#Tim: Jason is like the only person even busier than I am

[azol-otl]

So this is my THIRD attempt at replying to this because Tumblr hates me and is homophobic, and hates Pokemon and friendship. But I needed these words to show you because I love this.

Jason steps outside of the gym and takes a deep breath. It doesn't burn his lungs anymore, and he isn't sure how to feel about it. Once he set up shop in Bristol as the first gym leader the city has had in decades, the squirt had campaigned for a controlled introduction of Galarian Weezing to Gotham. Not enough to overwhelm the high population of dark-types, nor so many that the drastic change in air quality leads to ecological devastation of Gotham's...unique relationship with poison-types. In practice it means that even after only a few years, the air quality has improved enough that the risk for cancer has dropped to a quarter it had once been. It meant that Crime Alley, with its large amounts of ghosts who welcomed the new fairy type as a deterrent for dark-types that would cause them grief by protecting them from any ground- or steel-types. So clean air for Crime Alley, air that is foreign to Jason's lungs despite having been stationed here for over a decade. Hell, everything about Crime Alley is foreign to Jason when he gives himself time to rest and contemplate. Something that would have been impossible when he first started, too busy juggling Gym Leader Jason, Elite Four Jason, and the crime lord Red Hood.  Except he has so much more free time these days. His gym trainers are all people he trusts or taught himself. People have been reaching the Elite Four more often than before, but unlike Galar or Paldea, Gotham can go the entire gym circuit without anyone even reaching Jason that year. And somehow, somehow all the stupid optimistic proposals that Jason shoved in the League's face (things he was going to start doing anyway as Red Hood, but y'know, he wanted to see if they'd keep their word about how much free reign he had if he accepted the Elite Four position) not only got approved, but they worked. Better healthcare for residents, job programs, free trainer classes, a massive subsidy for Gotham natives to enrourage them to do the gym circuit at home instead of traveling to Unova (Dick) or Metropolis. Fuck, even demanding them to fix the Finger Bridge and crackdown on Arkham got done without complaint. Hell, he's sure that Bruce still hates him for the "unfortunate" accident between the Joker and a foreign Champion who defended themselves against the miserable wretch who has been flaunting Bruce's hard-on for him for decades. It means Gotham is on the up-and-up. It means Jason spends more time sending e-mails and organizing budgets and committees than he does busting heads. It means that somehow, Jason had succeeded in his goals. Goals he thought were going to be a constant battle until they finally took his life and he'd reanimate as one of the many ghosts of his hometown. Goals that he accomplished before he was even thirty. Jason stopped at the park. A massive thing, basically a contained wild area within the urban sprawl of Gotham. There was a reason Crime Alley used to be called Park Row, and it was how it connected to all this green. The second largest after Robinson Park down to the south. The number of people here is always a surprise to Jason. He'd grown up with this unnamed park resembling a poison swamp from hell, not something that people, non-trainers even, could just relax in. The result of another of the baby bat's proposals (and Ivy) changing the region for the better. In the corner of his eye Jason catches something odd.  A sinistea...a brown sinistea. Sinistea don't come in brown, and even shinies remain purple. It could be a convergent evolution like Poltchageist, but Jason would have seen one by now if that was true. It could be a new form of shiny, some sort of outside stress causing its unique coloration like the famous red Gyarados from Johto. Or it could be a new regional variant. The first that they'd have contemporary knowledge about their divergence. Turning fully to the Pokemon to talk to their trainer, Jason sees a familiar face. Tim Drake, out of the office for once? Not just out of the office, but in the sun surrounded by nature?

Jason starts walking towards him, not really sure what he can say to the guy who single-handedly gave Crime Alley kids a way to access the PC system when everything was moved to roto-phones and other things that cost money they didn't have. Jason has to...thank him? Question why he's even here when his office in n the South Island and closer to Robinson than here? Ask him to dinner while Jason stares at him like a creep? Where the fuck he got that Sinistea? In the end all thoughts leave his head when Sinistea, clearly annoyed at its trainer, spews water at him. Jason doesn't even get a warning when the laugh is ripped out of him. Maybe Jason can offer to help train Tim's Sinistea while he figures out how to thank him for all he's done.

Trick or treat!! 🎃🍫🍬🍭

Happy Halloween! Spooky season naturally got me thinking about ghosts... which got me thinking about ghost-type pokemon... :^)

When Tim got into this line of work, he'd said to himself it would only be temporary. Something to do while he was figuring it all out. Dropping out of your gym challenge is supposed to be temporary, but sometimes you get so distracted fixing an infamous glitch in the Burnside PC branch that you're scouted at seventeen. What was he supposed to do? Turn down the opportunity of a lifetime just to drag his Alakazam into more battles it hates? He knows he could have gone further, but Tim isn't the most motivational trainer on a good day. It would have been miserable for everyone involved. These days, Alakazam prefers meditating in an easy chair. Which works out, because these days Tim is practically chained to his office desk chair. He still doesn't know why he can't work from home (or from anywhere) because his work is digital, but apparently making yourself irreplaceable is a double edged sword; you must also be available for people to find you so they can talk to you. Tim has had so many conversations that could have been emails. (Babs makes fun of him for this constantly.) Over a decade after the fact, Tim still wonders what his life would be like if he'd pushed through. If he'd said thanks, but no thanks, and gone for his last few badges. Instead, the closest he gets to training these days is the Sinistea he picked up on a fanciful whim, thinking he could make time for it. He's watched his friends' advancing careers from the other end of a television screen, catching Kon's gym battles between code launches and admin meetings. Sometimes he'll see Jason. Not that he's looking for Jason specifically. It's purely professional interest. Crime Alley's gym challenge used to be notorious. Always cast as the villain with a rep for fronting most of the gang activity in the region, it only started to turn around after Jason took over. He'd scowl if you suggest it, but Jason's work with ghost-type pokemon is unparalleled. His work in general is unparalleled. Better programs, better outreach. Tim sees the numbers. Tim's the one who crunches, analyzes, and predicts the numbers. He knows that ghost-, dark-, and poison-type catch and retention rates have spiked in the last five years. And those numbers correlate suspiciously to the bump in trainers completing their gym challenge, trainers whose town of origin is-- wanna take a guess? So, yeah. Sometimes Tim will see Jason on the news, or catch highlight footage of his latest E4 sub-in. His Zoroark is really something else. It is purely professional. Tim was a trainer too, once upon a time. He can appreciate skill and talent in action, and he can maybe wish that he had the time to see it in person more often without it being a huge deal. It doesn't have to be a whole thing. This is what he tells himself on one of his rare days off, minding his own business at a public training ground at the park-- when who does he see but Jason fucking Todd. In the flesh. He can be casual about this. Really, he can. He knows when Jason spots him, because Tim is staring like a moron, and he watches Jason's expression morph from straight-faced, public disinterest to smirking recognition to-- Something he doesn't catch, because that's when Sinistea gets fed up with being ignored, and blasts him in the face with scalding hot water. Under his own loud, pained cursing and Sinistea's whistled scolding, he thinks he hears Jason laugh at him in surprise. Tim's face is hot and red, and he knows it's only mostly to blame on his half-trained ghost pokemon. Oh god, why is Jason even here? He's the only person on this whole fucking continent who might feasibly be busier than Tim. Why is this happening to him? He should have stayed at the office.

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 10

Jason woke up around five am, bleary and in a tangle of blankets again from yet another nightmare…Sweat-soaked, he peeled himself out of his bed with a grimace and stripped first himself, then the bed, tossing everything into his washing machine before turning on the shower and stepping inside. Lukewarm woke him up a little better than hot right now, and felt better on his scarred skin; he leaned heavily against the tile, head tipped back as his waterfall nozzle rained down on him. The familiar sound of the washer going was a comfort, and piece by piece, he brought himself back to the present, breathing slowly, evenly, just as Bruce had taught him all those years ago…

“…Fuck.” He sighed out, and started washing up, glad for the indie shop he supported down the street that made its own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. They were bar form, of course, but the natural scents helped ground him…anything heavily chemically scented was too triggering, too much like the factory he’d died in. A lot of things triggered that…tannerite, for one, which was why in all his varied explosions, he’d only ever used C4. Iron…He unconsciously touched the cheekbone that Talia had had her surgeons rebuild, for even the Pit couldn’t do everything. Not on a body that had been so badly brutalized that it’d been a closed casket funeral…

“Knock it off, Todd.” He growled out to himself, scrubbing furiously now. Fuckin’ don’t go down that path again, Jason…you know where it leads. Besides, you promised you’d make waffles this morning. Can’t leave a lady waiting. Steph’s smile filled his mind, and Jason relaxed, as he had for months now around his Batgirl…and he felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. He didn’t have a waffle iron; he rarely did more than griddle cakes, eggs, and bacon for himself, and that’s when he felt like cooking, so it was a good thing he’d woken up before his alarm; he had time to run to the nearest Lux-Mart. He finished his shower, relaxed now, and other than rescuing his book from the floor and setting it on his nightstand, left his bed to airdry for a while; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Dark jeans, boxer-briefs, a soft tee shirt, socks, his boots, and a hoodie, and he was ready to brave the pre-dawn crowds. He twirled his keys on one finger as he made his way down the stairs to his garage, and side-stepped the engine for Roy’s Corvette, unlocking the truck and opening the door with a flick of a button. It was dark still; small wonder, it was just barely five forty-five, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so���the garage door slid closed behind him with a whisper, and Jason set out for the Lux-Mart, following the main roads this morning, since they weren’t clogged yet by the early morning commuters. A few early birds passed him, and he waved at the Batmobile as they both continued on out of the city, since the nearest of Lux Luthor’s monster all-in-one stores was in the suburbs on the mainland.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on the dash with a grin, glad for his blue-tooth dashboard connection.

“Hey Pops.”

“I thought that was you, Jason…what has you out so early?” Bruce’s voice was warm, exhausted, but for once, actually pretty damned friendly, and Jason hummed a little, smirking to see the ‘mobile keeping pace with him.

“Well, I promised I’d bring Steph waffles this morning as incentive to get her homework done…and then I realized I didn’t have a waffle iron.” Bruce laughed at that, low and surprisingly genuine, while he heard a squawk from Tim. Now, he didn’t…completely hate his replacement in the Robin line-up; certainly, he adored Steph and Damian. But Tim was…well, everything that Jason hadn’t ever been, and Jason was still too aware of how similar Tim and Bruce really were. Dick had commented on it, last time he’d come up from Bludhaven, and if Dick could see it…well. Jason still felt like he’d been the downgrade from Dick, and that Tim was the super upgrade.

It wasn’t true…but emotions could be ugly, ugly things.

And Tim had stolen his ex-girlfriend’s waffles.

“Well then, that makes complete sense…do you two need anything from us? We had a busy night dealing with Boyle again.” Jason winced; Ferris Boyle had been a problem since Bruce’s early days, even before Dick, and Jason hated the man almost as much as he hated Joker. Totally aside from how he’d fucked up Victor Fries, his actions regarding Nora had been absolutely appalling. He wanted custody of her so that he could experiment on her…and since Victor is now a supervillain…goddamn, I’m glad Bruce was able to win custody of her.

“Bastard…was he after Nora again?”

“And Victor. We convinced Fries to come back to Wayne Inc. and talk to us about Nora’s future; we’ve made some serious progress towards a cure, and with his research, we might just have what we need. And I’ve been working on something to help him as well…But we can talk about it later.” A yawn broke his sentence, and Jason smiled fondly.

“Go home, Pops; Steph and I will take patrol tonight. You two take the night off.”

“…Thank you, Jason. I really appreciate it; Damian and Tim do too.”

“Yes, thank you, akhi.” Damian’s voice was softer over the phone, tired, and Jason smiled, though he grit his teeth when Tim spoke up.

“Sure, thanks Hood. Hope you two actually get some patrolling done, and don’t just make out on a roof.”

“…Well, Timmy, I’m quite certain we’ll keep our professionalism at the fore. After all, we wouldn’t want to attract undue attention…like Kon did the other night.” Jason responded, voice sickeningly sweet as Tim choked over the phone call, and Bruce made an inquisitive noise.

“We were going over tactical plans!”

“Tim, I’m sure it’s fine.” Bruce’s voice was gentle, but curious, and Jason felt his grin stretch to maniacal proportions.

“Oh, of course you were! Silly ol’ me, ‘tactical plans’, of course! Must’ve been wall plans!” Jason replied sweetly, and Tim choked again, a strangled noise coming over the line. Bruce snorted suddenly, clearly understanding now, and Damian just sighed; Jason could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“Drake, do not give Todd grief for kissing; we all know you regularly have intercourse with Kon-El.” Tim’s voice was pitched even higher now, babbling as Bruce snorted again, clearly holding back laughter, and Jason snickered.

“Damian, Lil D, I want you to know how much I love you right now.”

“As I love and cherish you, akhi. Please do tell Grayson this.”

“DO NOT TELL DICK ANYTHING, JASON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Then don’t steal Stephie’s waffles again, and I won’t~” He purred, and Tim let out a heavy sigh.

“…I apologize to her later.”

“So good to work with you, Tim, it’s just such a pleasure!”

“God, I hate you sometimes.” Bruce was laughing now, deep and highly amused, and Jason gave the ‘mobile a salute as he turned off towards the Lux-Mart, still snickering.

“Love you too, Timmy; good night, you three, I’m off to waffle-maker hunt.”

“Love you too, Jay; good luck! And tell Steph we love her too for me, will you?” Bruce asked, over the other twos’ groaning, and Jason chuckled.

“Of course, Pops. See ya.”

“See you.” The call winked out, and Jason pulled into the Lux-Mart, still grinning. He grabbed up his phone, double checked his wallet, and headed into the store, grabbing a cart. He didn’t want to buy a ton of stuff…but he knew he’d need more room than a basket. Appliances first; he grabbed a waffle-maker, one with interchangeable plates, and from the small selection, picked a Millennium Falcon and an Eevee (both for Steph), since they’d traded favorite Pokémon a few weeks ago, then favorite films. He was always looking for Pride and Prejudice/Sense and Sensibility stuff, or even just basic literary things, but hey, he liked Eevee too (even if his favorite was still Rapidash), and Star Wars was a familiar favorite from his childhood.

From there, he grabbed utensils that he knew he didn’t have, then a few things from pharmacy to cover his personal stores for the week. Bandages, wraps, gauze, alcohol…all the usual stuff, and then he made his way to the grocery area, where things were getting a little bit busier. Two boxes of waffle/pancake mix, maple syrup, and a carton of eggs; a package of bacon made the cut too, as did a gallon of milk, a bottle of his favorite fancy protein juice smoothie, and as he made his way into the produce section, a bag each of blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries. He also got a couple apples, good for a snack as well as baking into the batter, and a pair of pomegranates. Bananas too, just as small bunch, and a small tub of butter.

On a whim, he also grabbed sugary snacks for later, mostly Hostess cakes and some Little Debbie stuff, and a big bag of Chex Mix; not healthy, no, but they held up to patrols well, and he’d gone hungry too many nights to ever feel good about not having food around. Besides…his stay in the Lazarus Pit hadn’t just accelerated his healing factor…it’d forced his metabolism onto a higher level, and now he could almost match Kon pound for pound with food. He also grabbed some pizzas; just in case, he liked to have them. Checking his watch, Jason bit off a swear; it was seven am already, and it was easily a half-hour drive back into Gotham.

He got through self checkout with ease, and hauled his finds out of the store, leaving the cart at the entrance and legging it to his truck. To his surprise, clouds that hadn’t been visible in the darkness were rolling over the whole of Gotham City, heavy thunder rumbling out on the ocean, and in the low light from the rising sun, he made a few quick calculations. He had just enough time to get back to the city before the rain really started; he loaded up his backseat and tore ass out of the parking lot, hopping on the freeway in record time. He glanced around, confused at the lack of cars…then laughed to himself.

Of course it was empty; it was Sunday. I think I’m getting to love Sundays now…Jason thought to himself as he gunned it back to Steph’s place, settling back for the drive with a sigh. Just then, the familiar strains of ‘Home’ came onto the radio, and Jason grinned, then started singing along.

“I’m goin’ home…to the place where I belong…”

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

what about a damian x reader for 46, 47, 58 and 30 where reader is a 'ghost' or someone who isn't noticed by many and is mainly the second option of everyone and is damian's bestfriend and then one day she juts distances herself and stops talking because she feels like she's just damian's second option and he'll forget her in the end?make it angsty (just light pls.) and fluffy in the end please.

I hope this is okay anon! 2.8k of (older!)Damian x female!reader fluff ft a sprinkling of angst.

30.“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!” 46.“I thought you forgot about me.” “Never.” 47.“I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.” 58.“Why me?” “Because you saw me when I was invisible.”

Spring hangs in the air, sweet with sunshine and apple blossoms, and silence hangs between you and Damian like the tendrils of a weeping willow beneath a pristinely blue sky. A week-long break lay ahead of you, but a metaphorical storm cloud brooded over your head and dampened any inkling of exaltation you might feel about several days of freedom. 

The grass is green with life, but you are green with envy, failing to suppress the bitter sensation of jealously flitting around in the pit of your stomach. 

Damian’s eyes are green too, a heated and tangled rainforest flecked with gold and turquoise, as he watches you from the corner of his eye. 

“You’re unimpressed.” 

“What? No way! I think it’s totally cool that you and Jon are training more together. Super son connections and stuff. It’s neat. Really, Dami.” 

He narrows his eyes, studying the profile of your face with intense predatory conjecture, but you keep your gaze glued straight ahead, barely scuffing your sneakers on the asphalt sidewalk. 

You know that if he meets your eyes, he’ll see the storm of insecurity brewing in your soul, and you don’t think you can bear to be so vulnerable right now. 

He bites his bottom lip for a moment in speculation. If he wants to pry, he resists the urge. 

“Yes, I suppose. Sometimes I’d like nothing more than to stuff a sock in his mouth and punt him across a field, but he’s a relatively suitable training partner. There are certain things he seems to inherently understand, despite occasional moronic comments.” 

You wonder to yourself if those are things you’d never be able to understand, even if you tried.

“He seems like a good guy.” You surmise in a flat tone that hopefully isn’t too telling of your agitation. 

He nods slowly, like he’s unsure of whether or not to completely agree.

“Are we going to get dinner tonight?” 

Damian sighs. “No, Tim is revamping the security system at the house and wants to show me.”

“Bagels on Saturday?” 

He winces a little and shoots you what might be an embarrassed smile. “Can we accomplish that in less than half an hour? 

“Yes? Probably not enjoyably, though.” You answer hesitantly, something like discomfort and hesitation swirling in your stomach because you feel a little bit like you’re stepping on his toes. 

“I am scheduled to spend the day training with Jon and Jaime at an obscure base off the coast.”

“Oh.” You blink at the ground. 

Damian shrugs disinterestedly. “I think I prefer going through drills with the older heroes, though. They provide more of a challenge. Jon can get predictable and boring.” 

“Boring?” 

“Indeed. Repetition is so arduous. I am entirely disengaged when we spar for too long because I can precisely anticipate his moves. Then I leave him and challenge someone who keeps me a little busier.”

You inhale sharply at this, gripping the straps of your backpack until your knuckles turn white. 

Damian can’t help but frown at this. “What’s wrong?” 

Just worried you’re going to tire of our friendship and leave me forever, that’s all. 

“Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re wrinkling your nose in that little way that says you’re thinking too hard about something and I’m alarmed.”

You relax your face immediately, blinking and flushing pink. “No. I’m fine, really.”

“I don’t believe you, Y/N.”

You shoot him a glare.

“You don’t look fine.” 

You bristle. “Then stop looking, Damian.” 

He mutters something heatedly under his breath that sounds an awful lot like, “Impossible,” but you let it roll off your shoulders. 

“Tell me more about training. Are you the shortest of all the Titans?” 

He grimaces. “For now. I’m practically Wally’s height now. But don’t change the subject, Y/N. I know something weighs heavily on your mind.” You can feel his gaze allay minutely, tender concern softening his sharp, boyish features. “You can always talk to me, you know.” 

You shake your head dismissively, heat lingering in your cheeks. “It’s nothing. Speaking of weight, who do you think is the heaviest? You think Cyborg’s metal parts are that heavy?” 

Damian glowers, halting in front of the path that leads up to your house. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” 

You nod pliantly, slowly meandering away from him. “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it.” You say with a lump in your throat, while the worry in his soul pours through those coniferous eyes, brows knit together and nose slightly wrinkled. 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Have a good break, Damian! Bye!” You chirp and duck inside your house, locking it firmly and sliding down the cool expanse of wood until you were seated on the ground, heart aching. 

You know that if Damian really wanted, he could easily unlock your door or slip in through a window. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you flee potentially vulnerable conversation with a funny little sting of disappointment across his heart. When he doesn’t break into your house and wrap you in a bear hug, you feel that same sting. 

It has been three whole days since you’d heard Damian’s voice and you feel a black hole rapidly expanding in your heart, swallowing your sense of reason and applying pressure to your deepest vulnerabilities. 

You’ve texted each other sporadically – apparently Bruce is teaching him a new tech program and the Batcave isn’t good for his cellphone reception – and he’s sent you only two funny kitten videos. 

You hate the sticky, whiny sentiment of clingy behavior; you’ve always tried to avoid being too dependent on and too invested in anyone. You can’t help the deeply affectionate attachment you feel for Damian. His friendship matters to you more than any friendship has before; a deep, soulful amity of both comfortable confidence and new boundaries.

Granted, things are a little different in the moment; you can’t confide in him because he’s the object of your insecurity and that would be too far outside your comfort zone, throwing yourself into the open ocean without swim lessons or flotation devices. 

As you lay on a fuzzy rug in the middle of your bedroom, you have a hard time swallowing the truth: you are too afraid to tell Damian that it makes you jealous and insecure when he hangs out with other prodigal vigilante youth because, like in your darkest nightmares, he could realize that you’ll never be quite like him and leave you floundering in the lonely, murky solitude from which he had saved you. 

Before Damian, you’d been a wallflower, but you never felt that you bloomed in a slow and beautiful way like the roses and ivy across the bricks of Wayne manor. Forming connections wasn’t your strong suit to begin with, a childhood plagued by years of immense shyness and an adolescence filled with what felt like perpetual inferiority. You struggled to find a place amongst your peers, chosen last for sports teams in gym class and simply forgotten in group projects, and you struggled to find yourself. 

Since Damian arrived in a whirlwind of wisdom and fire, he has helped you excavate and dig to discover who you truly are. 

You’re getting a little carried away thinking about the pretty curl of his mouth when your phone rings. 

“Speak of the devil,” you mutter before rolling onto your stomach and swiping to answer.

“Y/N?” 

“Hi, Dami.” His name is sweet on your tongue, anxieties aside. 

“Hello, Y/N. How have your days off from school been so far?” 

You lay your chin on the ground and flop your head onto its right side, sighing deeply. “Nothing overly spectacular.” You glance over at your unopened backpack. “I’ve done some homework, but that’s about it. You?” 

I’ve also thought of you excessively, you say to yourself. 

“Simply more training. I called because I was wondering if you would like to come over and eat dinner. A few of the other trainees might be around.”

You sit up quickly, as if you must compose yourself even over the phone to have any chance at impressing these people.

The fear of inferiority crawls up your spine, poisonous. “I can’t.” 

“Oh?” 

“Y-yup.”

Over the phone, you can practically hear the way his eyes narrow into suspicious slits. “Why not?”

“Plans. I have plans.” You twist your fingers nervously in the rug. 

“Hm. Like what? With whom?” 

Before he can chase you with questions and expose that absolute lie, you blurt, “Sorry, Dami, I gotta go. Talk to you later! Have fun tonight!”

You end the call and fling your phone across the room, falling back onto the ground with a pained groan. 

Damian wasn’t raised to express fear. Instead, he was taught to embrace it and mold it into a source of control and strength. However, currently, he’s slumped across the couch on his stomach with only one boot and an arm thrown over his head and he looks anything but powerful: he looks like a distraught teenage boy. 

Tim quirks an eyebrow and nudges Damian’s ankle. “You missing something, kid?”

Damian harrumphs and waves a hand dismissively. 

Jason locks eyes with Tim from the other side of the couch and shrugs. 

“A shoe, your dignity, a sense of reason…?” 

Damian raises his head from the cushion to glower at Tim, hair mussed and cheeks pink. “Yes, maybe, and no.”

“Well, I can’t help much with the personal crisis, but you’ve gotta start somewhere so here’s your other boot.” Tim drops it gently onto Damian’s back. “I’m here for moral support. We head out for recon in twenty.” 

Face still shoved in the couch, Damian manages to wiggle around and tug on his shoe. When he goes limp again, Jason decides the only thing he can do is plop down on top of his adoptive younger brother. 

Save for several expletives and minor squirming, Damian doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

“What’s wrong, Dami? You’re acting an awful lot like…an insufferable teenage boy. Hormonal changes are tough, I know.” 

“I am fine, Jason.”

Jason settles in and gets more comfortable atop the lanky boy. “I don’t buy it,” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Should we give Y/N a call?”

Damian stiffens gracelessly and Jason barks out a laugh, titling back his head and practically cackling in amusement. “So that’s the problem, huh?”

“Define problem.” Damian says cautiously.

“You and Y/N are experiencing a rough patch and you’ve no idea how to smooth things over again? She hasn’t talked to you properly in days and you’re scared of losing her?” Jason muses, pleasantly surprised that Damian hasn’t flung him across the study yet. 

Damian moves his head so his cheek rests against the leather of the couch. “Perhaps.”

“How are you going to make things better?” 

Damian frowns. “Isn’t that what you, the seemingly experienced and doting older brother figure, should elucidate?” 

Jason grins, warm and playful, patting Damian’s shoulder and standing up. “Communication is key. You don’t know what she’s feeling, she doesn’t know what you’re feeling. In all the guesswork, someone is bound to get confused and hurt. More time spent in silence is more time spent in uncertainty. You feel me?” 

“Yes. I also felt your revolver digging into my spine.” 

You’re floating dreamily between that ethereal, cozy place between asleep and awake when you hear a crash from your bedroom. 

Your heart stops and you freeze on the couch where you dozed off to a decade-old princess movie. 

The knives are preoccupied in the dishwasher, so you grab the next best weapon – a large wooden spoon – and shut off the movie, listening intently for the intruder. 

You stealthily wind your way off the couch, across the living room, and through the kitchen. When you start to turn the corner to beeline down the hallway, your nose collides with smooth fabric and a solid surface. 

You yelp and jump back, raising the spoon with your eyes shut tightly, fearfully to whack the intruder blindly and hopefully beat them senseless.

Slender fingers deftly wrap around your wrist and finesse the potential murder weapon from your grasp. When you part your mouth to shriek, the spoon is shoved in your mouth. 

Your eyes snap open to see stormy green orbs and amused skepticism. 

“That spoon is very threatening, Y/N.” Damian’s voice is low, mouth twitching as he feigns temperance. 

You let it clatter to the floor. “Excuse me for feeling threatened. I was under the impression that an intruder had entered my home.”

“Who else would know how to wrangle with your wretched window besides me?” 

He has a point, but you scowl. “I don’t know, the world is a crazy place.”

Something about this softens his sharp, teasing intrigue. “Tell me about it.” 

“You’re always out fighting evil with superpeople. You tell me.” 

“I don’t think there are enough words to explain it.” Damian frowns a little, peeling off his mask, and reaching out to press a finger to your cupid’s bow. You blink at him in confusion, but then he pulls his fingers away and they’re shiny with blood. 

“Oh. Is that mine?” 

“I’m almost one hundred percent certain it isn’t mine.”

You touch the space below your nostrils. “You gave me a nose bleed, Damian Wayne.” 

You let him pull you into the kitchen “Yes, and since you are my best friend, I do not even mind how utterly unsanitary this is.” He muses after he washes his hands and rummages through your cabinet for tissues. 

He rolls a few tissues up and places his hand on your chin to tilt your head back. His fingers are rose petals against your skin. 

You unceremoniously jam the tissues up your nose. “My blood is on your hands, Damian.” You mutter darkly, humorously. 

He meets your eyes, sparkling with a somber sort of reverence and you feel your heart jump into your throat. “And my heart is in yours, Y/N.” He tells you softly and for a moment, you feel like you’re stuck in candied sugar, sweet and fragile. 

“Did someone kick you in the head too hard?” 

“Not quite. Rather, Jason metaphorically knocked some sense into me, as much as I lament admitting this.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Please elaborate.” 

Damian sighs and drops his hands, leaning back to rest against the opposite counter. He’s nothing short of captivating, all long and slender in the moonlight streaming through the window, tousled dark hair and inexplicably emerald eyes, shadows playing across the handsome angles of his face. 

“I thought you forgot about me.” He murmurs, peering at you almost shyly through thick lashes. 

“Never,” You breathe. “That would be impossible. I’m so scared of being clingy, sometimes I wish I could forget you. Other times, I’m simply scared of you.”

This visibly startles him. “I scare you? Of all things in this city? Why me?” 

“Because you saw me when I was invisible. At first, it terrified me. Being seen is being vulnerable. But now? I don’t think I could function properly outside of your line of vision. You see me and I don’t want to go back to being unseen.”

Damian frowns. “I have no plans to terminate this friendship and leave you, Y/N.”

You shoot him a pained look, wincing when you wrinkle your nose in trepidation. “But plans change, Dami. One day, you might wake up and realize you much prefer the company of superhero proteges. Plus, you get bored of training with Jon – who knows if you could simply get bored of being friends with me?” 

He leans into your space and instinctively you lean back, the edge of the counter digging into your waist because he smells of gracefully aged leather and something sharp and sweet, like mint. He reaches a hand up to tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a bittersweet smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Y/N, you mean infinitely more to me than some training exercise or computer program. And you’re fixated on indefinite, hypothetical ‘what if’ questions. I live in a world of probability, not possibility – unless it comes to you. Being without you and your kind smile and appreciation for the little things in life? That is impossible for me. In many ways, without you, I would be blind.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you have to shove the tissues further up your nose because you keep sniffling and he’s allowing you a precious glimpse into his tangled soul.

Damian reaches out to squeeze your unoccupied hand, cheeks flushed, rosy pink beneath brilliant bronze. “I know you felt invisible for a long time, but I assure you that you’re anything but. You are seen.”

[hero-imagines]

back to december | jason todd

summary: in which you reflect on all the highs and lows of your relationship with jason todd. 

genre: angst

word count: 4.06k 

a/n: i swear i’m still alive, i’ve just been drowning in school work and sat prep, sorry !! i poured my heart and soul into this so i hope you guys enjoy <3 oh ! this is based on the song back to december by taylor swift, if you didn’t already know. 

I’m so glad you made time to see me

How’s life, tell me how’s your family?

I haven’t seen them in a while.

For as long as anyone could remember, it has always been [Y/N] [L/N] and Jason Todd—soon enough Batgirl and Robin morphing into Red Hood and [S/N]. The two of you were practically joined at the hip, and it was only a matter of time before something inside the both of you snapped, the closeness and feelings that the two of shared soon overflowing into something more. There was no denying the bond that you both shared, it was something that could not be faked, something that only could have progressed over years of close friendship with each other. The two of you have been through everything together, the highs and lows of your relationship seemingly to only draw the two of you closer (if that was even humanly possible).

It was only a matter of time before you became a couple, for years the idea has been on both of your minds—lingering, awaiting the right moment in order to make its presence known. The love the two of you shared was sort of like a tug-of-war, both of you practically pulling each other in opposite directions, wanting to confess these overwhelming feelings, but too fearful to actual say those words aloud. And even with the amount of meddling from the Outlaws, especially Roy to attempting to bring the two of you together, the two of you remained clueless.

Yet, it seemed that fate was on your side.

You could remember vividly the day that happened, walking into your shared apartment with Jason after a long and difficult mission, the door harshly slamming shut behind you as he followed you into the living room. He was livid, to say the least, throwing his guns and other miscellaneous weapons down on your coffee table, some of the clattering onto the wooden floor below. This behavior of his was nothing new for him, every time a mission or even something didn’t go his way he became aggravated, consumed with blinding rage that it often clouds his better judgement and causing him to make decisions that he often regrets. Of course you knew why he was practically steaming, you could read Jason Todd as if he was an open book, but you chose to ignore this fact and instead focus on unpacking all of your equipment from the failed mission.

He wanted your attention and that was evident from the amount of banging and stomping that he was doing around the apartment, slamming closet doors, kitchen cabinets, and haphazardly tossing his guns into the back of his closet. You could only roll your eyes at his childish antics as another loud bang could be heard from inside his room, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you counted down.

Three, two, one—

“How the fuck could you be so reckless like that?”

Jason’s voice boomed, echoing through the relatively small room, as slammed his bedroom door open and he strided into your shared living room. You ignored him, You ignored him. Instead focusing on taking off your bloody clothes and hissing a bit as the fabric caught a bit between the grooves of the wounds. It was nothing really major or anything and you surely weren’t dying, yet Jason was a bit of a drama queen and was making a scene out of nothing. He was fine, you were fine, and in the end the two of you accomplished the mission without killing any civilians and gained the intel from the villains—in your opinion the mission was surely a success. But of course, he disagreed with you.

“You know you could have been killed? If I didn’t push you out of the way, you would be there on the warehouse floor bleeding out,” his voice was low and his mouth in a thin line.

He didn’t know how to let things go, and he was surely stubborn as you could feel his green eyes piercing into your back. With a soft sigh and throwing the last weapon onto the table, you turned around to face him, your eyes narrowed and lips in a frown.

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say—”

“An apology would be nice for starters, and acknowledging that what you did was wrong.”

“—but, this is our job, we put our lives in danger so civilians don’t have to. I’m not going to apologize when I didn’t do anything wrong,” you finished, feeling the anger bubbled inside of you. And if it was even possible, it looked as if his discontent with you only seemed to deepen as soon as you said that. Jason walked forward till he was standing only a inches away from you, his gaze lingering on your bandaged left side, causing you to turn away slightly so that it was blocked from his view.

“Sure it’s our job, but that doesn’t mean you ignore me when I tell you that you should wait for me before running recklessly into a fight—” he began before you cut him off.

“You’re forgetting the point here, I’m literally fine, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“—well, next time, you could be dead and then what? How am I supposed to explain to Roy, Kori and the others why you decided to be fucking stupid enough to—”

“There won’t be a next time, trust me, either that or you won’t know it. I’m fine and I’ll be fine, I really don’t know why you’re fretting over this, I’ve been in worse situations and come out fine so—” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as he cut you off mid-sentence.

“Maybe it’s because I’m in love with you!”

And just like that, the two of you crashed into each other, your body fitting perfectly in his arms. Everything moving forward from there was as if you were in some kind of high, every waking moment with Jason was pure bliss. Together the two of you were like in your own world, everything seemed to revolve around each other, but you should have realized that after high comes the a crash. And boy, did you both fall hard.

You've been good, busier than ever

We small talk, work and the weather

Your guard is up and I know why

Because the last time you saw me

Is still burned in the back of your mind

You gave me roses and I left them there to die.

Flowers were perhaps your favorite gift to receive from Jason. There was something whimsical about them, a quality that you struggled to formulate the words to describe. He knew how much you adored flowers and practically made it his mission to supply you with all of the flowers in the world, they soon became scattered across your apartment, turning it into some sort of garden.  

Yet, the beauty of flowers does not last forever, and in a matter of weeks decaying flowers littered your apartment. You knew that you should throw them away, the sight of rotting flowers quite depressing, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to move them. As irrational as it sounded, there were memories tied to every single stalk of every single flower in the room, small things that just reminded you of him—the time when he gave you those sunflowers “just because” or the those daisies because you were disappointed that after walking past the animal shelter for the fifth time that week, he still had to tell you that you both could not adopt a puppy.

Dozens of times he had joked with you to discard the flowers, and that he’ll buy you new ones to replace them, but you always refused. In more ways that one, those wilted flowers held a special place in your heart along with the memories associated with them. Eventually, they did end up in the trash can, and while the two of you joked about it for a while, you couldn’t shake the uneasiness watching Jason take the trash (and the flowers) out the next morning—almost as if the memories were leaving with him.

So this is me swallowing my pride

Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December all the time

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it all right

I go back to December all the time.

December used to be your favorite month for an abundance of reasons, the way snow blanketed the entire city, enjoying hot cocoa with little marshmellows floating inside your mug, or curling up by the fireplace with Jason snuggled in your lap; however, the main one was the fact that it was Christmas. Of course you enjoyed gifts as much as the next person, but it was the family time that you enjoyed the most. The Wayne Manor was always bustling with activity, especially around the holidays where things became extra hectic, but you always thought it felt like home. With Damian angrily chasing Dick around the halls, Tim and Steph shouting at the TV as they try to beat each other in Mario Kart, Cassie eagerly watching from behind them and calling to be in the next game, Alfred was busy inside the kitchen as Bruce simply watched from the bottom of the staircase while sipping his coffee. And Jason, he was too busy trying to persuade you to go under the mistletoe with him.

No matter how dysfunctional this family was, they always made you feel like home.

You could always remember how happy Jason always looked on Christmas, a while he was not the greatest at expressing his emotions or even letting himself be happy, that was perhaps the one time of the year that he let himself indulge. The joy that radiated off him was contagious, and you could always feel your heart swell with pride at the sight of him laughing and letting himself go for once, his smile making you feel all warm inside.

As the previous year ends and a new one begins you always make a silent vow to yourself every single year. You promised yourself that you would see more of this side of Jason, that you will protect him until the end of time so that he could stay this happy and blissful. And your thoughts always drifted to the future, promising yourself that you would both be a little less reckless this year, so that you would both get to bask in this moment again next year. And every year you made this silent prayer, before flashing him a smile and joining Jason and the rest of the family by the dining room table. 

These days I haven't been sleeping

Staying up playing back myself leaving

When your birthday passed and I didn't call

And I think about summer, all the beautiful times

I watched you laughing from the passenger side

And realized I'd loved you in the fall

And then the cold came, the dark days when fear crept into my mind

You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye.

You weren’t sure what triggered it, perhaps it was the fleeting summer air—the youthfulness and joy being swallowed up by the impending change of fall or the gloom of the upcoming winter. But, whatever it was, you knew that something had changed between the two of you. Somehow the nights became longer and you were left pondering—overthinking every interaction that happened between the two of you. There was no denying the fact that you loved him dearly and you knew from the bottom of your heart that he loved you too, but between the two of you something was definitely not the same.

There were times where you couldn’t take it anymore, but you were hopeless to stop its progression. As close as the two of you were, you both respected each other and even then, there were still things that you kept from each other. And this only further nourished the seeds of insecurity growing inside your head. How were you supposed to talk with him about this, when he practically left every morning before you woke up and went to bed long after you fell asleep. From the outside it looked like Jason Todd had practically everything that he could ever want, he was incredibly handsome, wealthy, and practically set for life—and he had practically everything going for him. And in those aspects, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to him—someone who came from a modest family and honestly just had the luck of being in the right place at the right time.

You liked to believe it was all luck that you happened to end up in those situations, that in this lifetime you happened to be extremely fortunate and everything just ended up working out for you in the end. There was no skill involved, instead there was something in your timing perhaps—nothing but pure luck driving your circumstances in life. But of course, luck could only get you so far.

He was practically a ghost, a shell of the man that you once knew, and you absolutely despised it. Every waking day and night you wanted to scream at him—beg him to let you in and let you work out these problems together. But he was Jason Todd, stubborn as a mule, no matter how much you could plead with him he would never waver.

And that’s what you both loved and despised about him, that every goddamn time he had to be the hero, no matter the cost.

So this is me swallowing my pride

Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December all the time

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December turn around and change my own mind

I go back to December all the time.

“We need to talk about this,” you sighed, rubbing your temples as you closed the front door behind him. As usual, there was no response from him, instead he turned away from you and stormed into his room. You honestly did not have time to deal with his crap anymore, you were tired—tired of this tension and animosity between the two of you that you wanted it to all be over. For weeks you both had been dancing around the subject, ignoring rising tensions in favor that somehow things would return to normal.

But deep down, you knew that things would never be the same.

Standing up from the couch, you followed him into your shared bedroom, knocking slightly on the door when you noticed that it was closed. There was no answer, but as you turned the doorknob,  you realized that the door was unlocked, and you entered. You found him standing by the window which was slightly open, the chilly night draft flowing inside. In his hands he was fiddling with an almost empty cigarette packet and a lighter, as he looked out the window. Jason had quit his smoking habit years ago, he knew that you absolutely despised the smell and despised how terrible it was for his health. Yet, the packet brought him some kind of comfort as he fiddled it around his fingers, but he was playing with fire—dangerously close to burning himself and falling back into his old habits.

He already knew what you were going to say, that same look has been written across your face for weeks, and while he knew that this confrontation was inevitable, he couldn’t help but subconsciously avoid you and your pleading [E/C] eyes. Even though he knew that things were changing, deep down he knew that there was nothing that could ever change his feelings for you.

“Jason, please,” you sighed, sitting down on your bed with your shoulders slumped. You were defeated and he could see it. He knew how heavily this was weighing on you and just for a second he wanted to be selfish, he wanted you by his side no matter the consequences—for a second he wanted to imagine that the two of you weren’t broken.

“What if I don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, twirling the lighter between his fingers and refusing to look you in the eyes.

His confession caused your heart to melt, as you turned away feeling the tears pricking at your eyes. This was pure torture, and if you could keep living like this maybe you would do it for him—and you were always a sucker when it came to him. But this time it was different, this time he couldn't persuade you no matter how much he tried, your mind had already been made up.

“You know we can't keep on living like this—if you would even call this living. We're no longer the same people and that's natural, it's natural to have change.”

“It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of that, more than me,” he chuckled dryly, finally looking up as his eyes met your own.

Isn't this what you would have expected, he's fighting—always fighting—never once allowing himself a break. He's too stubborn to let go and even though he's on a sinking ship, he's attempting to make sure that you stay afloat, even if that means he'll drown with it. Stupid! He was too stubborn for his own good, and for once you just wanted him to listen to you.

“Stop, just stop,” you turned around, running a hand through your hair. Looking at him would be the death of you, and your resolve would crumble in a matter of seconds. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Moving from his position by the window, Jason pocketed the loose cigarette and the lighter before making his way closer to you. You could feel his arms make their way around your waist, and for the last time you wanted to enjoy the feeling of him holding you as you felt safe and comforted. His chin rested on your shoulder, as he whispered hesitantly a single question.

“Did you ever love me?”

Just like that the dam broke, and tears streamed freely down your cheeks. Thank god he couldn’t see you because you absolutely hated when he saw you cry—you wanted to be strong especially for him, and at this time, tears were the last thing that you need. Taking a shaky breath, you composed yourself before answering him.

“Oh baby, I would have given you the whole universe if I could.”

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile, so good to me, so right

And how you held me in your arms that September night

The first time you ever saw me cry

Maybe this is wishful thinking

Probably mindless dreaming

But if we loved again I swear I'd love you right

I'd go back in time and change it but I can't

So if the chain is on your door, I understand.

There was something about the way he was standing in your doorway, looking at you with piercing green eyes. The two of you have been separated for a couple of weeks now, and even then just looking at him made the pit of your stomach swell with butterflies. You did your best to get over him, but everything just reminded you of him. You were practically surrounded by him, the memories of the apartment that you once shared together drowning you with the idea of him. Being the gentleman he always was, he had offered to move out after the breakup, but that didn’t make the pain of it all any easier. Jason had done his best to get rid of most of his belongings from the apartment, but he was forgetful sometimes, and once in while you would find some of his belongings—a rush of emotions overcoming you as memories of him replayed in your head.

His presence at your door was like a breath of fresh air that flooded into your lungs as you looked at him. He hasn't changed much in the past few weeks, only slight details that you wouldn't have noticed if you were not standing so close to him. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker, his face a little more scruffier and his hair a little more disheveled than usual—but damn, he still looked as breathtaking as he did on the first day that you met him.

“What are you doing here?” your tone was soft, the question coming out quieter than you intended.

“I just wanted to see you,” his confession came out  like a hushed whisper, and any quieter you would have missed what he said. This caught you off guard, your cheeks immediately becoming flushed at his words. A part of you, however, grew defensive at his comment. The two of you were no longer lovers and no longer friends, he had no right to be saying things like that—playing with your heart like that when the two of you have long been broken up.

However, before you could protest, he closed the already short distance between the two of you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist and burrowing his face in the crook of your neck. The smell of him of him hit you suddenly like a freight train, everything in that moment felt right, this was home—he was your home.

“You're going away on a mission again, aren't you?” you asked, noticing the material underneath your fingertips and the multitude of guns that you felt pressing into your side. He didn't answer you, but the way he squeezed you just a little tighter gave you the conformation that you needed. “Promise me you'll be safe.”

Your demand was met with silence once again, but this time you needed an answer—you needed him to promise that he was going to return home safely. Even though it was hard, you teared yourself out of his grip and looked him straight in the eyes, attempting to convince him to tell you the truth.

Leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he uttered his answer to you.

“I promise you.”

But this is me swallowing my pride

Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December turn around and make it all right.

And you stood there, looking down at gravestone in front of you, his name printed in bold letters in front of you, did you know that he lied to you. Rain pelted down on you, soaking your clothes as you struggled to differentiate between rain droplets and tears running down your cheeks. You should be furious at him, breaking his promise and ending up even worse than what you could ever imagined—dead. Of course, you always knew that this could be a possibility, your line of work was dangerous and it wasn’t uncommon for things to go south pretty fast.

But the two of you have always beaten the odds, and you hoped that this time would be no different. Yet, it seemed that both of your luck has finally run out.

If you knew that he was doing this alone—god, if you knew that this would have happened to him you wouldn’t have let him go alone. Of course he wouldn’t tell you, that stubborn asshole, always having to play the hero and now look at him, he’s paying the ultimate price.

Kneeling down you gingerly touched the gravestone, tracing his name with your finger, sniffling a bit as you felt the cold stone underneath your fingertips. And taking a deep breath you closed your eyes and let the tears fall—and for the first time, he wasn’t there to comfort you.

I'd go back to December turn around and change my own mind

I go back to December all the time.

[celtfather]

Shamrock Pub Songs #201

Leprechauns, Irish street songs, ghost stories, and a free Celtic MP3s, a free CD, and lots more today on the Pub Songs Podcast.

Welcome to the Pub Songs Podcast, the Virtual Public House for Celtic Geek culture. I am your Guide. My name is Marc Gunn. Today’s show is brought to you by my Gunn Runners on Patreon. Subscribe to the podcast at PubSong.net.

WHO'S PLAYING IN THE PUB TODAY

0:22 - SONG: “The Leprechaun” by Marc Gunn from St Patrick’s Day for Kids music

3:45 - WELCOME

-- Kickstarter for Selcouth is over $1300 over its goal. Ends on March 13!

-- New Single: Molly Malone (feat. Jesse Ferguson)

-- New Stories from the Road: Naked, Cat Lovers Podcast, Molly Malone MP3s

-- New episode of In the Verse on Trash

-- Listen to Celtfather Monthly podcast

-- Listen to Cat Music Lovers podcast

-- Free CD Offer

-- Video: Dom Duff from Celtic Invasion of Brittany

-- Want 17 Free Celtic MP3s? Subscribe to the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast.

-- Updated lyrics for songs: Jedi Drinking Song Prequel, Bring Me Home Boys, Freedom Costs, Doctor of Gallifrey, I’ll Tell  My Ma, Serenity Valley Waltz, Mingulay Boat Song,

9:49 - SONG: “I’ll Tell My Ma” by Marc Gunn from Irish Drinking Songs: The Cat Lovers Companion and St Patrick’s Day for Kids

11:26 - PUB CHAT

You can chat in the pub, please send me your feedback. What are you doing today while listening to the Pub Songs Podcast? Send a written comment along with any pictures to marc@marcgunn.com. Use the hashtag #pubsongs in the subject of your email.

Question of the Week: What is your heritage?

22:19 - SONG: “Genetic Counseling Song” by Marc Gunn from Selcouth

26:42 - STORIES FROM THE ROAD: Serenity Valley Waltz

If you enjoyed this episode of Stories from the Road, join the Gunn Runners Club on Patreon. You get first access to new music and once a week, you will enjoy a very personal look at the thoughts and stories behind the songs.

Your support pays for the production and promotion of my music and the podcast, and it pays for my time in producing the show. You’ll get it all for as little $5 per month. Learn more on Patreon. Follow the link at marcgunn.net.

Special thanks to my newest patrons: Jason D, Karen C, Max M, Leslie M, Tim S, Sarah C

31:30 - SONG: “Serenity Valley Waltz” by Marc Gunn from Selcouth

35:28 - UPCOMING SHOWS

MAR 7: The Lost Druid, Decatur, GA @ 7:30 PM

MAR 12: St Patrick’s Day Internet Concert on YouTube @ 8:30 PM

MAR 13: Interstellar Ginger Beer & Exploration Co, Alabaster, AL

MAR 14: St Patrick’s Day at 5 Points, Birmingham, AL

MAR 20-22: ConCoction, Cleveland, Ohio

MAR 26: Tucker Brewing Company, Tucker, GA @ 6:30 PM

APR 4-5: Sherwood Forest Faire, Paige, TX

APR 11-12: Sherwood Forest Faire, Paige, TX

Every Weds 10:30 AM EDT: Coffee with The Celtfather on Facebook

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS. Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through its culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos. We’re going to Scotland in 2021. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

If you enjoy the music in this show, support the artists. Buy their music and merch. Follow them on Spotify. Let them know how much you love what they are doing. And tell a friend.

38:48 - SONG: “Wild Kitty” by Marc Gunn from Irish Drinking Songs for Cat Lovers

Pub Songs Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts, Spotify or to my website where you can subscribe to my mailing list. I’ll email you regular updates of new music and podcasts, special offers, and you’ll get 21 songs for free. Welcome to the pub at www.pubsong.net!

  PUB CHAT

Janine Rinker emailed: “Hi Marc, I started looking for celtic music online because my philosophy professor claimed that Irish music is mainly drinking and fighting songs (it isn't all...).  Anyway, after listening to the same songs by the same groups several times I got the idea of just skipping several pages of search and found your music.

I generally listen to your pubsongs podcast when I'm typing homework of some sort (I'm an adjunct professor at a community college, and something of a chronic student), although sometimes I'm playing games on Facebook instead.  You've gotten my family watching Firefly, and I gave some of your CD's as a Christmas gift to a friend who likes cats, but doesn't have any of her own anymore. Thanks for the bonus Christmas CD's you sent.

If you're not familiar with them, let me suggest Woods Tea Company and Cahill Dunne as other groups whose music you might want to play.  Both have some songs where the audience is encouraged to sing the chorus. Woods Tea Company has a variety of songs, but "This Side of the Sea" is an album specifically of Irish music.  Cahill Dunne is an Irishman who married an American. He plays piano, and sings a variety of styles of music, including traditional Irish, comedy and Western songs.

I really enjoy the variety of music on your podcast and listening to your adventures.”

James H. emailed: "Hi Marc –Thanks for sending me the freebies!  I’m listening to Star of County Down, but not sure how to download the songs.  I can usually right click and “Save Target As”, however, that’s only saving the HTM (file location).  Is it only intended to listen on my computer?

We live in Modesto California.  We’re Christian Baptists and our church is in Stockton.

I found you through my android podcast player, although most of my regular podcasts are on my iPhone.  I like to bring my tablet (android) on long trips to visit my daughters in college in Southern California.

My wife and daughters all play violin and my daughters played (still one daughter in it) the Modesto Youth Symphony Orchestra; they have played concerts in Canada, Austria and Czech Republic.  My oldest LOVES anything Celtic and would probably want to live in Ireland.

My dad’s side of the family is from County Cork and Clare County.  My mom’s side came over on the Mayflower.

Thanks again I’m enjoying your podcast!"

Albert D emailed: "Hello Marc, I love your shows, I love your music. Keep up the great work. That’s awesome that the next few months are looking busier than you’ve been in years. LONG overdue. Congratulations and good luck. Could you please tell me what “coffee with the Celtfather” is all about? Thank you for your time. Peace be with you, God bless you, go in peace."

Allan Marcotte emailed: “Marc,I heard you singing Kilty Pleasure about taking pride in your Scottish heritage and wearing of the kilt. I am not of Scot or Irish descent but the song spoke to me.  My Dad was an American of French Canadian extraction but my Mom was German from the old country, she came to this country about 4 years before I was born. Growing up I was aware of my French Canadian heritage but I was very aware my German heritage.  I listened to traditional German music and still do though I don't speak the lingo and understand all the songs. My diet is heavily influenced by German cooking, I even make my own sauerkraut from scratch. It becomes very prominent at Christmas, the tradition of celebrating Advent, the visit from St Niklaus on 6 December and to me there is nothing prettier than Silent Night sung in German.  Looking forward to the new album.”

#pubsongs #shamrock #irishsongs

Check out this episode!