over taken his love.

How could he have let his son die at the hands of his nemesis.

Bruce cups M/N’s cheek and the other looks up at the vigilante with tired and grief filled eyes.

Oh how the world is cruel.

——————————————-

Hello so here are the things that happened and some headcanons:

Batdad was at the brink of divorcing Bruce when the other refuses to kill Joker when they capture him.

Tensions were high at the manor at all times, it always ends up with a full blown argument between the two.

Dick regularly visiting Batdad to keep him company and to comfort him.

Ever since Jason’s death Batdad has withdrawn to himself, blaming both himself and Bruce for not being able to protect him. To save him.

Bruce letting his rage and vengeance fuel him to keep patrolling at night, sometimes not even coming home to sleep, just to stay at the bat cave just to watch the city.

When Bruce adopts Tim, Batdad at first couldn’t bring himself to welcome the young boy with open arms. Jason’s death still taking a toll on him.

But within time Tim was able to worm his way into Batdad’s heart.

When Batdad found out that Tim was going to be the next Robin. All hell breaks loose in the manor. A screaming match between the two.

“YOU WANT TO LET ANOTHER BOY DIE IN THE HANDS OF THE JOKER!? HAVING ANOTHER BLOOD SPILLED IN YOUR HANDS!?”

“HE WANTED THIS M/N! I NEED HIM TO KEEP THIS CITY SAFE WITH ME.”

After that it strained M/N’s relationship to both Bruce and Tim.

When Jason come’s back as Red Hood from the dead, and you reunite with him by saving Batdad from some villain when you got kidnapped.

After that encounter Batdad would always meet Red Hood at night. Visits him at the enterprises, after the visit it leaves the man feeling as if he was talking to his dead son.

After it was confirmed that Red Hood was Jason from one of their visits. Jason taking off his red helmet, and of course getting an armful of his father. A tearful and sweet reunion.

I’m gonna leave it at that, you can imagine the rest. Thank you for reading hope you enjoyed it.

[happyk44]

Jason who comes back to life but he's not quite right. The Lazarus pit - something went wrong. He's crazed as they all are when they reemerge, angry, and raging, but there's a difference, a change.

He bites down on the nearest person, some low-level assassin, and tears their throat out with his teeth. They fall to the ground, limp and choking for air they cannot receive. The others ready themselves. Their weapons are poised for attack.

But it doesn't happen.

Jason swallows flesh and blood and sinks to his knees, tearing and ripping at the dying below him. He hungers, he thirsts, and he consumes every bit of what is available. Blood, guts, flesh and heart.

Oh, does he savour that heart.

It becomes a threat to trainees. Fail, and you'll be offered up to the man that flanks Talia's side, that carries her young son, as protective as a bear. The man with teeth so sharp, and nails like claws.

Fail, and he will consume you whole, devour you while you still breathe, and feast on your screams.

It never quite goes away, but as time passes, it becomes controlled, a loud itch at the back of his mind, but nothing he can't adjust around. How many years on the street did he itch for things he couldn't have? Countless. Even homed and housed, he itched.

He knows how to repress the itch, to let it sit, angry and demanding at the back of his head. So strong, sometimes he fears only a drill to his skull will scratch it out.

He leaves the League behind. Becomes a fearsome creature. Hides his teeth behind a red mask, and his claws behind warm leather gloves. But as he slashes and shoots and decapitates, the itch burns. Blood flows, flesh sits limp. The still pumping organs, working and moving with the last words of a dying brain.

What a waste to leave it all behind, the itch whispers.

He agrees.

What a waste.

He doesn't eat in Gotham. His acts are a message, and there's no message if there's no body. But he ventures outside it, for bounties, for treats. Never too often. If he feeds the itch too much, it'll overpower him. But just enough. A birthday present to himself. A new years celebration.

Small tastes scattered sparsely through the year.

Damian emerges, young and feisty like his mother, and Jason remembers a toddler sucking on a pacifier as he organizes knives by size. How much the boy has changed since then. How little he has. Growth and personality.

The biggest change is the kill. Blood doesn't drip down his hands. Doesn't freckle his face with meaningless splatter. Swords have been discarded. He doesn't touch Jason's guns as they're disassembled to be cleans. He knows how. He's used them.

Jason remembers holding tiny hands around a pistol, a small frame against his chest, steadied, before the deadly shot. He remembers the sound. How Damian didn't flinch. Remembers the blood. The curious eyes staring down at a gasping body.

He remembers eating. Digging in, more civilized than eating a person should be, and remembers wide young eyes watching. Watching. Then tucking a tissue to the blood soaking his chin and wiping it away.

Unbothered and uncaring to the person below. But mimicking kindness he was taught to the beast in front of him.

No wonder Goliath followed him home.

Damian has always had more love for monsters than humans.

Love that shows in the late night of Jason's birthday. When he emerges through the window into the tiny apartment he's hidden himself in this month, and finds a helpless woman sitting, naked and gagged, in the middle of the floor. She is kept near motionless with strong rope. There's a note taped to her face.

Happy birthday. Enjoy your gift.

The delicate handwriting needs no signature.

There's a folder beside her. Jason ignores her gagged cries to pick it up. There are many papers inside it - police reports of domestic violence, a CPS report that ends with a reluctant acceptance of no actionable strategies, x-rays of small broken bones and pictures of bruises on young faces. There are tiny notations written in delicate handwriting - all fact, no opinions.

Jason reads and seethes. Some people forget that mothers can be terrible to their children too. Jason doesn't.

He can't.

So he eats.

[bhaalsdeepbat]

SFW | AO3 | DC Comics Word Count: 2,502

An old tumblr prompt fill: entirety of Batfam on patrol and on comm, Steph wrangles/provokes/dares Jason into singing. He sings “Take me to Church” by Hozier.

 “Come on, Jaybird, let me hear that sweet music you make,” Steph’s teasing voice crackled over the comm. link. 

     Jason snorted at the tone, fist flying into the drug dealer’s face. His knuckles cracked against the bone of the man’s jaw. He could feel the bone fracture beneath the force, drawing a scream out of dealer. The man stumbled back before tripping on one of the unconscious men laying in a heap. He joined the pile, curling into a ball so he could hold his jaw.

     “A little busy over here, princess,” he grunted as he reached for his zip ties. He dropped to a crouch, yanking the man’s hands away from his face. Jason pinned them together behind the man’s back before tightening the tie around his wrists.

     “Please? It’s too quiet tonight, and we all know I’m a little tone deaf.” Jason laughed again as he began tying the hands of the unconscious men together, leaving the three in a pretty pile for whatever cop came to get them.

     “Don’t you dare sing, girl blunder.” Damian’s voice was a low growl over the comm. Jason rolled his eyes at the threat in the boy’s tone. The child wouldn’t do anything, but the bite to his tone was annoying as hell.

     “Shut up, brat,” Jason cut in as he began walking away from the scene. He hauled himself up onto a fire escape and began his quick ascent. Boots clanged against the metal, gloves scraping against rust. The ladder shook beneath him. There were easier ways to get up to the roof, but this was familiar. He’d been doing it since he was a kid, so there was a sense of safety in the action.

     “Both of you need to shut up,” Damian huffed in response. Jason could hear the crack of a fist against bone. He snorted, shaking his head at the groan that followed the noise. The kid could be annoying, but he was damn good at what he did.

     “Just because you said that, I’m gonna fulfill Goldilock’s request.” He hauled himself up onto the roof before immediately reaching for his box of cigarettes. “It’s break time for me, anyways.”

     He shook a cigarette into his hand. “Any requests?” He tilted his head back as he put the stick between his lips. He pocketed the box, and then pulled out a lighter.

     “Nothing,” Damian grumbled.

     “Serenade me, Red Hood. Make my young heart-” she was breathless on the end of the comm. He could hear her grunting before there was a loud smack that echoed in the background. “Flutter.” 

     “You’re something else,” Jason laughed, scrubbing a hand down his face before lifting his lighter. He cupped his hand around the flame, holding it up to the end of the cigarette. He waited until he saw trails of smoke slowly dance up ward.

     “I’m a whole lot of great, is what I am,” Steph responded, voice less strained. He smiled, happy to hear that she was getting the upper hand, if the fight wasn’t already over with how hard she hit the poor bastard. 

     Jason took a drag of the cigarette before plucking it out from between his lips. He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut. He tilted his head back, letting the words come out out low and raspy.

     “My lover’s got humour      She’s the giggle at a funeral      Knows everybody’s disapproval      I should’ve worshipped her sooner.“

     He paused, taking another drag. He wasn’t shy, but knowing he had an audience that was paying close attention made him a little nervous. He used to sing for his mom, and then with Alfred when he was a kid, but now, it was rare. He took a deep breath, clearing his throat before continuing.

     “If the heavens ever did speak      She’s the last true mouthpiece      Every Sunday’s getting more bleak      A fresh poison each week.”

     Jason’s voice dropped lower, his vibrato nearly cracking. He was out of practice, and suddenly aware of it. He took a deep breath, flicking the ashes of his cigarette before taking another drag.

     “Don’t stop.” Damian’s voice was quiet, filled with soft intrigue. Jason’s lips stretched into a small smile.

     ”We were born sick" you heard them say it.“

     Jason paused when he heard the sound of a gunshot. His brows furrowed, body tensing. He was ready to put out his cigarette and bring back up. 

     “I’m okay, keep going. Sorry-” Dick, who had been unusually quiet all night, finally spoke up. Jason flexed his hand nervously. 

     “My church offers no absolutes      She tells me “Worship in the bedroom”      The only heaven I’ll be sent to      Is when I’m alone with you.”

     Jason crouched down, twisting the tip of the cigarette out on the roof when he decided he no longer wanted it. He began stripping the paper off the tobacco.      “I was born sick      But I love it      Command me to be well      Aaay. Amen. Amen. Amen.”

     His voice was strong, louder than it had been. He felt the words wash over him, and when he finished, he stood tall. He pocketed the paper of his cigarette, eyes narrowing behind the simple domino he’d been wearing that night. He tilted his head back, looking up at Gotham’s dirty night sky. 

     “That’s all you’re gettin’,” he grunted as he began walking away.

[kieran-granola]

Hi saw your ask for kink prompts so.

Jaytim with CNC, bloodplay/scarification or them making their own sex tape. Any one or a mix works, I just wanted to give you options :)

When Tim picked up the scalpel, he thought it would be harder to keep his hand steady. He had braced himself for imperfect lines and uneven contours. He’d forced himself to make his peace with the unavoidable messiness of parting flesh, the unpredictable chaos of living canvas.

He needn’t have bothered.

Jason is almost perfectly still under him. His chest remains as steady as can be through every shallow breath he takes. Despite the pain he must be in, he doesn’t so much as twitch when the blade meets his skin.

Tim honors his discipline with a matching degree of control. Every incision is precise. Deep enough for red flowers to bloom across the vast expanse of Jason’s back, but shallow enough not to cause too much damage.

Of course, Tim will have to force Jason's skin into scarring properly over the next few weeks. The pattern is doomed to smudge a little in the process, to twist itself into knots. But the neater the base, the more likely it is that the end result will look good. And so Tim takes his time. He doesn’t linger, but he drags his blade slowly and carefully over the pattern he’s projecting on Jason’s skin.

It must be agony — a mixture of pain at the tearing of flesh, discomfort at the slowly drying blood, and tense anticipation. Still, Jason doesn't let out a single sound of protest. There's tension in the line of his shoulders, but the way he bites his lip looks more rapturous than tortured. As usual, he takes what Tim gives him with an ease that makes Tim's heart feel three sizes bigger.

Throat feeling tight with adoration, Tim finishes his work. He calmly wipes down his scalpel, then he pauses to admire his handiwork. The twists and whorls of the bloody mural he pressed into Jason's back look divine on his bronze skin.

For a second, Tim lets himself imagine what he'd do if he were an irresponsible master. He pictures himself licking the salt out of Jason's wounds. Rutting between the mounds of his ass and mixing his come with the blood dripping down his back. Sinking his fingers into the exposed parts of him and scratching at his bones until Jason loses his voice screaming.

Instead, he kisses Jason's nape softly. "You did so well, darling," he murmurs. "You're such a good boy."

Jason shivers from head to toe and closes his eyes, but he doesn't move.

Tim smiles. "I'm going to clean your back now. Then I'll bandage you up. And once I'm done, you'll get your reward. Alright, darling?"

"Yes, sir," Jason answers, voice low and broken. He sounds wrecked.

Tim lets out a shuddering breath and adjusts his pants before moving to do exactly as he said. He rubs antibacterial soap over Jason's wounds, following the same path he took while cutting into him. He rinses his back and pats it dry, before coating it with antiseptic ointment. Then, he loosely covers Jason's back with medical cling wrap and secures it with medical tape.

Once he's done, he discards his gloves, before helping Jason sit up.

Jason complies awkwardly. He looks like he's not entirely there. Every movement seems to be delayed, slow and graceless. His cheeks are red, his mouth swollen after the abuse he subjected it to while Tim was working on him. His hair is stuck to his temples with sweat.

Tim thinks he's never been more beautiful.

With an encouraging smile, he drops to his knees between Jason's legs and squeezes his thighs. He looks forward to taking care of him for the next few weeks.

But first, his boy has more than earned his prize.

[wrencatte]

#16. Duke & Jason. "Squeeze my hand." (1 out of 20) Duke, Jason, & Joker Venom

Pressurized yellow gas billows out, filling the room before either of them have a second to comprehend Tim’s words. Duke sucks in an instinctive breath and holds it, slapping the side of his mask with hands that shouldn’t shake – they shouldn’t. He’s a vigilante. A hero. He’s faced worse things before already even though it’s only been a few months. His hands can’t be shaking as he fumbles for the latch on his helmet, going for the release of his rebreather. It doesn’t take him several tries to find it.

His heart doesn’t stop when he feels a crack along his cheekbone all the way to his ear, the points of his gloves catching on wire. Duke’s eyes water behind the lenses of his cowl, his lungs scream at him. There’s a giggle forming in the back of his throat, threatening to break out, but he holds it back. Grits his teeth and, and – his chest spasms and he drops to his knees, shoulders shaking. There’s no laughter. Not yet. Duke digs his fingers into the crack of his armor. No. No, please. Nononono. This can’t be happening.

I know it’s you. I’m ashamed of you, Duke.

Duke chokes on the laugh that grinds out of him, like scorching metal and nails on a chalkboard. He chokes on it and breathes in sharply, flooding his system with more Joker venom. He covers his face, one hand pressed over his mouth, the other covering his eyes over the cowl.

“Shit. Shit,” says a familiar voice.

There’s hands tugging on his, pulling them away. He giggles helplessly and can’t fight it – his mom is screaming in his face, unrecognizable in her screaming and laughing and I hate you. I’ll kill you. and the way she slammed her head against the glass over and over and over and over again. He sobs and laughs and falls into the body in front of him, shaking.

“I got you,” someone murmurs above him. “I got you, Narrows.” Then something’s being pressed against his face, cool, clean air spilling down his lungs. He breathes greedily, tears on his cheeks, his chest aching. He keeps his eyes closed even though it hurts. “Yep, that’s it. Keep going, kiddo.”

Duke huffs out a laugh – only tinged with the venom as his enhanced system works the gas out of his system as quickly as it got in. “Not a kid,” he mutters.

“When you’re old enough to buy your own lottery ticket, I won’t call you kid,” Jason says – and he sounds…weird. His grip on Duke’s shoulder is tightening enough for him to feel it through the reinforced kevlar between the gaps of his armor. His voice is tight, controlled…strained.

And he likes to think he knows Jason pretty well by now.

So, he dreads looking.

But he does anyway.

Jason grins at him, casually and carefree, a little hint of fang peeking from his smile. Duke touches the mask over his own face, sees red in the corner of his vision. Jason twitches, smile faltering before turning into something mean to comfort despite how strained it is.

“Hood,” Duke rasps out, panic seizing hold. He lashes out without thinking, gripping Jason’s jacket in a vice grip. “No – you – .”

Jason pulls him away, grasping his hand in a gentle hold. “It’s fine,” he says even though the words tremble around muted laughter. It hasn’t sunk its claws in just yet. “See? I’m fine.”

“Jason – .”

“No,” he cuts Duke off. The corner of his lips twitch, his eyes crinkle in the corner – pain, not reassurance. Duke blinks and he sees an echo flashing forward – Jason hunched, shoulders shaking, one hand buried in his hair – and he shakes his head. Jason squeezes his hand. “I know what it’s like,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to make you go through that. It’s okay.”

Duke shakes his head again. “I can take it,” he argues and even to him it sounds weak. “I can’t watch you…”

“You won’t. I won’t, Duke. C’mon. This is me we’re talkin’ about. I got this.” A noise rips out of his throat – half-formed laughter that sounds like it hurts – and he bites his lip, canines immediately drawing blood. “Listen. My hand – okay? Squeeze my hand and I’ll squeeze back, that’s my proof that I’m still here. I’m not leavin’ you. We East Enders gotta stick together, right?”

Duke cracks a smile at that then tentatively squeezes Jason’s hand. Jason instantly squeezes back, a little rhythmic motion he recognizes from Stephanie. His eyes are clear, a muscle in his jaw keeps jumping as he grinds his teeth, his chest spasms as he tries to hold in laughter, but he squeezes back again when Duke tests it one more time.

“Signal, Hood. Report,” Batman crackles over the comm.

Jason presses fingers against his ear and Duke can’t help but follow the motion, seeing the not-so-subtle tremors. “All good here, B,” he says haltingly. “Got dosed with some venom, but we’re all – ,” he jerks, sucking in a sharp breath. Duke squeezes his hand and gets that rhythmic response. “We’re all good. Hope you got an antidote somewhere in that – that ridiculous belt of yours.”

“Hood,” Batman says firmly – and Duke may not know Batman as well as he knows everyone else, he can tell the difference between “unimpressed with your antics” and “the reason I sound so stern is because I’m ridiculously worried.” “Can you move? Reduce your exposure immediately.”

“R-Right. Expo – Exposure. That’s – ha – a thing.” Jason’s shoulders curl in, hand falling away from his ear to go to his hair, fingers pulling on the strands. A giggle slips through his clenched teeth and he closes his eyes, brows furrowing.

Duke can only watch, heart in his throat, as Jason fights to compose himself, to keep himself here. He squeezes Jason’s hand and – for a long, long second…Jason doesn’t squeeze back.

But then he lets out a shuddering breath and finally, finally squeezes back.

“Jason?” he asks quietly, his stomach hollowing out and dread filling its place. His mom’s wide, wild eyes, blood trickling down her forehead, glass cracked between them. I’ll kill you. I HATE YOU! I’ll KILL YOU!

Jason takes a moment to breathe slowly – but not steadily – before he sits up, mouth smeared with blood from biting back the laughter. He smiles and it almost looks normal. “Let’s get outta here.”

Duke settles himself, slowly and carefully, then stands, never letting go. Jason stays kneeling on the ground, face pale, pain pinched around his eyes and mouth, that sort of stiff tremble that comes from holding in laughter and trying not to show it.

He squeezes one more time – and gets a response – before he’s helping Jason stand, arm wrapped around his back. Jason throws his arm over Duke’s shoulders, hand held out for Duke to grab again. This time Jason squeezes first, and Duke smiles as he replies.

[artzychic27]

For Halloween, Marc decides to go into school as Count Marcula, a spooky yet romantic vampiric writer. His costume is really detailed, slicked back hair, cape, suit, gloves, super realistic fake fangs, red eye contacts, fake nails, fake ears, you name it.

He speaks throughout the day in a Transylvanian accent (I vant to suck your blood, that kinda voice), brings an umbrella to school, and comes out of an actual coffin.

Count Marcula: Good evening. (Fake blood dripping down his cheek.) Nathaniel: *Nose bleeds from the hotness.*

I'd love some scenes of him scaring the shit out of Chloe and Lila, flirting with Nathaniel, and being a hammy vampire in front of the Science Kids and Akuma Class.

Jean: *Dressed as the Phantom of the Opera* Daaaamn.

Nathaniel: *Dressed as Eraserhead*… He. Is. HOT! THAT’S MINE! HE’S MINE! *Shoves Ivan and Kim out of the way and runs into Marc’s arms* I SAW HIM FIRST! YA’LL BETTER BACK OFF!

Ivan: *Dressed as Jack Skellington* … Did he just-

Kim: *Dressed as Thor* I think he did.

Alix: *Dressed as Miss Joke* Never underestimate the power of a short bisexual.

—

Louis: *Dressed as Bob Ross* Maybe he can suck some actual talent out of someone and put it in you!

Nathaniel: *Sitting in Marc’s lap* SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH, LOUIS!

Louis: … Ouch.

—

Lila: *Dressed as Queen Elizabeth 1; walks in on Marc who appears to be biting Nath’s neck in the locker room* AAAAAHHHH!! *Runs away screaming*

Marc: Vat is her problem?

Nathaniel: Don’t know, don’t care; just keep licking the frosting off my neck. Who the hell even started that food fight?

—

Austin A: *Dressed as Heather C* GUYS! MARC’S A VAMPIRE!

Austin B: *Dressed as Bill Cipher* Yeah, it’s a great costume, right?

Austin A: NO! Listen to me! I walked into the bathroom, and there he was at the sink, and he didn’t have a reflection in the mirror*

Austin T: *Dressed as Christine Daaé* … Armsy, have you been eating too much candy?

Austin A: You’re not listening to me! *Austin Q slaps him across the face* Did you just slap me?

Austin Q: *Dressed as Kim Possible* I was calming you down!

Austin A: How was that supposed to calm me down?! There is a vampire in this fucking school and he’s gonna suck my blood!

Austin T: Why would he suck your blood?

Austin A: ‘Cause, look at me.

—

Kim: Guys, it’s time to face facts… We have to kill Marc.

Akuma Class sans Nath: …

Marinette: *Dressed as Zatanna* WHAT?! Dude! We’re not killing Marc!

Kim: Why not? He’s a vampire.

Max: *Dressed as Electra from Starlight Express* Kim, for the last time, Marc is not a vampire. It’s just a very realistic costume.

Nino: *Dressed as Bruno* He did bite into that apple without his fangs coming off.

Myléne: *Dressed as Sally* Oh, and his skin started getting all smokey when he was outside in the sun.

Juleka: *Dressed as Jason* And he bit Nath’s neck.

Adrien: *Dressed as Harry Potter* Nath is looking kinda paler than before.

Marinette: Guys, Marc is not a vampire, okay? And if he is, then may I be struck by- *Thunder crashes outside* … May a bat fly through that door in the next three seconds.

…

Marinette: See? He’s not-

*A bat flies in through the window*

Kim: *Jumps into Max’s arms* KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!

*The students all hide under their desks for a few seconds, and and Marinette pokes her head out, she finds Marc sitting atop the teacher’s desk*

Marinette: … Marc… Did you see a bat just now?

Marc: Can’t say that I have.

*Thunder and lightning crash outside, cutting the lights off, and when they come back on, Marc’s nowhere in sight*

Marinette: … Okay, I’m sold.

Alix: I still think this is bull.

—

Denise: *Dressed as Luisa* Guys, he’s not a vampire.

Alix: Told you.

Nino: Then kindly explain why he has no reflection!

Cosette: Dressed as Static Shock; about to answer, but pauses* … Maybe… He’s so pale that… The light-

Alya: *Dressed in a Clovers cheer uniform* Mhm. Mhm. The light. Go on.

Cosette: … I don’t know, man! He cosplays! He’s got the mechanics of it all down! He could cosplay as Hagakure!

Reshma: *Dressed as Sailor Moon* He somehow made the blood smell like copper.

Ivan: Did you hear yourself just now?

Simon: *Dressed as a Ghostbuster* If Marc’s a vampire, then… I’m the Queen of England.

*Just then, Marc walks by with Nathaniel unconscious in his arms*

Lacey: *Dressed as Tinker Bell* Marc… Whatcha doin’?

Marc: Nath fell asleep. I’m just taking him… Somevhere. *Leaves*

Marinette: So, Simon, would you like your crown to be silver or gold?

—

Chloé: *Dressed as Elle Woods; going into the basement* How dare she make me grab another stupid textbook from down here?! Ugh! Now where are they- *Sees a coffin in the middle of the room* … H-how long has this been here?

*Going against every instinct, Chloé opens the coffin and screams when she finds Nathaniel in it*

Chloé: WHAT THE HELL?!

Marc: You shouldn’t have come down here, Miss Bourgeois.

Chloé: … AAAAAHHH!! *Runs upstairs* VAMPIRES ARE REAL!

Nathaniel: *Groggily wakes up* Hey, is everything alright?

Marc: Yes, go back to sleep, Nath.

Nathaniel: Alright. *Shuts the coffin door*

—

Aurore: *Dressed as Eclipsa* …

Marc: …

Aurore/Marc: … *Nod to each other, open their parasols, and go their respective ways*

[thesandsofelsweyr]

His aftermath? Set after the Arkham Knight?

(from WIP Ask Game)

Not quite, heh. This fic's a sequel to His (ao3) and a prequel to Hollowed Out (ao3). Your ask actually inspired me to work on this fic today, so thanks for that 😘 All of these fics are dark so mind the tags/warnings~

⚠️ cw: humiliation, nudity, non-con touching, torture

Joker crouches down behind him, and Jason pulls his knees tighter to his chest, careful not to move his hands from the back of his head. He has to bite his tongue to choke down a scream as the shift in position tugs cruelly at the crudely stitched lacerations criss-crossing his swollen back. Unbidden tears fill his blackened eyes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed since the Clown left him here, curled up naked and bleeding in the fetal position on the filthy floor of his cell, but to his broken body and mind it seems only minutes. Long, agonizing minutes.

A gloved hand touches the blistered skin of his ass and he flinches, but then his body goes rigid—wouldn’t want the man to mistake his involuntary reaction as defiance, and give him another excuse to punish him. As if the Clown needed an excuse to punish him beyond “Hey, it’s a Tuesday!” (or whatever day of the week it was. He quit keeping track.)

“Aww,” Joker coos as he gently caresses the blistered skin. Jason sucks in a frightened breath. The deceptively soothing voice of his tormentor sends a jolt of fear through him, like a shock from the taser, and he screws his eyes shut, as if that will spare him from the inevitable pain that will soon follow, “looks like someone isn’t gonna be sitting comfortably for quite a while, is he?”

Then fingers teasingly pinch at his skin, still raw and sensitive from the agony he experienced not long ago, and Jason clenches his jaw tight. When a few soft slaps land on the massive bruises on his ass cheeks he can’t help but break down and bawl, from the pain and humiliation, from the sickening fear that he’s about to be subjected to something even worse.

“What’s the matter little fella? There’s no need for tears. You’ve already been punished for your recent sins, haven’t you? That is, unless you need to be punished for something else…” Joker’s voice takes on the mocking tone of a priest in the confessional: “Do you have anything to confess, my son?”

Jason’s body doesn’t move but his mind frantically crawls away, cowering from the possibility of another brutal beating. His breath is ragged and his body quakes with terror. Of course he doesn’t have anything to confess. He hasn’t moved from this exact spot since Joker left him here. But what if he’s forgetting something? It will only go worse for him if he lies…

[ciel-em]

Reread the webtoon My In-laws Are Obsessed With Me and I only want to take the cursed blood and slam it on the batfamily. For all of it to make sense it would have to be a no capes au.

Thomas and Martha unknowingly unleash a curse upon Gotham that didn't begin until they died and paid with their blood. Their killer took a bit more time with Bruce and punched him across the jaw making blood spill from his lips. Bruce sees his hand reaching for him again and just lunges at it. Sinks his teeth thoroughly into his hand making the man scream and pulling him away to throw at the ground. The man pulls out his gun and aims only to drop it and Bruce watches as he claws at his chest and writhed while choking on his pain until he stills. And so Bruce is the first to gain the cursed blood.

Obviously they (Bruce and Alfred) don't know at first that Bruce's blood is toxic. They find out when Alfred forces Bruce to spend some time outside and a squirrel catches his attention. Against Alfred's wishes, and while he went inside for a moment, he holds out his hand with a nut that the squirrel quickly eats. It checks his hand for another and finding nothing it just bites him. He yelps as he pulls his hand away to look at, but movement catches his eye and he looks up to see the squirrel shaking on the ground and then stop. It reminds him of that night and he's crying when he turns around and there's Alfred who crouched down to hold him, but keeps a hand around his wrist to keep at a distance.

To make sure of what he saw Alfred catches various bugs and small animals to test with Bruce's blood. All died. He tells Bruce and from there they make sure to hide it from all. He teaches him how to defend himself, how to keep others at a distance, and dress in fully covering clothes and gloves. Years pass.

Alfred has gotten into the habit to keep an eye out for entertainment and such that can be partaken from afar to go with Bruce. The circus is in town and his boy has time for the last day of it.

After this my mind just bounces around with the fact that each of the batkids get cursed blood before they come to Bruce. Because after laying dormant for a while the curse comes out and affects one person in Gotham then the next. Just speeding up after Jason and then laying quiet for a long time until Terry and Matt.

I want them traumatized so maybe Dick, Jay, Tim, Steph and Duke are the cause of their parents death. Barbara being an outlier and getting cursed blood after getting paralyzed as an adult and kidnapped with a Wayne (Jay I'm looking at you). Cass being found after she's been using her blood as a tool to survive the streets and hates that she does. Damian joining the family and not having cursed blood at first. They find out when he had a small cut on the palm of his hand that Ace licked and he watches the dog die in front of him and his family.

For the sake of my heart this is an isolated batfam idea. Meaning the only ones not affected by cursed blood are others with it. They only have each other because they at least know they can't die because of them. And they don't suffer from their blood so no random seizures because their own blood hurts them too.

[muuuumin]

Criminals were considered lucky if Red Hood didn’t show up behind them tonight, the screams of pain and snap of bones ringing out in the alleys where the unlucky ones tried to hide. It was obvious that the Crime Lord of Gotham was in a very bad mood, using the squirming bodies of thieves, rapists and drug dealers selling to children as punching bags for most of the ‘interrogation’ time. 

As he stood facing a criminal, under the helmet Jason was still very much brooding over the words Tim had said to him on the roof. 

‘Thank you…’ 

Yeah, Jason didn’t buy that as actual words of gratitude for his apology. His gloved fist connected hard with a torso, feeling the crack of ribs under his knuckles before pulling back.

‘But we’re well past everything now.’ 

A strong kick of his knees into the face of the rapist in front of him caused blood to splatter out onto the uneven brick walls of the dark alleyway, the criminal groaning for his life at his feet.

‘There’s no need to dwell on it.’ 

Jason tilted his head back, looking up at Gotham’s night skies through the lenses of his helmet.

“Maybe there really is only one chance.” He said out loud, attention brought back to the bleeding man in front of him when he had heard the gravel under his body crunch as he tried to crawl his way away from Red Hood.

A cold smirk pulled his lips underneath the helmet, fingers reaching to his side holsters and pulling out his favoured guns.

“You, on the other hand, had too many chances.” He growled slowly and his fingers pulled the triggers on each gun, aiming at the rapist’s head. This guy had been someone he had been looking for the past 2 days, a man with a record for domestic abuse and recently, raping an 18 year old working girl.

The night was quiet now, only the sound of his breathing coming to his ears. Jason sent a quick text on his burner cell to one of his goons to come and take care of this mess before he removed himself from the scene. Just one stop to tell the girl that everything was taken care of, that the man wouldn’t bother her and he could move on to the rest of his patrol and hopefully even get some new intel on his big case with Tim. It was a lot of shaking for information and by the end of the night, all he got was that the victims disappearing were mostly students and other victims who weren’t quite as young or… considered valuable, mostly ended up dead after a few weeks. 

Despite the night he was having, Jason didn’t forget to text Tim what he wanted to major in. He didn’t mention the apology or ask if he had checked the flash drive. He figured Tim wouldn’t even reply back to his message anyways. 

__________

Jason got home around 7 am, crashing right into his bed after a great struggle of taking off his gear and removing his weapons from his body.

“Shit.” Jason muttered to himself as he closed his eyes, briefly remembering he still had to go to GU Campus. Although… he wasn’t registered into any classes yet so he had no lecture to go to at least. Yeah, he’ll just go when he wakes up. 

Jason woke up in the afternoon, forcing himself to take a shower and cook something quick for a bite to eat before he left for GU. Jason wore his usual shirt, jeans and leather jacket attire, making sure to pack a bag with some necessary school stationery; pens, notepad, sticky notes and a novel he was currently reading. Might as well catch up on some reading as he posed as a student. 

He hadn’t texted Tim to ask where he was but he figured the library was a good chance again so he headed there, teal eyes scanning over the sea of students with their heads down buried in their mass of assignments and study notes. Thank god he didn’t need to actually study his ass off for anything.

“Hey Timbo.” He greeted the other secret vigilante, taking a seat at a vacant spot and nodding his head at the rest of the study group. As he did, he glanced at the sketch of what was apparently the chemical structure for ice and frowned a little. Yeah, ice was just going to be ice for him and he didn’t like Mr. Freeze any less.

Jason pulled out his ‘study’ essentials, a pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose as he grabbed a pen and scribbled something into his notepad. He flipped open his novel and began to read quietly, eyes at first glancing over the black frames to watch students passing by before he fell too deep into his novel and his focus was drawn solely into the inked words on the paper. He occasionally paused to write a sticky note into his book, noting anything that interested him. 

Birds of a Feather

(closed RP with @muuuumin)

Things were not going according to plan. 

Tim really didn’t like it when things didn’t go according to plan.

Sadly, that was the nature of Gotham City, which was exactly why Tim had backup plan after backup plan, accounting for every conceivable variable. He’d written an algorithm just for this case. There was a stack of paperwork heavier than Tim was. 

And yet, somehow, none of that accounted for faulty construction of the barrier along the route Tim expected to chase the criminal along, and just like that all 27 of Tim’s backup plans went out the window, and he and this thug were tearing through the streets of Gotham City. 

Fortunately, Tim had always been quick. Maybe not quite as strong as some of the other bats, but he was balanced in agility, which was useful when it came to jumping over the wooden palettes that had been knocked in his way. 

He’d been chasing this guy for months, the leader of a trafficking ring that made Tim’s stomach turn with each new detail he learned. Finally, Tim had him… nearly. Weeks of careful planning were reduced to instinct, fueled by the base knowledge that whatever happened, he had to catch this guy. Because of that, he wasn’t particularly paying attention to where the man was running, only that Tim needed to catch up to him.

Tim was getting close. His chest burned with it, but he was closing the distance. The leader was about three times Tim’s size, but that made him slow, which Tim used to his advantage. 

One last turn lead them down a long alley with far fewer obstacles to jump over, and Tim took that as his chance. Putting one last burst of energy into moving forward, he could reach out and touch the man before him. So, he did. He leapt forward and used all his momentum to send the both of them tumbling to the ground, pinning the man’s arms behind him. 

“Get off- you little shit,” the criminal squirmed violently, pinned face down as he was. Tim was fully sitting on his back, using his entire body weight to keep him down and frankly unconvinced that was enough. Tim was strong, but he couldn’t hold someone like this forever. “I ain’t getting taken down by some pipsqueak-ass kid. I’ll fucking kill you.”

Tim used his position to secure handcuffs around the man’s wrists, trying to catch his breath. He might’ve secured them a little tighter than necessary, but knowing what this man did Tim frankly didn’t feel bad about it. 

Things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but Tim had gotten the criminal in the end. This would just serve as… something to keep in mind for the next time he had to make a plan. Always double check the strength of the barricades along the predicted potential chase route.

Breathless and full of adrenaline, Tim forgot another much more important rule: Always pay attention to where your target is leading you.