#Recognised Jason wanted to be a boy

[freefallintothevoid]

Dick Grayson's unmatched success as a child vigilante makes a lot more sense when you remember the Court of Owls was a thing and that Dick was meant to be the next Grey Son.

There is no way that someone at Haly's Circus wasn't there keeping an eye on him while he grew up. A future weapon needs to be trained and monitored after all, and a circus, a place where weird skills are completely normal, is actually a great place to secretly train a child.

You know, just some knife tricks that translated really well into actual fighting. How to get out of restraints and pick locks while under a time limit. Death defying acrobatic stunts that coincidentally do wonders for parkouring. That sort of thing. Nothing that seems out of place for a boy growing up around circus performers to learn, but would literally any where else.

I mean, while I fully believe that most kids would want to kill the man responsible for their parents deaths, Dick was weirdly prepared to go through it. He tracked down Zucco with way more ease than any normal child should have too. He became the first child vigilante, for goodness sake. The first Robin! He only started getting formal training after he basically forced Bruce into it!

Bruce himself has no idea that this kind of competency in a child is unusual, considering he was much too blinded by the similarities between his and Dick's tragic orphanhoods.

Alfred is in a similar boat because he’s desensitized to weird children after he somehow managed to successfully raise Bruce 'The Batman' Wayne, so he doesn't clock the hyper-competency as abnormal either.

By the time the other batkids start popping up (Jason 'The Audacity' Todd, borderline-street rat with no fear) (Tim 'the greatest stalker in Gotham history' Drake, child genius, also bullied his way into becoming Robin) (Barbara 'raised by the only uncorrupt cop in gotham' Gordon) (Stephanie 'daddy issues and spite' Brown) (Duke 'Pretends he's the normal one and people believe him' Thomas) it's too late.

It would also explain how Dick got along so well with Damian out of all of them. Similar childhood with different approaches and all that. On some subconscious level, Dick recognises and resonates with the murderous ten year old assassin with strong familial ties to a secret elite assassin organization.

It isn't until after the whole Court of Owls and Grey Son reveal that suddenly Dick realises a whole lot of things about his childhood that suddenly make a lot more sense.

[flamingpudding]

Dan's Rage Room

It all started as a little Joke for Danny. Jazz mentioned Dan needing a place to decompress and that resulted in Danny getting a crazy idea while he sat in the Buisness Class Course of his Highschool. It wasn't supposed to become a serious business but somehow the little warehouse in Amity Park he secured, through blackmailing Vlad cause the man owns him after all he was put through. Became an official big store, once Dani put up a sign saying 'Dan's Rage Room' as joke.

People of Amity Park apparently thought it was a legit store. And damn... Danny shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when more and more people appeared and asked how much an hour costed. It was Sam and Tucker that then convinced him to make it a legitimate Business, Jazz and his mother helped him fill out the form. And so 'Dan's Rage Room' became Danny's very own Business. Though he did try to push splitten ownership onto his clones/time selves/ cousins/ clone siblings / clone kids (It's complicated okay? Danny still hasn't figured out how to categorise Dan and Dani, but hey they were family.) But Dan and Dani refused to take any sort of owner ship, even when everything originally started as a place for Dan to unwind.

Eitherway his Business grew, and Danny ended up expanding to other cities, figuring out that if Amity Park's people needed this, others would too. With a bit of help and unwilling on his part teaching from Vlad. Danny opened up more Stores, Central City, Metropolis, Star City. Unintentionally Danny made enough money so much that he didn't knew what to do with it and suddenly felt a new kind of understanding for Sam. Despite being sure his parents likely already did that Danny made money Fonds for Jazz, Dan and Dani. He didn't have much hope to go to collage himself considering his grades but that was fine with him. (According to what clockwork let slip and he hadn't told anyone, he would become King of the Infinite realms anyway, no need for a college degree for that, right?)

And wenn his sister decided she wanted to go to university in Gotham, the most crime riddled city known? None of the three D's hesitated to follow. Danny opened another branch of 'Dan's Rage Room' deciding that would finance their live in Gotham and still be an outlet for Dan.

What Danny didn't expect was the amount of people that weren't just 'goons' like he expected paying to let loose in there. Not that he recognised them but some of Danny's new regulars made sure he knew who some of the apparent Big Names showing up to his store were.

Jason at first thought that a new drug place had opened up at the border to Crime Alley, but after observation and seeing not just Goons but also regular Gothamites frequenting the place. Jason gave it a cautious shot, he wallst into the place completely geared up as Red Hood expecting some muscular unkept drug dealer or something at the reception, but what he found was a boy that didn't look older than Tim, small lanky and looking weirdly tired. That took the wind out of his sails as he stared stunned at the kid for a moment.

"Ah... I see guns. A bullet room then? You seem new too, first time? An hour costs 50 bucks added 5 for every additional half an hour." The boy looked up briefly before looking back down at the book he was reading, muttering something about his sister making him visit online classes.

Jason was just about to say something when someone walked in behind him and he blinked. A fucking dump truck of muscle walked in flaming white hair looking ready to rip something apart. The kid didn't even look up as they held up a green card and the guy stomped past him into a door, Jason assumed lead to the... rage rooms?

It took a moment but once he composed himself again, Jason opened his mouth again only to get interrupted by a little girl stomping in next, screeching about a fruitloop and stupid galas and stupid boys. Again the boy at the reception didn't even loop up, holding another green card to the girl who then proceeded to go through the same door the other guy had.

Once again it took Jason a moment to compose himself again, before he spoke, gruff and voice modulated. "One hour... gun room." He would snoop around if he could but if this really was just a rage room business... well he had some unresolved frustrations with B stocked up he could let loose.

Jason quickly became a regular at that place, he kept visiting it, even when he found out some of their big Villains frequented the place too. Though apparently the Joker was band. One day a big ass sign appeared on the side of the building spelling out 'NO CLOWNS ALLOWED'. When he asked Danny, he had gotten to know the boy at the reception desk by now and found some uncanny resemblance to his little brother, the boy had just shrugged and said "I hate clowns." Laughter barked out of Jason for no reason and he took his regular room card chuckling a "You and me, and 99% of Gotham kid."

That place quickly became one of Jasons safe heavens. Even if he ever only went there in full Red Hood gear. This place helped him manage his rage and anger. Some of his siblings started to use that room too, he knew Damian went there too. In full Robin gear mind you but apparently they had a room where he could fully test out his swords skills. Good for the kid.

But what stung though was Bruce, that man still didn't trust the place, something about background checks not adding up.

Jason was going to refute that, that was until one day he noticed an unusual amount of white van all around Danny's store. And only moments after he entered the store guys completely and ridiculously dressed in white stormed the place holding what Jason thought was futuristic Guns at the Danny's head who appeared somewhat unfazed. Well no one could place Jason for pulling out his own gun and holding it onto the dressed in White guy's head while the man spewed some nonsense about ghosts and more. Like hell he was let these people destroy a new safe heaven.

If Jason spread the word in the underground and suddenly, villains, goons and gothamites as well as vigilantes (his overprotective brothers really, Dick was not going to let someone destroy a place his little wing and baby bat loved to frequent...) started a reverse hunt on people ridiculously dressed like them. It wasn't his doing. And he certainly loved the frustration it caused Bruce too, seeing as even Gordon and the police force, corrupt or not, were in on it too. Governmental institution or not, Jason would make sure the GIW would be going down soon enough.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON! P.T.1

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too

★ A/N: yes ik the pic is technically the mark variant who wears a shiesty but that's still mark and it's a hot pic so it's staying. anyway that poll on if y'all would read a mark grayson x reader fic alongside the batboys x reader was almost unanimously yes and i'm so happy because of it 🤭

★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU ENDED UP HERE—

—trapped in the embrace of a stranger.

One moment, you're in your kitchen, preparing a nice, hot bowl of popcorn for both you and your house guests—the next?—you're at your door, stood rigid and tight and ever-so-still as your arms are pinned to your sides by another pair. A stronger pair.

A stranger's pair.

The embrace is warm, seeping with this longing you've only ever felt from Dick that one time he returned from a mission that lasted way longer than it should've; that one time he hugged you swearing he'd never let go.

But even then... Dick did eventually pull away.

Something about this stranger's tight grip tells you they won't.

Your name is whispered, breathed out on the tongue of whoever it is holding you as he squeezes just that tad bit more, just that tad bit tighter.

It's strange. You're sure you've never met this man in your life, yet something about his embrace feels familiar, intimate in a way no stranger could ever imitate. 

No stranger but this one at least.

You can ponder on it for all but a few more seconds before a new warmth is on your shoulder—this time: a recognisably familiar one—and without being given a moment to even blink, you're yanked out of the embrace of the stranger, vision flooded with the broad back of your dear friend as a click bounces off the walls of your once quiet apartment.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't lodge this bullet between your eyes."

Jason stands before you, finger nestled snug against the trigger of his gun like it's just waiting for the opportunity to pull it, like he's just as eager to give it the command to do so.

The stranger puts his hands up, and it's just then that you realise he's clad in a skin-tight suit. Yellow and blue. With goggles over his eyes. 

"I don't want any trouble."

"Yeah?" scoffs Jason, "Well you shoulda thought of that before pulling up at princess here's door."

"[Name], get behind me," Dick calls from further in your apartment, a hand quick to spread out over your clothed stomach and push you even further back than before.

You know by the way your light starts to flicker that Duke's also on guard, and you can't imagine that Tim or Damian are that far off either.

The tension in the room is thick—heavy in the air and just as swallowing—the boys' muscles all taut. It's as though they're ready to lunge the moment just a strand of hair moves out of place.

You try to swallow, but all that goes down your throat is sandpaper.

He catches it though.

The stranger's head tilts ever so slightly after your gulp, just enough so that you're fully in his field of view again.

From under those goggles, you can't really see his eyes, but the way his brows visibly pinch is enough for you to feel the desperation radiating off his form when he speaks your name again.

Dick moves to cover you further. "I don't think so, buddy."

"Look," the man states simply, head subtly moving back up, "I don't mean any harm, really. I just wanna see her."

"Tt." The slink of a sword slipping out its sheath sounds from behind you. "And what business is it that you have with her?"

The stranger tilts his head again, letting out a frustrated grunt when Dick only moves to counter once more. "[Name] please," he whispers, tone uneven, watery and wavering, "it's me: Mark—"

Then he does something unlike your boys, unlike any vigilante you've ever seen really, and he moves his hand up to his mask, slipping it off with the ease and trust of someone not currently at the door of a stranger's house.

"—Your boyfriend?"

You can't even fully observe his face before a bang bounces off the walls of your home.

Your eyes widen, pupils shaking and hand already pushing Dick to the side as you hiss out a severely pissed, "Jason!" 

But before you can even think of screaming your heart out at him, of having a go at your friend for shooting an innocent person at your door, your mouth falls agape, muscles tensing just as much as the rest of the vigilantes you know as you catch sight of what you're sure should've been a dead man on the ground.

Except he isn't dead. And he's nowhere near the ground.

In fact, he's floating off of it, brows now furrowed and lips pulled tight into a snarl as he yells, "What the hell, man?! You just shot me!"

"And you aren't dead," Jason replies through gritted teeth. "Why the fuck aren't you dead?"

"Not to worry," Damian replies before the stranger—before Mark—can, "I'll fix that."

All it takes is the lights flickering once more and the sound of a staff whirling in the wind for you to snap out of your little stupor, for you to see and hear and feel everything around you once again.

And once you do, your voice rings clear and final.

"Enough."

The boys tense, forms faltering as their eyes finally leave the stranger to fall on you.

You take a step forward.

Duke blocks your way.

"Duke." Your arms fold over your chest, his name stern and heavy on your tongue.

"[Name]"—his brows furrow—"you can't be serious. This is a stranger. A meta too, no less."

"And you aren't?" You quirk a brow. His jaw ticks. "He hasn't done anything. All he did was hug me."

"That doesn't mean he won't do anything," he retorts stubbornly. "That doesn't mean he can't do anything." Then, his tone softens, brows scrunching a little as he regards you with a look all too warm and familiar. "I don't wanna lose you. Not you."

Your arms uncross, one hand gesturing out as you return his gentle look. "And you won't. I promise. Just let me talk to him."

You can tell he's reluctant, can see it in the way his jaw is still tense and his eyes suddenly can't meet your own. But you also know Duke, and you know that he's a hero—one that, if given the chance, will choose the option of peace over all else.

And so, his shoulders fall, and he steps to the side to allow you through, to which you flash him a grateful smile before taking a step forward...

...only to be blocked by yet another wall, one now back to facing the person floating at your door.

"Jason," you call, but he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. "Jason."

His jaw squares, the only sign you have that he's hearing you.

"Put the gun down."

But he doesn't listen. He hears you but he doesn't listen. Because of course he doesn't listen. You're speaking to Jason Peter Todd, when the fuck does he ever listen?

"Jason!"

"I'm not putting the gun down until he's bleeding on the fucking floor."

The meta snarls at Jason's words, and the latter is quick to return it with his own look of disdain, blood boiling enough for heat waves to be visible in the air around him, for even the hottest lava to envy what courses through his veins.

"Then get out of my way so that I can speak to him."

The man lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "And let him feed you another lie to bring down your guard some more? I don't think so."

"I'm not lying," Mark hisses, floating just a tad bit closer.

"Oh yeah?" Jason tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting in that familiar way it does when he mocks a crook. "Why don't you say that to your so-called girlfriend? Because to me, it doesn't look like she even knows who you are at all."

That seemed to have hit a nerve, because the next thing you know, Mark is lunging forward, and Jason is just narrowly dodging his shove, rolling to the side and letting out another bullet in his direction.

You're only able to blink once before your form is engulfed, covered by the oldest brother in the room as he regards you with soft, gentle eyes.

Yours only scrunch in return.

"Dick, let go of me."

He tosses a glance over his shoulder as another bang rings out. "Don't think that's the best idea right now, princess."

"Dick."

He meets your gaze again.

"It's either you let me go so that I can break up the fight, or you let me go so that you can break up the fight. Your pick."

He holds your gaze for a few seconds, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You can't be serious."

You don't say a word, and he blinks owlishly.

"You're serious."

"Deadly."

"Okay, fuck," he curses, head turning to the side as his eyes all but seem to run through a dozen different scenarios at once, acting more like a computer screen than sclera.

Then, after at least two more seconds pass, he turns back to you, shoulders falling in quiet resignation.

"Fine. Stay here. I'll break it up. You're not going anywhere near that fight on my watch."

You feel the way your shoulders fall at his words, a wave of relief crashing over you like a sudden change in tide as you flash Dick a smile much like the one you gave Duke earlier and he starts to slowly get up with a roll of his shoulders.

"Alright you two, break it up."

Mark pauses, and Jason takes the opportunity to lunge, but before his arms can even graze the meta human, Dick hooks them under his own, and you quickly take the opportunity to put yourself between the three men.

You then proceed to waste no time to deliver a mountain of fury to the man who started the fight.

"Really, Jason?"

He pauses his struggling against his brother.

"I mean, seriously"—you throw your arms out in front of you, scoffing the words on your tongue out in disbelief so heavy, it fogs your vision—"you're a grown ass man, starting fights like a child, over something as small as someone claiming to be my boyfriend?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but purses his lips once you send him a narrow look, opting instead to scoff and turn his head to the side.

"Oh, and don't think I didn't notice you two getting ready to join in, Tim, Damian." You turn your stern gaze to the other two currently armed individuals in the room, and they both mirror their brother's reaction to a tee.

It's funny, really, how they react like children being scolded for something like drawing on the walls rather than grown men who were planning on murdering someone in the comfort of your home.

Or at least, Jason was.

Geez, you really thought you had this talk with him already, that he'd changed his previous ways and swapped out his real bullets for rubber ones, that he'd sworn off killing for the rest of his life.

Guess not.

You pinch your nose, taking in a breath and counting up to ten just like your momma taught you when you were little, just like you always do when your veins get a little too heated for your own good.

Each second in your head is a second the heat flushes out your system—and your muscles unscrew themselves from the stiff boards this whole night reduced them to—until eventually, you can feel yourself finally calming down.

Then you open your eyes again and witness the mess that is your living room, and all that effort flushes down the drain.

"Look"—you find yourself sighing, turning to face the still-floating Mark as you address him with heavy eyes—"Mark, was it?"

In an instant, he lowers himself to your height, and now that there's no goggles in the way anymore, you witness the true extent of the way his eyes stare at you, wide, unwavering, like you're the only one they truly see.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow air. "...I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong girl. I've never seen or met you in my life. I don't even have a boyfriend."

At that, his shoulders fall, sagging in a way that has you biting your lip and half-contemplating taking it all back if it meant you'd get to see that look on his face again.

Wait... what?

"Right..." Mark starts, his solemn tone enough to pull you straight out of your thoughts. "Different dimension. My bad."

His words, though muttered, couldn't have been louder to your ears, and you raise your head in time with the rest of your friends, eyes wide and trained onto him.

"I'm sorry..."

He glances up at your voice.

"...Did you just say 'different dimension'?"

TAGLIST: @silas-222, @bloofairyfox, @wiseavenuelove, @inkycapps, @velovicy, @mmentallyelsewhere, @verysynical, @1abi, @bluepartywobblernickel

[the-halloween-jack]

Déjà Vu ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When the reader's comms grow suddenly silent, Jason Todd's worst fear takes shape — not just the possibility of losing someone, but the cold, inescapable echoes of a past he could never bury. As he fights his way through the grime of Gotham City, one truth becomes undeniable: some nightmares never cease, they resurface. Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Angst, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of past domestic violence. Masterlist

Notes: This is my first Jason Todd piece after many years of reading them. Hopefully, it is the first of many <3

Words: 3,181k

The first hit split her lip.

The second sent her to her knees.

The third stole her breath, left her gasping, hands splayed in the warmth of her own blood beneath her.

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ He drawled, ‘I have to say, I love the symmetry of this.’ 

The Joker laughed, one hand gesturing to her, the other twirling the gruesome crowbar between his gloved fingers like a baton. Y/N spat red onto the warehouse floor, teeth bared with something akin to a smile, though it was distorted with her wrath. ‘Go to hell.’

He tutted, shaking his head as though he were a disappointed teacher. ‘Now, now, don’t be like that, darling. You should be honoured! Not just anybody gets a starring role in one of my reruns.’

Her knees remained on the glistening crimson concrete as she forced herself upright, muscles shrieking with the exertion. Y/N could feel the blood seeping into the fibres of her clothes; it was quickly turning cold. She was trembling. Weak. But she refused to stay down, to yield. She knew what this very situation had done to Jason, witnessed the wreckage it left in its wake. The man it had turned him into.

She would not grant Joker the satisfaction of her fear.

He sighed dramatically. ‘Honestly… I was hoping for a bit more fight from you; after all, I did a number on you.’ He waved the crowbar, a looming threat. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep the rest quick. After all, we wouldn’t want lover boy to catch the show.’

Jason.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. She could not comprehend how he knew what Jason was to her. They had always been so careful.

He was coming. Y/N knew it; she could feel his pending presence like a tempest looming in the ether. But he would not make it here in time. That was the whole objective. The Joker had planned this, crafted it. It had all but nothing to do with her, he stitched it together like a grotesque puppet show designed solely to torment him.

Just as he had before.

Her whole form rattled with each sputtered breath; she swore she could feel her fragmented bones shift within her, but she forced herself to move, to push forward. There was something she yearned to tell him, something he needed to know; it was long overdue. If she could only stall, draw out this awful night, but she could only stretch so far before it would splinter. She could feel it; her life was drawn like a string, taut and thrumming. She feared with one more blow, it would snap under the strain. 

Y/N could not bear the thought of him finding her like this, discovering her body; it left a bad taste in her mouth, it burned bitter; she choked on it. 

The Joker noticed this. His wicked grin stretched wider, more daunting, eyes alight with sick amusement. ‘So you do have some fight left in you. That’s adorable.’

Then, he swung and her vision erupted with stars, they burned with a white-hot agony.

She barely felt herself hit the ground, as though her body was not hers anymore, it was something distant, something leaden, she could already feel reality receding. A small, bitter part of her recognised the poetry of it. Saw what the Joker was trying to achieve, the symmetry, as he had called it.

Y/N had spent so long learning how to crawl her way back from death. This could not be the exception. 

The Joker crouched beside her, his shoes shifting against the concrete, she watched them from her new place on the floor and stared as the newly shed blood glistened from his soles. 

‘Aw, don’t check out on me just yet, peaches. The real fun hasn’t even started.’

He reached out for her face as if in a caress, his gloved fingers grazing ever so gently down her cheek as though he had not just beaten her within an inch of her life. Bile rose in her throat at his touch; it burned like acid. 

She could barely see him now. Her vision was oscillating, black setting in at the edges. But she could hear him. She could feel the suffocating weight of inevitability settle over her like a burial shroud.

Jason was not going to make it; this realisation settled like a cold, unforgiving weight in her chest, smothering each breath she took. The fragile threads of hope she had held onto retreated into the abyss. Her heart ached as the cruel truth settled over her; Jason would arrive too late. He would never hear the words she so desperately longed to convey; the unspoken confession burned in her chest, restricted by time.

She was not going to survive this, the Joker would never allow it. Jason would find her like this, broken, derelict. She would not get the chance to explain. 

He leaned in close now, breath hot against her ear; it sent a shudder down her form. ‘I adore the symmetry I’ve created thus far, there’s only one thing left to do; I want him to see the damage I’ve done.’

‘Y’know,’ he murmured, still close to her face, voice low and sweet like the whisper of a lover, ‘he’s never gonna forgive himself for this.’

She ached to tell him he was wrong, that Jason would endure. That she would be okay. That he would not be unmade by this. But the words curdled in the warmth of her throat, thick with blood, the murk coiled around her like a patient tide; she was already ebbing from the world, conceding to its darkness.

Joker pulled away, sighing. ‘Ah well. C’est la vie.’

He stepped aside, allowing a red glow to seep into her stunted view, steady, unrelenting, and ominous. Her wavering vision had the numbers mangle into indistinct shapes, but she required no clarity. Y/N already knew what they meant. She braced herself, eyes fluttering shut. 

Jason could feel it like a thrum, like static in the air, like pressure boring into his skull. He grew tense, as though a spectre gripped the back of his neck in an unrelenting grasp. The comms had gone silent. Her comms. She never went silent.

His fingers wreathed tighter around the throttles of his bike as Gotham blurred past him, neon lights receding into its gloom as he tore through the streets. The city was too loud, too alive, too unaware of what was festering beneath its surface.

His mind clawed at the last words she had said before the line cut out, ‘I’ve got it, Jay. Don’t worry.’

But he did worry. He always worried. And now that worry had shifted into something sharp and breathless, twisting deep in his chest; he fought for air.

A crackle in his ear. Tim. ‘Jason…’ 

‘Where is she?’ He did not like the desperation in his voice, but he could not quell it.

A pause. Too long. Too weighted.

Then, a sigh. ‘An abandoned warehouse off of Dock 52.’

He was already turning the bike. Already forcing the engine to its limit. He ran red lights and tore through intersections, deaf to the horns, blind to the people, heedless to everything but the address burning itself into his mind, searing to his vision.

A warehouse.

His stomach plummeted. He knew what that meant.

He knew what would happen there.

He knew what Joker planned to do.

His pulse pounded in his ears. His breath turned shallow, quick and useless. His grip on the handlebars was white-knuckled, and his mind — his mind was a reel of tainted memories, a horror film of times gone past. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not...

‘Jason.’ Dick’s voice this time. Steady. Trying to ground him. It only made it worse.

‘We’ll get her.’

But Jason already knew he was too late. It could never be that easy.

The flames licked and devoured the crumbling ruins around him, their heat pressed against his skin, yet somehow, he had never felt colder. It was the awful crimson that had first caught his eye; her body, once so strong and sure, now lay in a heap, decrepit and ghastly in a pool of her own blood. He did not recall making his way to her beaten frame, but abruptly, his knees had hit the concrete, a hollow, sickening sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the desolate space. With trembling fingers, he reached for her and pulled her into his embrace.

Blood crept up his knuckles, stark and seeped within the crevices of his pale, illuminated skin.

It crept beneath his fingernails.

Her blood.

His hands shook violently with this foul revelation. The warehouse smelled of rust and rot, of soot and smoke, of something macabre. Shadows stretched against the walls, twisted structures caught in the flickering light of bare bulbs, but Jason could not see them. He could not perceive anything beyond her.

His breath was trapped somewhere in his ribs, clawing at his throat, fighting its way out as a broken, trembling sob.

No. No, no, no, no...

She was still warm.

That was the worst part.

Her body had not yet caught up with the brutal finality of her death. He had been close, so close. The blood that seeped from her skull was fresh, staining the floor, staining him, sinking into the creases of his clothes, into the cracks of his skin, imbibing itself into his very bones.

He glanced unwillingly to his side and saw a joker card weighed down by a battered crowbar. It was left there to taunt him; he felt a stinging pain rise in his throat.

He already knew this story.

He had lived this story.

Jason pressed a shaking hand to her cheek, fingers skimming over the torn skin of her temple. Her head lolled, lifeless, into his palm. His vision blurred. The world was shattering around him, the air closing in too fast, too tight.

This was not supposed to happen. Not again. Not to her. Not her.

A choked sound wrenched itself from his throat, raw and brutal. He wanted to tear the world apart, wanted it to burn, wanted to take everything Joker had ever touched and reduce it to ashes, bone and dust.

But there was no world left to destroy. His world lay broken in his arms.

‘Jason...’ a voice called from somewhere behind him. Distant. Muffled beneath the rush of blood pounding in his ears. ‘Jason, we need to... ’

‘No.’

It came out hoarse, a ragged snarl carved from the wreckage of his throat. Hands were on him now, Dick’s, maybe Tim’s, he did not care, they tried to pry him away, tried to separate him from the only thing that mattered. He wrenched free, curling over her like a shield, as though if he were to hold her tightly enough, he could put her back together, force her into place, will her soul back beneath her skin.

He loved her.

And he had failed her.

Jason felt something unravel within him, something fragile and irreparable. The grief inside him was not humane. It was raw, feral, a grief that gnawed at the edges of reason, hollowing him out until only the cavern of what he had been remained.

‘Jason,’ Bruce said, he did not remember him arriving. Bruce was quieter than the others, as if his words would be enough to stop the sky from collapsing, as though it would be enough to salvage what had already been destroyed. ‘We need to bring her home.’

Home.

The word felt like a mockery. 

He swallowed back the scream rising in his chest. She was his home. His arms curled tighter around her, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath shuddering as it ghosted over her cooling lips. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to rewind time. This could not be real.

But there was no waking up from this.

Joker forced her from him in the same manner he had taken him from Bruce. And this time, Jason had been the one who arrived too late.

History had repeated itself.

And she had fallen victim to it.

He was still holding her hand.

It was cold now, sickly. She looked like stone under the low light of the cave, sculpted into something reverent, something holy. If he were any weaker, he might have prayed. But there was never a god in Gotham, only ghosts, only graves.

His grip tightened.

‘Jason,’ Dick had murmured from over the threshold. He had the tone of someone who knew he had already lost his battle but was too stubborn to walk away. ‘You need to rest.’

Jason did not answer. What was the point? None of them understood. Not Bruce, who had watched him succumb to the same fate, but had seemingly not suffered the same. Not Dick, who had watched on. Not Tim, not Damian. They had not been shattered and put back together wrong. They had all known loss, but none of them, none of them, had lost her.

They tried again, in softer voices. Even Alfred, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, spoke to him like a wounded animal. Jason did not move. He did not blink. He barely breathed.

They would not take her from him.

Eventually, they left him with her. Hours passed, or maybe minutes, or maybe lifetimes. He did not know. He just stayed, his thumb running absently over her knuckles, tracing circles into the skin. He should have been there sooner. He should have known. He should have...

Her fingers twitched.

Jason flinched, tearing his gaze from the blank, hollow of her face and down to their hands laying connected, both now dried crimson with her blood. The movement had been so slight he almost thought he had imagined it. His chest was hollowed out, a cavern scraped raw, and his mind was cracked wide with grief. He must have been seeing things.

Then it happened again.

Her breath hitched. Her shoulders jerked. A sharp inhale wrenched her back into her body, into the cage of her skin, into the cold and then to him.

Jason scrambled to his feet, the gurney rattling with the force of his pushing away. The world tilted, his stomach plummeting because this was not... this was not possible. His hands shook as he pulled away, as he stared down at her, heart hammering like a war drum in his ribs.

‘What... ’

‘Jason,’ she whispered, barely audible, as though she was speaking through water, through a fog, through the thousand miles that should exist between her and life.

He stumbled back. No, no, this was not... it could not...

She pushed herself up on her elbows, slow, deliberate, blinking the haze from her eyes. Her gaze swept the room before settling on him. He looked wrecked, as though he were unravelling at the seams.

‘I… I don’t... ’ he choked out, but his voice barely worked. ‘I held you. You weren’t breathing. You were dead.’

‘I was.’ Her voice was solemn, yielding. 

He took another step back, shaking his head, trying to force this into something he could make sense of. But there was no logic here, no reason. Only his own past being referenced before him.

She watched him for a moment. Then, gently, she reached for his hand.

‘Let me explain.’ Her voice was soft, pleading.

Jason moved, did not resist, just let himself be drawn back in. The contact burned through his clothes, through his skin, down to the bones that had once shattered against the Joker’s crowbar, just as hers had.

She exhaled, steadying herself, and then began.

‘I was seven the first time I died.’

Jason felt something splinter in him, he drew in a quick breath.

‘My father…’ she trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line. A flicker of something old and ruined crossed her face before she buried it again. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. He was by no means… kind. And he…’ 

She halted her words a muscle in her jaw twitching.

Jason’s fingers tightened in hers. His heart was still hammering, still trying to keep up with a reality that had seemingly stumbled sideways.

‘My… return shocked him.’ Jason did not like the implications behind her words, they made him sick, but he let her continue. 

‘He needed to know how I survived it; he hated the uncertainty. So he…’ She paused again, eerily composed. ‘...experimented. I always woke up. I always came back.’

Jason’s stomach twisted, nausea creeping up his throat like acid. This was too vile. Too raw. The thought of her helplessness, her fear, and the cycle of pain she had been subjected to was enough to debilitate him. The air suddenly tasted like metal, sharp and bitter, but it was nothing compared to the taste of rage searing through his veins. 

He stepped back and stood still, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, but still, his breath remained steady, almost serene. The world around him felt muted, like a muffled beat, the edges of his vision fading to red with the sudden weight of this truth. He could not believe that someone meant to nurture and cherish her could cause her such anguish. Anger, raw and relentless, rose, it begged for vengeance. Wherever this foul man resides, he must pay; but not yet. 

He watched as she sat pouting, she was not happy that he had drawn himself away from her, so he stood forward once more and grabbed her still outstretched palms.

She quickly enveloped his hands, grounding him. ‘I was afraid to tell you,’ she admitted, sheepish. ‘I thought you might look at me differently.’

Jason let out a hollow, humourless laugh. ‘Differently?’

Her lips twitched, almost amused, almost sad. ‘I know it’s ironic, if anyone would understand, it was you. I know, it’s a lot.’

A lot. Right. That was one way to describe the phenomenon. All Jason knew was that his world had imploded, that the grief that had so recently shifted him into something unrecognisable, was chased away with relief coiled so tightly in his gut he thought he might shatter beneath it.

But all he did was drag her forward, arms closing around her so tightly he could not be sure where he ended and she began.

‘I was going to bury you,’ he rasped against her shoulder, shaking. ‘Bury you.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, fingers curling into the leather of his jacket. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.’

He exhaled shakily, pressing his face into her hair, trying to anchor himself to the warmth of her; the solid weight of her in his arms. Alive. But the moment ended too soon as light flooded suddenly into the room. Jason and Y/N turned, eyes narrowing begrudgingly toward the interruption, only to be met with a group of gaping faces that stood shocked beyond the threshold.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3 On a side note, the reader's ability to come back from the dead and the father's experimentation that then follows was inspired by a character from a different source material. I'm not going to say who because it is a spoiler for anyone who may end up watching the show, but I wonder if any of you picked up on the allusion.

[eoaspulse]

Many of the Red Hood’s men know who he is under the mask. They know who he is because, believe it or not, they care.

Getting drunk with your boss is never a good idea, but when that leads to the Red Hood’s throwing off his helmet to throw up, leaving his face exposed, it does seem to have a silver lining. When one of his men recognised his face, recognising the face of the young boy that everyone in Gotham had seen plastered all over the news so many years ago, because that boy had died, they knew their boss had some explaining to do.

Lots of them were fathers, trying to provide for their families, so when they found out their boss was practically a child, it felt a bit odd to them, because what if that were there child��running around with guns, bombs and the likes?

The Red Hood’s too men sat him down one day, explaining to him what they had seen, explaining that they wouldn’t tell anybody, that they were just worried.

The Red Hood, or rather Jason, had cried, cried and told them to get out or he’d kill them, to get out because he wasn’t a child, not anymore, because that had been taken away from him by some sick fuck that was somehow still living.

None of them left, for once they didn’t follow orders.

One of them, a father to three beautiful daughters, pulled Jason into his arms, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words only a father could manage. He told Jason that it would all be okay, that he was so brave for doing all this, that it was okay to cry and need help sometimes, that they would all be there for him, that they would pick him up when he couldn’t do so himself, that they would take care of him when he needed it.

From then on out they kept an eye on the Red Hood, never letting him drink unless it was for an undercover mission, unless one of them was nearby because they knew he couldn’t handle his alcohol, and they didn’t want him hurt. They no longer allowed him to smoke, or ‘test’ some of the drugs they were selling to make sure they were ‘high quality. No, none of that, despite Jason’s constant threats.

It was comforting to Jason, in a way, that no matter how much he told them to stop, how much he’d threaten them, they didn’t stop, it was comforting because he really, truly didn’t want them to stop, he was just scared.

[sassatoru]

Dahlia with String then Burlap plsss

What about him and the reader being lovers in highschool. After his death ,the reader went mad and stuck at the age of 15 when he was still alive. After he got back,he visits her everyday since he believed there is still a way to get his girl back 😭

COME HOME TO ME

pairing. jason todd x reader

warning. angst to fluff, character death + revival, age regression, reader in a psych ward

a/n. i really liked this prompt thank you

“hey baby,” jason whispered, his hand on the glass separating the two of you, oh how he wished he could break this down and take you home. but he knows that you wouldn’t react well to being taken.

you don’t reply, your eyes are staring forward. they’re so dull now, not like the girl he loved when he was younger, his girl.

you’re wearing one of the hoodies he left here for you. you may not recognise his face and voice but you’d never forget the way he smelt, you used to tease him for the pine smell but now it was all you had left of him.

“baby,” jason calls out again, a little louder this time. “come on, doll. look at me, it’s me. it’s jay.” jason wants to cry, he wants you back, he wants you home, his voice is pleading, there’s a lump in his throat when you finally look at him.

you shake your head at him, “you’re not my jay.”

jason feels like he’s dying again, it feels the same. he feels like he’s dying inside, the breath leaving his lungs, eyes closing and he can hear that bomb again. the maniacal laughter of the bastard that killed him, the sound of his skull cracking under the force of the crowbar.

because he’s not really your jay, is he? no, he knows he isn’t. that boy died a long time ago, but jason can be jay, because you need jay, not jason.

“yes i am, baby.” it’s me, doll.

when did baby turn to doll, he wonders. another sign that he’s changed.

“look at me, really look at me.”

and you do you look into his green eyes— green? that can’t be right, jay’s eyes were an icy blue you adored dozing off to. but there is something familiar in the way this man looks at you, like you could massacre cities and he’d still love you.

but he can’t be jay, your jay died.

you shake your head again, turning away from him to curl up on the bed — jason has to remember to say thanks to bruce for getting you somewhere that takes care of you — to hide from him.

“baby don’t go,” he whispers.

this was routine by now, everyday for the last three months he came here. to sit by the glass that separates you from him. and everyday you do the same thing, refuse to believe him.

“baby, don’t you remember me? remember that day we snuck into the theatre, in the roof and took out that part of the ceiling so we could watch? and you said—”

“—we’re like ninjas.”

a smile crosses his lips, and he laughs. your heart flutters and you peek a look at him, only to find his staring right back at you. “hi baby.”

“jay,” you mumble, he nods.

“that’s right, doll. it’s jay.”

“doll?” you ask.

he shrugs, “maybe it’s time for something new.”

“i like it,” you say.

it takes weeks before you’re discharged. the doctors don’t believe the sudden change in you, the hallucinations suddenly gone, you’re not seeing a teenage lover, you don’t believe you’re 15 anymore.

they run their test but nothing wrong comes back. jason takes you home at the end of it all.

it’s different, the way he walks, or talk, the way he stands. so different yet so familiar. he’s bigger, not the scrawny boy you knew, his size triples yours.

he laughs when you mention it to him.

he keeps his distance, trying to keep you comfortable but you want him closer. you want him to hold you, more than anything you want to curl up next to him, letting some corny horror movie you play in the background, you’d jump despite knowing the jump scares are coming, and he’d tease you, promise to keep the monsters away. before he screamed himself, and you laughed, fingers running through his hair.

his hair was different too, still black but he had that white streak in it. you told him you liked it, he gave up on trying to dye it.

he stays with you at night, holding your hand when you wake up from the nightmares of losing him.

it takes months before he holds you, causally like he used to. hands dragging along your hips when he walks past you. he coddles you months later despite your insistence that you can take care of yourself.

you don’t get over the years of your life you lost, but you both have that in common. your life started and ended together. now you get another chance to start again.

jason won’t leave you again. jay won’t let you hurt again.

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[seleneprince]

Jason Todd suddenly having a stepmother and three additional younger siblings out of nowhere, moved into the same house as him. Knowing damn well something is fishy about this marriage, specially coming from the new Mrs Wayne, but not saying anything because Bruce told him to not intervene.

Jason resenting the woman at first, but being uncapable of feeling the same way about the kids, who apparently think he's cool and drag him into playing with them, and well, he can't say no. He doesn't have the heart.

Jason noticing the oldest seems wary of him for some reason, as if she doesn't trust him, but eventually warming up to him when he perseveres in getting her out of her shell.

Jason adoring the three of them, encouraging them to call him "big bro Jay", but having a special bond with the oldest girl, who soon enough becomes his partner in crime in the family. Sneaking out to the kitchen to eat more dessert than they were allowed to, falling asleep together, chasing each other around the manor, playing pranks on the adults. Even getting grounded together.

Jason soaking up all the admiration and affection she shows him, and viceversa. Both low-key teaming up to complain about Dick being kinda an asshole to them. Promising the girl that he'll never leave her, and if she ever needs anything, she can count on "big bro Jay" to help her.

Jason learning even to like his stepmother, who makes homemade snacks for when he goes out with Batman, ruffles his hair while calling him cute nicknames and inviting him to eat at the table with her and her kids as well, as if he's her child too. And he feels guilty but god, he wants it so badly

Jason doubting himself more often that he'd like, admitting once to his beloved little sister that he doesn't feel like he'll ever be like Dick Grayson, only for her to look at him directly in the eyes all confidently and say "You're right, because you're better than him." His eyes getting wet out of sudden and hugging her tightly, as if her warmth alone can erase all his suffering. And it does.

Jason picking them up from school, scaring the shit out of anyone who messes with his little siblings. Carrying their backpacks for them. Telling them that if they ever feel threatened or even worried, don't do anything themselves, tell him instead. Let big bro take care of it.

Jason promising his little sister that he'll always love her, no matter what, and that he'll come back to them even if it costs him. Swearing up and down that he won't ever break her heart.

"We're family, little wing. Nothing can change that. You'll always be my babysister."

Jason loving his little sister more than anything, with all his heart...until his last breath. Dying with the realisation that he broke his promise.

Jason crawling his way back, forever changed. Forever mutated into someone else he barely recognises sometimes. Coming back to Gotham with hands stained in blood and the new weight of his sins on his shoulders. The pain, the fury and the revenge burning his soul until the boy he once was is nothing but ashes.

Jason returning to the manor, painfully aware of the darkness he now carries. That infects his being. Noticing everyone looking at him with wariness, like a bomb about to explode...except someone.

Jason seeing again those familiar eyes, full of warmth and longing, that he thought would never see again. There's no fear in her, no reluctance. No, worst. She's happy. Her eyes light up and runs to him, a bit wary in her steps, but her joy overshadowing everything else. She's unsure, but still reaches out. She still sees the boy who left, not the monster that came back.

Jason feeling too tainted and too guilty to even face her properly, ignoring the pang in his chest at her heartbroken face when he brushes her off. Telling himself he doesn't deserve her affection, not anymore. That he will just corrupt her, curse her by sticking close. Convincing himself that it's for her own good. Because that's what a big brother does. Protecting his little siblings from anything...even from himself.

Jason putting distance between them, pushing her away as much as he can, over and over until he realises she's moving on. That she no longer seeks him out, instead going on with her life and growing up. He's so glad, and so, so proud of her even if he doesn't tell her it fucking breaks him but what he's supposed to do?

Jason still spending time with the rest of the family because it's different with them. They already accepted the boy he once was is dead. They went through shit themselves to somewhat understand his own. They're all soldiers in their own ways, under the bat's shadow. There's no innocence to protect there, no one he can dissapoint. No one that he cares anyway.

Jason convinced that she's safe and better off without him, swallowing the poison threatening to spill out from his mouth when he catches Duke getting cozy with her in all too familiar way, biting his tongue as he looks the other way. That was his spot first, she used to be his, it's not fair it's not fucking fair

Jason forcing himself to not think about it every day....and then seeing her battered body crashed in a dark alley, on top of a car. Covered in bruises and blood and broken. Unresponsive. Not breathing. And he has no fucking idea what happened. Or how. Or why. No one knows, no one can tell him, there's no one to ask. All he knows is that his little sister fell from a fucking window and must've been bleeding alone there until she blacked out. Alone and battered, dying in silence.

Jason realising, with a heartcrushing force, that he fucked up. Astronomically. And it's too late now.

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

Tip or Commission the author!

[starlightshadowsworld]

Bruce but when Jason comes back he's just completly overjoyed.

Because by some miracle his son is back.

Like yeah we have ideological differences but my son who was brutally taken from me.

Who's death haunts me, is alive.

Bruce does the DNA test finds it's a match and is just like, is he okay? Is he hurt?

Does he have somewhere to stay? Is it safe?

Finds Red Hood and Jason's expecting harsh words, anger, even pity.

And instead Batman, Batman this beacon of strength and unshakeableness.

... Is crying.

"It's you, isn't it....Jaylad please. Please tell me that's you under there."

Pleading.

Jason takes the helmet off and Bruce falls to his knees as the weight of it all hits him.

That's his boy.

He might look different now but that's his boy.

Bruce would recognise him anywhere.

He's talking, talking about how he's not mad he could never be mad at him.

That Jason doesn't have to explain, he doesn't have to come back if he doesn't want to.

That he doesn't need to explain.

That if he ever does Bruce is here, that he's here and he will always be here.

That the manor is still his home, nothing changes that.

Even kept your old stuff, all of your books are right where you left them.

He swears up and down that he tried to kill the Joker but he failed.

Thst he chased him to the ends of the earth because he took you from me.

And apologises, over and over that he failed Jason, and he's so so sorry and knows that doesn't fix things.

And he gets if Jason never wants to see him again.

And it's none of the gruff stoic Dark Knight, it's the choked up rambling of a dad.

Jason's dad.

And after what feels like hours but was only just a few shocked seconds, Jason drops his helmet and runs into Bruce's arms.

Bruce hugs him like if he let's go he will lose him again.

They have so much to talk about but none of that matters now.

Not when he's holding the missing part of his heart in his arms.

[aangelinakii]

STRATEGY.

— hey boy, imma get ya.

summary : you've been plotting on dick grayson ever since your friend jason introduced the two of you when he was round jason's at the same time as you. you're gonna get that boy, one way or another.

note : don't ask about my obsession with new years eve parties ??? i've never been to any so don't question it too much, it's just a very very perfect setting

and also another note : also looked up roy harper's birthfay AFTER i wrote rhis and it's in november apparently whixh i didn't realise when dick was wearing a t-shirt soooo sorry about continuity stuffs

the first time you met dick grayson he almost slammed a door in your face.

much to his dismay, jason had given up his apartment to celebrate roy's birthday — something about a gas leak or other at his own place, and not wanting to harm his daughter, let alone his friends — and you'd offered some help setting up.

although it appeared someone else had done so, too.

someone you didn't know, didn't recognise — but took the same turns along each street from the moment you noticed him.

part of you wondered whether he was reverse-following you, trying to cut you off at some point by turning around and slitting your throat...

sounds quite normal for gotham, actually.

but when he turned up into jason's dingy apartment complex, and led you up the stairs to jason's floor, you realised it wasn't just a coincidence; you really were going to the same place.

the dark-haired man stopped outside jason's door and rapped his knuckle against it before pushing it open. "the help is here!" he bellowed inside, which was followed by a tumble of footsteps.

this could have been your moment to squeeze in through the crack in the door behind him, but something awkward tugged at your stomach and you couldn't seem to announce yourself the normal way.

jason's expression, however, glowed with recognition at the moment his friend was about to shut the door behind him.

"woah, woah!" he gasped, struggling past his friend to catch the door mid-slam. "don't be a bad guest, dick."

for the first time, he turns around.

wavy black hair, getting lengthy enough to frame his forehead but still short; strikingly peaceful blue eyes, like pools of mediterranean, which stared apologetically into yours as jason peeled the door back open to allow you in; his bicep bulged from beneath its white short-sleeve as he held a hand out to shake yours. and did jason call him... dick?

unclear whether he was being derogratory or merely speaking to him, your fingers skimmed against his palm to take his hand.

well... what a name. what a face.

for about an hour after that, you and dick — who you soon found out was technically jason's brother, though you didn't ask how you can technically be brothers — helped jason hang up streamers and blow up balloons to celebrate roy's birthday.

the party went smoothly, with a few drinks and at least one person keeping an eye on lian at all times, but, even after, you knew dick grayson would be yours.

not sure how, not sure when — but he would be.

that brings us here, to new year's eve a good entire year later, a drink in your hand, although just a couple before this in your system. your apartment's the victim this time, and roy had to leave early to spend the rest of his new year's with lian.

you're lingering in the kitchen area, eyeing the sticky residue of beer that had been spilt on your counter at some point in the night, though you're trying to not care too much.

breathing out a controlled sigh, you take another sip of your mixer, feeling a little dizzier as you pull the cup away from your lips.

but, this time, someone's standing on the other side of the counter, grinning lopsidedly despite himself. dick's mostly showing off the whole apartment his muscles, aside from the glittery waistcoat that covers his pecs, he's got a rainbow flower garland strewn messiky around his neck and some shiny cardboard crown that matches the angle his smile's at.

"having fun?" you just about manage to hold in both a laugh and the liquid you just drank.

his smile widens and he reaches out onto the cluster of unopened cans and bottles for a new one. "like you have no idea — look at me!"

although he's picked up an already-opened can of canada dry, dick doesn't seem to notice as he gestures to his interesting outfit, which you're quite sure he didn't walk in here wearing.

where his original shirt went, you have absolutely no idea, but it will be found eventually.

mirroring his smile, you pluck the can from his hold and replace it with a can of ginger ale, the metal tab still intact, weighted with the slosh of liquid inside. "if we had a competition, you'd win best dressed!" you assure him as he picks at the tab.

he glances back to the rest of the apartment; sure enough, there are some clothes strewn along the floor, but everyone seems to be wearing at least something and chatting, drinking or dancing.

taking a sip of his ginger ale, dick moved around to your side of the counter with a shiver — you recognise the reaction to the carbonated, tangy flavour.

when he reaches you, he's closer than he usually stands, and you try to remember if you ever saw him with a can of something alcoholic. if so, any other situation with him like this would've been a win, but you take a step back, bottom hitting the edge of the oven. in turn, dick turns to lean against the drink-strewn island counter.

"i feel like i haven't seen you all night, have you just been camping out here by the drinks?" he asks with another sip of his canada dry. despite the loud music, which may have been switched from the playlist you first put on now that you think about it, you can hear him perfectly.

as you try to reply, mimicking his coolness, your voice falls too quiet, and you have to raise it slightly. it makes you feel a bit self-conscious in front of him, but if dick's noticed or shares a similar sentiment, he doesn't let on.

"no, i've just been... around." you gesture vaguely around the flat with your drink hand. "you know what it's like to host."

dick's nod is accompanied by a bright smile that doesn't seem to be wavering. "yeah, you never really get to relax."

your eyebrows twitch, gaze wandering back to the tipped beer bottle. "you have no idea." it's more of a throw-away comment, more to yourself than anything, but dick's attentive.

now that you know him, he always seems to be — apart from when someone is trying to enter the same apartment building as him, and has been for the past twenty minutes.

he follows your eyes, and rakes his own along the destruction that's come to your kitchen counter, but glances back, expression unwavering. "i'll stay a bit later, help you clean up?"

later?

it's barely time to count down to twelve, and after that people probably won't leave until three. sure, he's buzzed now, but is he going to be able to survive until that ungodly hour?

still, you send him a smile and thank him, just in time to be whisked away to dance by megan and kory, though you don't keep his offer in mind.

later comes in the form of a spiked blur, the slurred attempt to sing along to the club classic that's come on, a few spilled drinks on your floor and an entirely new year.

by now the music's turned down, but just loud enough to catch the whispered words sung by a hushed britney spears. although the lights are still down, the absolute dregs of dawn is illuminating your front room, a sort of murky turquoise. wally's passed out on the couch with one shoe hanging off his toes, and you're pretty sure someone's in your bed, but you haven't checked.

eyes dry and pinched in exhaust, you rub incessantly at a patch on the floor of your living room with a damp flannel, glaring a hole into your wall.

distant, footsteps approach, but you don't register them until a pair of legs are standing in your eye line.

"(name)?"

with an achey blink, you peer up at the one other person awake.

dick's still shimmering in the half-light, his vest more than anything, but his garland's tucked into his back pocket, spilling down the back of his thigh. even from down here you can tell he's got rings beneath his eyes.

he crouches down to your height, that smile still lingering upon his lips, though his drinks should have worn off ages ago. he offers a cup out to you— no, a mug. warm, still steaming, and your eyes water as he holds it beneath your chin.

"i've just finished up with the counter," he hums, voice soft and slightly hoarse. "my bet's on wally for the spill."

from behind, there's a snort from the couch, and you both send abashed glances back, only to find wally burying his face into one of your cushions.

note to self: throw that one out.

when you turn back to dick, your hand leaves the cloth on the floor, fingers finding the loop of the handle like they've been longing to sit like that all night.

"what have you made?" you ask, blowing cool air along the surface of the amber drink, voice croaking.

"found some chamomile in your drawers when i was looking for your cleaning spray." dick stands to his full height and holds a hand out for you, palm up. for a moment you just stare at it, still blowing on your drink, but his fingers spread as if to state their presence again, and your free hand takes it. "figured we could both use some."

his hand in yours brings you back to your first handshake, except that time he wasn't pulling you up from your knees on the hard ground of your flat, free bicep rippling beneath its tan flesh.

for a year now, you've been telling yourself your little slow-burn plan was working — with every little flirtatious comment, every little lingering smile, he was surely falling for you — but here, him so casually taking your hand and not letting go until reaching the island counter, something stirs and you realise it's been backwards this entire time.

not your flirtatious comments; his.

not your lingering smiles; his.

grateful for a proper seat, you slide onto one of the stools, and dick takes his place standing on the other side of the counter, where his own steaming mug sits.

his finger runs along the rim of his cup and he runs his eyes over the apartment space, ignoring the addition of one dozing wally west. "i'd say we make quite the team, you and me," and he takes the curve of the handle in his grip.

you wish.

"to clean apartments?" you half-snort, realising your throat seered as you did so, and gingerly lifting your chamomile up to your lips. "thought you were more of a street-sweeping type."

opposite you, dick stands straight, his own mug raised, but his lips are stretched in a smile instead of kissing the heat of the herbal tea.

after a moment, he hums and finally sips his drink, though his eyes avert as if in thought.

own fingers drifting along the design on the side, you watch dick in intrigue; the cogs in his mind can practically be seen working, turning with each beat of a second, until, finally, he glances at you — but it's a moment lost too soon, as his gaze settles into the depths of his mug.

"so," he begins, reaching carefully, uncertainly for his mug again. "start your year off right?"

a laugh comes out without warning. "how? i'm not sure some random people sleeping in my house is how i'd usually start off my year, but to each their own."

dick's mouth upturns, but it doesn't quite reach the curve of his eyes. "no, like, when the countdown went." sheepish glance up. "did you meet anyone?"

"meet anyone?" you repeat, an eyebrow twitching.

"sure." dick gives a half-shrug, lifting his mug back up to his lips.

beats pass as you scrutinise every inch of his expression — he's suspicious, but you can't place anything to comment on. "no," you respond dismissvely. "i didn't meet anyone."

still determined to stare elsewhere, dick nods, jutting out his bottom lip in understanding as he places down his tea once again.

"why?" you hum. "did you meet anyone?"

"did i meet anyone?" he repeats, like you had, but he continues before you have a moment to comment on it either. "no, just mostly stuck around jason and wally. it's not like i'm gonna kiss them."

at this, you let out a snicker and dick's smile seems to reach his eyes.

your soft laugh dies out. something by pitbull is buzzing now from the tv's speakers. you take another small sip but you can feel dick's sweet gaze on you still, and you dare to meet his eyes, your smile growing, but you attempt to bite it back.

"what's up?"

dick doesn't respond, but his lips wobble slightly as he reaches up for the crown still perched atop his black waves. gold between his fingers, he reaches out for you, and the cardboard slips down over your eyes as he places it upon your own head. his knuckles brush along your brow bone as he adjusts it.

although he doesn't speak, there's almost no need for him to.

something in his lake como eyes has changed, all whilst looking at you.

oh, yeah. you've got him.

[twopoppies]

another day another boy band exposing simon cowell for the horrendous human being that he is smh

https://x.com/hlarryious/status/1901302147322392720?s=46

Oh man. I just hate reading this stuff because you know so much of it never changed. And so much of it sounds so similar to everything the 1D boys went through, too (except, shockingly, no one seems to have been closeted).

[…]Jason “J” Brown laughs as he leads the boys in, wearing a hat to show he’s the eldest. Spiky-haired, chain-wearing Abz Love, the naughtiest one, turns off the power to the room. Then in comes the blond one, Ritchie Neville, along with gobby Scott Robinson (who throws an evil little grin to the other lads) and baby-faced Sean Conlon (obviously the sensitive one). Each has a different role within Britain’s biggest new boyband, but their joint identity has been crafted to appeal to teen girls for whom the other boybands seem too wet, too girly. Three years and 11 Top 10 singles later, it will all be over.

[…] Sean had a brief break from the band to get counselling and their team told the world that he was resting up from glandular fever.

[…] Scott marched into the record label’s office and got into an escalating physical fight with one of their team who refused to let him quit the band, pinning him against a desk. Simon Cowell had to intervene, nearly punching Scott. Following that was a meeting between Scott and the band while they were getting ready for a Top of the Pops performance; Scott had planned to tell his friends and bandmates he was going to leave.

[…] all five of them were emotionally and mentally suffering. “We should have had six months off,” says Ritchie. It’s a shame, J adds, that the industry didn’t recognise they were struggling and support a hiatus; if they had, they might have been able to have a much longer career. “It’s taken us 25 years – I’m not even joking – literally 25 years to be able to even get my head around it,” adds Ritchie.

“It’s almost like we’ve been traumatised,” says Sean, as if coming out of a daze.

“No, we are traumatised,” says Ritchie, with a look directly at me.

[…] They were thrown together to live in the same house by their management, but their ages meant that Sean, the youngest at just 15, was cohabiting with J, who was about to turn 21.

[…] Five were instantly famous, their debut album not just No 1 in the UK but seriously successful on a global scale. Fans camped out all around the madhouse, so the band felt constantly observed; they’d often do an “SAS job” and pretend to be out, just creeping around in the dark to get some “mental headspace”, says Richie.

[…] It sounds like the female attention warped their young minds with paranoia. […] Then Ritchie adds about the touching and grabbing: “I didn’t know if somebody was overstepping – obviously certain boundaries, I did – but if somebody’s taking the p***, I didn’t have a good gauge of what that was.”

[…] They’d constantly wake up and not know which continent they were on, having to look out the hotel or car window for clues. J in particular suffered with this. “I went through the whole [experience] with chronic insomnia, from about three months after it all kicked off,” he remembers. “Most nights I was getting maximum three-and-a-half-hours’ sleep. Sometimes I’d go four or five days on an hour and a half, and then have to get up at five in the morning and film a new video.” It had a diabolical compounding impact on his mental, emotional and physical health.

[…] Sean compares their situation to being in early retirement. “I had that at 20 years of age: I had some money in the bank and enough not to work,” he says. “In your mind there was no Everest, because whatever I do it’s not going to be bigger or better than Five. And you’ve still got an ego and want success at that age, so it’s a really troubling, conflicted time.”

[…] “The industry’s attitude towards this 90s era of pop was, ‘It’s bubblegum pop, it’s not going to last, it’s superficial,’ especially after the wave of indie bands before that,” explains Sean. “We internalised that attitude, too, thinking, ‘Oh, we’re not really doing anything meaningful, it’s not impacting anyone’s life, it doesn’t really mean anything, it’s not real music.’ It also ties back to why we were so overworked and stressed – because of that mindset. The focus was on making as much money as possible and moving as quickly as we could. At the time, no one would have expected that, 25 years later, there would still be interest in the band and our music.”

Full article here

[morphean42]

Rewatching Falsettos I was suddenly struck by an epiphany that I’m sure someone else has had at some point, but I needed to write out. This ending scene from “March of the Falsettos” jumped out at me from the first watching, but even though I recognised the nod to the “See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil (and lesser known do no evil)”, I didn’t know what it meant. Today, I tried to piece it together, and I think I’ve gotten it. These poses represent core attributes of the characters, as well as Trina’s view of them, so click the read more to hear the ravings of a mad man wayyyyyy too obsessed with this show

The idea of ‘evil’ to me is very loose. It can represent a lot of things for these characters; their actions towards each other, their character flaws, etc. But, for this analysis, one can replace ‘evil’ with ‘truth’. Each of the characters refuses to see, speak, hear, or ‘do’ the truth (please excuse the lack of grammar for that last one), and that is where the ‘evil’ stems from. Taking into account this is mostly based on Trina’s view of the men, I think ‘truth’ fits in well.

Let’s start with the one who fits in least— Jason. “March of the Falsettos” is a physical manifestation of how Trina views the men in her life (as childish and immature), but some slack is given to her son. He doesn’t sing his lines in falsetto, because we acknowledge he is in fact a child, and has more of an excuse to act as such. So, take his analysis with a grain of salt. The boy has every right to be a little selfish— he’s 10.

So, Jason has his hands over his eyes, representing ‘See No Evil’. This is a direct nod to his character flaw; his view of the world with him at the center. Although his parents are less than good to him, he still sees them through unfair lenses— ‘My mother’s no wife/My father’s no man’. He sings ‘everybody’s yelling and everybody’s ruining it’ in “Everyone Hates His Parents” because he is unhappy with how his Bar Mitzvah is turning out and wants to simply cancel it. He doesn’t have a concept of doing things for other people (again, he’s a child, I’m not blaming him per se), so he is blind to the will of others and refuses to see their side. In addition to this, even when Mendel tells him Whizzer will most likely die, Jason pleads with G-d to save him. He still views himself as the center of his world, thus Mendel’s line ‘Life’s not all about him’.

In addition to this, his ‘See No Evil’ means something when thought about from Trina’s perspective. She thinks her son is blind to the truth of the world, this son who stays inside playing chess alone, this son who ‘seems like an idiot to [Trina]’. She worries Jason will turn out like these other men in her world, blind to everyone but himself.

Now we come to Mendel, who has his hand over his mouth in ‘Speak No Evil’. Mendel’s flaw throughout the show is his refusal to accept the truth of any situation. He tells Jason to ‘feel alright for the rest of your life’ instead of actually trying to help, he is ‘frightened of questions’, he repeats over and over ‘I’ll make you well’ to Whizzer in the hospital. He will never say anything negative, nor will he allow others to do so. Even in the end of the show, he tells Jason they don’t know ‘when or if’ Whizzer will get better— he is still not accepting that it’s a definite thing. He believes that if he and those around him just don’t speak about the real problems, they’ll go away.

Trina’s view on Mendel is complicated here. In the next song she agrees to marry him, of course, and we know she at least likes him (the most of all three adults she knows). She says that Mendel ‘decides the role to assume’. She looks down on the fact that he can’t speak the truth to her, that he’s expecting this happy wife, this perfect new family. He wants her to play along with him and make their home together, even if she sings ‘liking our lives’ instead of loving. Even if he’s better than Marvin ever was, there’s still an element of control here. Mendel wants this family, and he wants them to all pretend nothing is ever wrong again.

Marvin, our titular character, is in the ‘Hear No Evil’ position. This one is fairly straight forward— he wants control and will never listen to the needs of those around him. He can’t hear what they actually need, he simply does what he wants. He also struggles with his masculinity throughout Act 1, his outward misogyny and need for the nuclear family (his treatment of Trina and Whizzer), so he imagines himself at the top of his family system. He will never take any other opinions, or counsel, in his decisions, seeing that as weakness. He’s similar to Jason in this regard, as he only hears what he wants to (like Jason only sees what he wants). He ignores the pain around him to pursue his own desires, he covers his ears and moves on.

Trina, of course, despises Marvin at this point in the show. Her subconscious showing Marvin in ‘Hear No Evil’ can tell us a lot about their relationship, how she was never seen as equal in decisions. Marvin always put her to the side, not listening to her needs, acting without thinking of her.

Whizzer is complicated. I’ve seen people laugh at his pose before, saying we’ve got ‘See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, and Gay’, but I think he represents the ‘Do No Evil’. This final character is not often seen with the other three, and can be depicted with arms over the chest or covering the genitals. It wouldn’t make sense to have Whizzer be the outlier (especially because the fourth depiction of evil does exist), so I’m assuming he is supposed to be ‘Do No Evil’.

This fits in well with Whizzer’s flaws throughout the show. He doesn’t accept responsibility for his relationship with Marvin; seen in the lines ‘I’m not responsible’ during “Late For Dinner” or ‘I will not accept blame’ in “Games I Play”. He sleeps around, despite Marvin wanting monogamy, and clearly did not have an issue hooking up with a married man. Whizzer fundamentally doesn’t think his actions have consequences, he believes he has done nothing wrong (he has done no evil). Whizzer also has a hard time admitting to his love for Marvin. He says it ‘depends on the day’, he flat out says ‘no’ when asked if he loves him. He doesn’t want to show his love for fear of being too vulnerable, so he hides and doesn’t do anything about it.

To take this even further, him being ‘Do No Evil’ can represent his later question of ‘why me of all men’ when he is dying. He hasn’t done anything to deserve his death, and ‘all men get what they deserve’, right?

Moving on to how Trina sees Whizzer. He’s come into her life and ruined her marriage, though she ‘wants to hate him’ she can’t. She views him as the cause of her recent hardships, his actions being to blame. He is ‘Do No Evil’ to her because he has done evil in taking Marvin away (though it is obvious Trina is better off because of it). He has upset the careful balance of her world by breaking down the lies of her marriage and exposing the truth— Marvin never loved her, could never love her. She puts him in ‘Do No Evil’ because what he has done is what the rest of the men won’t— see, hear, speak the truth even at the detriment of her family.

Another way to view this is, of course, the fact that ‘Do No Evil’ is rarely seen with the others. Trina is separating Whizzer from the other men, not putting him in the same category as the rest of the ‘family’. He views himself as an outsider as well, yes he’s part of the group, but only as a technicality. Only as Marvin’s lover. Once he leaves Marvin, he is easily taken out of the equation and the remaining three do not feel the loss.

My conclusion is such: Each of the poses our men do represents the character flaw they must overcome throughout the show, as well as how Trina views them in her mind. I really hope this made any sort of sense, and if someone has already said all of this well… I guess it can’t hurt to be thorough.

I’m way too tired to read through this again so if there are spelling mistakes please print out this post, correct it in red pen, and send it to me by carrier pigeon.

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Hi, Jason (Part V)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: no proof reading, Jason's relationships with Bruce and Dick are discussed, mentions of Joker, violence, death

You met with Dick again in a bookstore. At first, you thought that it was quite a strange coincidence, until you saw him trying to talk with a very big boy who didn’t seem very interested in talking with him. Dick appeared upset ; the other boy was just shrugging and trying to focus on the books in front of him. 

You hesitated to go to them; you didn’t want to intrude. You weren’t too sure to recognise the other boy, but his face somehow seemed familiar. What decided you was where they were standing: the classic literature aisle of the store. Which was what you were looking for when you entered the shop.

You thought you could just say hi and then leave them alone if your presence was annoying them. You carefully walked to them.

“Hey Dick” you greeted the boy who turned around and instantly smiled at you. 

You weren’t too sure if it was a real smile yet, so you didn’t come closer to him, but his answer showed he was actually glad to see you.

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here?” he asked

“Buying books I guess.” you teased “I was looking for Mansfield Park or Emma, now I finished Pride and Prejudice” you said. 

The big boy to whom Dick was trying to talk to, quickly turned around and looked you up and down. He watched you with curiosity sparkling in his green eyes. Dick took his chance before his brother could go back to the cover of the book he was holding.

“Y/N, this is Jason, my little brother. You seem to share the same taste in books” Dick introduced the two of them

“Hi, Jason” you smiled as you cautiously observed him, remembering who he was now you knew his name.

You remembered what you read about Bruce and his son “who came back from the dead” and all the headlines about “Bruce arguing with his adoptive son”. It had quite broken your heart at the time.

“You’re Bruce’s new girlfriend?” he asked you quite bluntly

“I hate titles and I hate to feel like a possession. But yes, I'm currently seeing Bruce.” you replied and Jason nodded “I’m surprised you heard about me.” you added. 

“Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It's just that things are rocky with Bruce.” Jason said and you reassuringly smiled at him “And yeah, everyone is talking about you in the “family”. Dick and Tim said you were nice.” Jason explained his first coldness to you

“I understand; Bruce isn’t always easy and you don’t know me” you nodded

“Ah yeah?” Jason arched an eyebrow at you. 

He had expected you to take Bruce’s defence, like everyone else.

“Let’s say that I like challenges.” you smiled “And I’m not Bruce’s lawyer” you joked

“You should thank god for that, or you would have a lot of work” Jason grinned and you could tell Dick was quite happy about the current interaction.

“Can I buy the two of you a drink or something? Or a meal” you asked. “There is this sweet little café right outside the bookstore” you offered

You actually wanted to know more of them. Jason was curious about you so he agreed. Dick wanted to come as well, but he quickly received a call from Büdhaven. He reluctantly left the two of you together. Dick would have enjoyed some time with his brother too, but maybe you would help. If you helped with Bruce, he was certain you could do pretty much anything. At the same time, he really hoped Jason wasn’t going to scare you away from the family as a way to avenge himself.

But you knew better; you had met Red Hood before and you liked him.

You settled in the café. You started to talk about literature at first. You were both passionate so it was a good conversation starter. You gave each other some recommendations and debated on characters you liked or disliked. Your point of views on characters were often based on your experiences, so it naturally led to a conversion about each other’s lives. And of course, you arrived at the subject of Bruce Wayne.

“I’ll tell him to apologise to you. He shouldn’t have acted that way even if I do agree with the no killing rule” you said “You’re both right in a way, but… Bruce should have talked to you, he should have let you know what was going on with the Joker and why he couldn’t kill him. Why you couldn't kill him either. He should have been there to appease your anger, not the opposite” you said

“You’ll quickly learn that he doesn’t talk much. Especially not about his feelings. If it gets too personal, he’ll push the subject away. If it can hurt him, he’ll run away. He's a bad dad for that. And he might be a bad partner to you as well” Jason told you

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. It must have been so difficult to wake up without your family. And in a body you didn’t know. You did good, despite the murders and everything. Actually, Red Hood has always been my favourite vigilante” you admitted without commenting on the last part of Jason’s words. You wanted to believe that Bruce would make an effort for you.

Jason chuckled as you mentioned his vigilante persona.

“It’s true you never wrote anything bad about me. I thought you were scared of me… Until I realised we actually met” he teased, his eyes litting up

“Oh you remember? Yes I used to live in your territory, and now I’m nearby. I stand by what I said that night: I know what you did for people like us, that’s why I thanked you. Bruce can’t understand what it is to be poor and lost and to have to do bad things to survive. But I’ll make sure he does better with you.” you said “Just promise me to speak with Dick. Your brother looks like he is very eager to have you back in his life. He seemed very sorry you weren’t speaking with him earlier” you added

“I will try to talk with him again then. Thank you for… Thank you. I think I really needed to have this conversation with somebody but no one wanted to have it and I couldn’t really go to a therapist. You’re easy to talk with” he whispered, a little bit awkward

“I know” you smiled “I’m glad if I’ve been able to help”

“Is it your good action of the day to go to Heaven?” Jason joked 

“Absolutely” you giggled

A moment of comfortable silence engulfed the two of you. You both enjoyed your tea before you resumed talking:

“Hey you know what, this is my phone number. You can call or text me whenever you need it.” you offered

“Why?” Jason plunged his eyes onto yours. 

He was definitely not used of adults being there for him, especially without a catch

“Well I’m afraid I’m a family woman and my own family sucks very much. And since Bruce wants me around, I’d prefer it if I can get along with his people. I’d like to take care of you all.” you admitted, feeling a little shy to say all of this out loud.

Jason was also very easy to talk to.

“I don’t think I’m one of his people. Not anymore at least.” Jason sadly smiled at you

“You can be one of mine then. Take it as a repayment for allowing me to go back home every night without having to worry about anyone slicing my throat off” you insisted

“All the pleasure’s mine” he chuckled before saving your number onto his phone “You know, everyone says Bruce is nicer since you’re around. I have to admit this is true. Maybe happiness can truly change a man” 

“Even a bat?” you joked because Jason’s words were touching you a little more than you wanted to show it

“Even a bat” Jason nodded

A few days later, you received a message from Jason, clearly tasting the water with you.

J: Hey wanna go have some lunch together today or tomorrow?

You: Today sounds good :)

After this, you regularly had lunch together and Jason clearly started to see you as a motherly figure, and you saw him as a son. He crashed at your place more than once after patrol, so you could eat together. Bruce never commented on your relationship with Jason, but he heard you when you asked him to apologise.

Which he did.

Jason accepted it and tried his best with Dick and his other siblings. He was still feeling awkward around everyone, but he was slowly spending more time at the manor, even when Bruce was there. 

When Bruce asked if you wanted to meet all of his children anytime soon, you agreed but you instantly sent a message to Jason to make sure he would be there as well. He eagerly agreed because he couldn’t wait for you to be officially a member of the Batfamily.

--

PART 6

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

@randomnamedmira

[effietrinket1619]

hal jordan vs brucie wayne: the tiktok war

a continuation of this. part two

hi i'm back with a little thing. i desperately needed to write something kinda lighthearted because my current WIP is really bumming me out lmao. anyway, effie-typical characterisation ahead so don't read if you don't like me portraying bruce as kind of an asshole <3

When Dick slammed his phone down, screen-first, onto the dining table, Bruce figured he'd finally had enough.

All of his children weren't behaving normally. Being shifty, being one with the shadows, that was a core part of being a Bat but this? Hiding things actively from Bruce was a step too far into territory he did not want to visit.

He sat down heavily, opposite Dick who was staring down at the table like it interested him greatly. "Phone," he growled.

"What am I? Twelve?" Dick retorted, flipping it over and unlocking it. A song started playing, a rap song Bruce was only partially familiar with and Dick didn't show Bruce immediately, staring at whatever played before sighing. "Okay. I'm gonna show you, but you have to promise to be normal about it."

"Normal?"

"Yeah." Grimacing, he added, "Just don't be...yourself, okay?"

A grumble of dissent built upon Bruce's tongue but Dick didn't let it fly. He spun the device around and Bruce got to watch one of those TikTok edits young people were obsessed with. The song he now recognised: Nasty Dog by Sir-Mix-A-Lot. Bruce figured the song choice would have offended him the most but no. He now saw exactly what Dick meant.

Because why, in the seven hells, was Hal Jordan the subject of this thirst trap?

Bruce blinked. He reached up and scrubbed his eyes before they focused again on that stupid, infuriating aviator jacket. It was--it was undoubtedly Hal's face and body there, edited by a stranger underneath a slightly cloudy filter in order to make him look as physically attractive as possible. And--

Bruce turned horrified, betrayed eyes onto Dick, his eldest and prodigal son who was currently rolling his eyes. "I told you to be normal about it."

"That's Jordan."

"Yeah."

"You are watching videos of Jordan."

"Yes."

"Why does Jordan have a TikTok account."

Dick sighed, long and hard. "He doesn't. But his teammate, Jessica Cruz has. She's been uploading videos about Hal for a couple of weeks now and they've been blowing up."

"His ident--"

"She's careful about it. No identifying questions or traits or anything like that. It's just raw and unfiltered Hal Jordan."

Staring at the edit which was still playing, Bruce blinked harder. "And people enjoy it?"

"Clearly."

"Do--" He hesitated. "Do you enjoy it?"

Glancing away, Bruce's boy muttered, "Me and others. Hal's become a hit in the hero community. And, uh, other communities."

"People are--are sexually attracted to Jordan."

Dick shoved his face into his hands and groaned. "Yes, Bruce. What about that can't you understand?" Lifting his eyes, Dick sighed harder at Bruce's expression which he was trying to maintain as total neutrality. Clearly, he was not effective. "It's not just his appearance. He's nice. He's honest. He's very out of touch with internet trends so he's funny without meaning to be. And with the Lanterns raising Keli, there's a paternal aspect people can't seem to get enough of."

"Keli?"

Sounding vaguely annoyed now, Dick said, "Yeah, Keli Quintela. Teen Lantern. Keep up Bruce."

"There's another one?"

"Ugh! Anyway, I got from Jason who talked to Kyle--"

"You talk to Jason?" Bruce asked, astonished despite himself.

Dick waved him off. "He's my little brother, of course I talk to him. Anyway, Jess is running a tight ship. She's ruthless about what they do and don't put on the internet. If the whole Green Lantern thing doesn't work out, she'd be a pretty good PR manager. Might not work for you."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "How good?"

And finally, Dick looked a little cowed. He glanced up at the clock and then the exit, as if he was planning an escape while thinking up of a sufficient lie. Bruce leaned forward and hoped the hysteria in his eyes didn't give him away too freely. "Bruce, c'mon--"

"How good?"

Looking anywhere but his father's face, Dick muttered out, "Really popular. Like, stupidly popular. Even in comparison to you."

"To me?" Bruce's voice did not crack.

Throwing his hands up into the air, Dick desperately exclaimed, "It's not my fault we're in an economic recession! Billionaires aren't really popular right now so the people are gravitating towards a ruggedly handsome everyman--"

"Ruggedly handsome?"

"--to root for! And Hal just happened to appear on TikTok at the right time. I'm pretty sure Hal barely knows what TikTok is. Kyle apparently mentioned that they're not letting him read any comments."

"I..." Bruce stood up so fast, he was dizzy for a split second. "I need to talk to Jordan."

"Great! Goodbye Father!"

When Bruce walked out of the room, Nasty Dog continued to play and did not stop for several, long minutes.

---

When Bruce got to the Tower, he was late. This was by design, of course, although when he entered the agreed upon meeting room, the darkness made him believe it was empty for a moment. Flicking the lights on, he got the shock of a lifetime.

There was Hal, slumped forward with his head resting on his arms. John sat next to him, entirely uninvited but not unwelcome. Hal groaned loudly when the LEDs blinked to life, burying his face deeper. "Turn the sun off, John," he moaned.

"They're lights, Hal."

"Even better. Turn 'em off."

"Jordan," Bruce began brusquely. "Are you hungover?"

Hal groaned pitifully. "Who the hell has time to be drunk? I was patrolling for a week straight and then I had to go straight to a PTA meeting. Fucking Micheal doesn't know how to keep his goddamn filthy hands off--"

Hal was still talking but Bruce had already thoroughly checked out, his mind still caught on that damning piece of evidence right in the middle of his rant. When he spoke next, his voice was an octave higher. "You're a member of the PTA?"

"Shut up, Bruce! You're too goddamn loud."

He fought with himself to regain his composure. Breathing out deeply, Bruce spoke again and his voice didn't waver. "I wanted to discuss with you about your online presence."

"Aw, frag, is it that TikTak shit?" Hal grumbled. Once again, Bruce found himself blinking in shock. This was the man who'd charmed the internet? "Jess's the one in charge of it so go ask her. God, I thought this was gonna be important but you dragged me up here for nothing."

"It is important," Bruce pressed. "It's a matter of security. All it would take is one slip up for our identities and lives to be compromised. What Jess is doing is putting everyone at serious ri--"

"Get to it, Bruce," Hal growled. Growled. At Bruce. "Guy's got an MRI later and I needta be awake for it."

"I just--Gardner has an MRI? What happened to him?" Bruce demanded.

Hal laughed at him. Laughed. A short bark of a chuckle that was neither soft nor actually humourous. "Don't pretend to give a shit about Guy and his extensive brain damage now, Bruce. Get. To. The. Point." He lifted his head enough for Bruce to see the deep circles underneath his eyes, the weariness that clung onto his face like a vice. Not so ruggedly handsome anymore, then.

"I think you should convince Jessica to delete the account she's made," he said succinctly. "It's far too risky and if you truly are raising a child, which I wish to talk to you about later, it is best that you keep her off the internet at all costs. There are many benefits to staying offline, in fact, and I think you would thrive in such a position, Jor--"

Hal's head slammed into the table so hard, Bruce heard an audible crack. Then, he heard a soft and firm, "No."

"No?"

"No. Jess won't delete that account if she doesn't want to. That's her decision."

"Why?" Bruce demanded. "Why would you--"

"Fuck!" Hal slipped both hands over his ears. "Volume, Bruce."

"Why," Bruce snarled, "are you opposing me on this?"

"It's makin' her happy." Hal gave an approximation of a shrug from his crumpled up position against the table. "If she's happy making content with me in it, then she's happy and I'm not gonna be an asshole and ruin that. And she's good at it too, according to your kids."

"Do you enjoy the attention, Jordan?" Bruce seethed.

"People on the internet wanna get me pregnant and they frame it like it's a threat. Keep that in mind and ask again."

"You aren't funny."

"Wasn't trying to be."

"Jordan," Bruce said, taking a step forward to tower over him. "I'm not asking you."

"'Kay."

He felt himself twitch in irritation, a full body flinch. John smiled down at Hal, idiotically fond, and rested a hand against his back. "I think we should bench this discussion for another time," he said pleasantly. "We really do have to get going. Guy might try to chicken out of the scan and we've been trying to convince him for months."

"Right." A deep breath in and out. "And about Keli Quintela--"

"No." Hal looked up again, eyes a pale, bleached green. "Nope. Nuh uh. You come at her with one of your half-baked, bullshit contingencies and I'll show you what fear is. She's eleven. She doesn't need that shit. Jess won't even let her be in the TikTaks."

"They're TikToks!" Bruce cried, a little hysterical. "Don't tell me you don't know that?"

But Hal had already dropped his head down once more and gone still. John's smile at Bruce was nothing short of victorious in his calm, quiet way.

Bruce walked out with his head high and his ego moderately bruised, the promise of vengeance settling over his heart.

[jaythes1mp]

Just a quick question; does the batfamily like reader the same in their human form or just in the cat form?

Wonderful question, anon! I have mentioned it briefly in this ask before, but I’ll dive deeper into it for you.

All the boys harbour their own opinions regarding your two appearances.

To Dick, you remain his sweet and adorable little sibling, whether you're in your human form or your animal form. Your identity as his kitten stays constant, regardless of which body you inhabit.

For the eldest brother, your age, size, or form doesn't change his perception of you one bit. Regardless of the fact that you’re a grown ass adult, he'd still continue to baby talk and coo at you when you have a big sneeze or get food on your cheek. In his mind, you’re fundamentally a cat first and foremost, and your human qualities are secondary. He couldn’t care less about your human appearance, because he would always view you as his precious little kitten, his adorable and cherished younger sibling. Even when you're in human form, he’d still treat you as if you were a cat, completely disregarding your human aspect.

Bruce, however, has a vastly different opinion. In his eyes, you’re the perfect blend of both worlds. The feline body language and characteristics you exhibit are utterly endearing, no doubt, but your true essence rests in your human mind and soul, which is the fundamental part of you. He recognises the importance of both your animal and human forms, as they are both integral parts of who you really are. While your cat instincts may be captivating, it is your human mind that holds the most significance. He wouldn’t treat you like a mere pet, recognising the balance between your two forms. You were still his child, and that will always come first.

Ultimately, Bruce doesn't really care what body you take on, as long as you're spending time with him. When you're out in public, you're required to transform into your cat self, as to not cause any unnecessary suspicions or complications regarding your disappearance. But when you're both just chilling at home in the manor, he doesn't mind whether you're in one form or the other, as long as you're there with him. He won't push you to engage in conversations or force you to do anything you don't want to do, as long as you're just present by his side, he's content.

In stark contrast to the others, Jason has a strikingly distinct preference for your feline form, showing a notable lack of interest in you when you appear in human form. He tends to completely disregard your presence when you're in your human body, only offering you affection and attention exclusively when you're in your kitten body.

To Damian, your animal form holds a special place in his heart, a place he refuses to share with anyone else. It’s not that he dislikes your human form, far from it. But when he looks at you as an animal, all he can see is an innocent, untainted little creature that needs protecting. A creature that relies solely on him for safety and comfort. And that’s a feeling that he can’t help but relish in. Your cat form evokes a protective instinct in him that he rarely feels when you’re in your human form. But also, saying that, he does enjoy being able to talk to you, as you’re the only person that he trusts to never leave, to never feel disappointed. Because to you, he’s the only one on your side. He relishes in the fact that no matter which form your take on that you rely on him. That you need him.

Slightly out of sync with the others, Tim shows a marginal preference for your human form. He’s the only one who tends to pay more attention to you when you’re in your human body, but the margin is admittedly slim.

Tim enjoys being able to read you, relishing in his ability to decipher your emotions and engage in conversation with you when he needs a diversion from all the work. On that note, it's primarily about the control. He finds pleasure in being able to make you shift from one form to the other, keeping you drugged and pliant in his lap as a cat or asleep in human form on the couch next to him while he works.

Link to Chapter One, Link to Masterlist.

[mommaziza]

OK, se we all know ghostspeak, right? It's a language for ghosts that comes from the ghost zone, and basically only halfas and ghosts can speak it on earth, but what if it's a forgotten language on earth?

----

It existed thousands of years ago, but slowly died off until no one remembered it.....until Tim went snooping in the house of mystery and came across an ancient book written in a language he didn't recognise.

After asking cough cough blackmailing cough John for the book Tim took it home and somehow forgotten about it, for about a week.

Now, during the week the book had been sitting in his room, Tim had gotten into an argument with Bruce, then with Alfred over his sleep, or lack thereof, and forced into decaf coffee for the rest of the month. So he was pretty frustrated, annoyed, and looking for revenge.

When Tim saw the book sitting on his desk innocently, he had a brilliant idea, a magnificent wonderful show stopping idea that would get his sweet sweet revenge.

Now, remember that Tim's brain is running on decaf coffee, no sleep, and no dopamine, it would not be too far fetched for him to think that because Alfred is obviously immortal he would know this ancient language, so Tim could learn this ancient language and insult his cooking in his (maybe) mother tongue! Obviously, it's a low blow, but revenge changes a person.

Tim spent the next month studying that book, staying locked in his room like the 'good grounded boy' he was. Obviously, Bruce knew something was up, but it didn't seem like Tim was up to a mastermindfull plan that might destroy or recreate gothams crime ring, so he let mumbling studying boy be.

Tim finally shut the book with a released sigh and sat up, cracking his back of the kinks and smirking at the victory he could already practically taste on his tongue. Today was the day. He was fairly confident that he had successfully broken through the language barrier and fluently learnt the once forgotten language.

Tim swaggered (yes, I said that, don't kill me) into the dining room and took a seat next to danny, his newest kindest and most naive brother, before looking towards everyone gathered today. It was the anniversary of Danny's first adoption, and everyone was here to celebrate it, even Jason of all people, though he could understand why. Since the two met, they had a seemingly special bond, and everyone knew Jason was Danny's favroute. No matter how hard dick tried to be.

Waiting until the food had come out and danny had successfully poked and prodded his plate to his liking, a weird ritual he did "to make sure it won't attack him" danny had said the first time anyone asked, everyone began eating. Tim hid a tiny smirk behind his bowed head as he finally said the words he had been waiting for all month.

"Looks like you're losing your touch, Alfred"

A second passed, no one says anything and Tim has just a smidgen of regret, did he say it right? Did he mispronounce something and make a fool of himself?

"Sniffle"

Tim's head shoots up to Alfred's, he only wanted to shock him and insult him a little bit! He didn't want him to start crying.

Yet Alfred's eyes were dry, and instead of looking at Tim, heck, no one was looking at Tim. They were all looking to the side of Tim, where danny sa-

Oh no, danny.

Tim swivelled his head and let his jaw open in shock as he sees danny full on breaking down, tears and snot covering his face that he desperately tries to wipe away as Jason kneeled beside him and tried to comfort him, the same static noises that Tim had made just before coming from his mouth.

Yet these were different, more confident in the tone and more soft and comforting than whatever Tim had said.

"Not-kill-dare-day-dann-calm-"

Tim could barely recognise the words coming from Jason's mouth and paled as he realised what that meant. It meant that he should have spent longer learning from the book, it meant he shouldn't have tried this in front of the entire family, it meant he had said something completely different than what he meant to say, the only question now is.

'What the fuck did I say?'