#dying reality
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When you meet a scary beast be prepared
#dark academia#vintage aesthetic#sunset colors#cottagecore#naturecore#photography#artists on tumblr#photographers on tumblr#travelcore#art#original photography#drive my car#moon#old vibes#dying reality#old country#iphone5#dark aesthetic
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funny how celebrities will raise $26M for a fashion institute but can't be bothered to mobilise even a fraction of that energy and money to help the people being tortured and killed in an unapologetic genocide as we speak. love that for society. what a moment for The Culture.
#don't let them distract you from reality. zendaya wearing something straight out of the hunger games capitol fashion archive sums it up#they're partying while children are dying#don't give them a second of your attention#rain posts#free gaza#free palestine#rafah#boycott the met gala#boycott eurovision#met gala#met gala 2024
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spire of deceit & truth: soul revue
#for heroes there are trials#for saints there are temptations#for me there is you#//#me thinking about anything: how can i make this about revue starlight 😈#i wouldnt say theyre kuromaya coded buutttt#pureshadow final battle is a play sm sets up and pv is forced to go along w/#that paints sm as the hero and pv as the villain trying to steal his “soul”.. only to have his soul AND heart stolen at the end :3c#the reality is ive just been dying to draw a ship as kuromaya soul revue for like several years now#<- the party ended 2 years ago and theyre still here#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#crk#shadow milk cookie#pure vanilla cookie#vanilla milkshake#shadowvanilla#pureshadow#my art#clip studio paint#2024#its 2am goodbye
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Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between
#to be or not to be. that is the question#ty adam for being my model for dramatic vampire moment#musings on the thinkings about:#when to live you are required to hurt others. you must repeatedly ask yourself what the value of your life is#To sleep... perchance to dream...#ah. THERES THE RUB.#ok I actually couldnt come up with too many thoughts. I had a lot more while I was drawing this but I guess I put them in the painting LOL#reading that soliloquy and being like damn this is just like vampires#the reality of course is that the soliloquy is a debate over suicide and ultimately making the choice to live#even if just out of fear of the unknown#and vampires are about dying and then in undeath choosing to continue to live#despite the fear of eternity and loneliness and hurting others#theyre not the same. but like let me thiiink come onnnn I'm allowed to thiiink and have incomplete thoughts#I would have to write like a proper essay about this to organize my thoughts. this is the tags on a tumblr post.#anyways finished episode 79#working on patreon stickers for this month (and next month soon)#and working on book 4. taking a pause from episodes cause I've got 3 weeks of buffer now... UGH#I'm so mad that they changed it. it would have been 5 weeks before but it's fine it's whatever#anyways yeah taking a break from episodes to make my book now!#its good stuff.#and this painting is good stuff#banger after banger from me tbh#this was a little relaxing giving myself a couple hours to muse#it's necessary for my health and I always forget that til I do a painting...#I loved doing the little landscape in the background too I should do that more! I love how plants are just like whatever shape you want#like you can make up any plant you want and not only does that plant PROBABLY exist somewhere#a weirder plant exists somewhere too. so. literally whatever you want#ok bye again for a few days while I get back to work
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i think you guys are onto smth..
i unironically got invested in this HELP
#WHERES THE FIC AT IF SOMEONE WRITES THIS I WILL PAY THEM A HUNDRED DOLLARS😭😭#kunikida serving the country while dazai's serving cunt😔#dazai was born to malewife but forced to manipulate and i think that's the greatest tragedy of bsd#anyway some facts i would like to share abt this au thay i came up w while drawing!!#takes place in 1939 (start of wwii) and there was a mandatory draft that required one male over eighteen from each house to serve#both of them are still twenty two and had been engaged for abt two years before getting married that year#newlyweds! unfortunately kuni had to go fight and they were seperated :(#before the war kunikida was a math teacher at the local high school and dazai obviously managed the household and didn't work#he's hopeless at cooking and meal prep even w recipie books so they either get those prepackaged meals or kuni makes dinner when he gets ba#so like when he's making lunch for kunikida he normally just packs a basic sandwich w raw fruit#kunikida always appreciates the effort even tho hes probably sick of having the same thing everyday but he won't complain abt it#when kunikida joined the army he was relieved that the mess hall had better food than dazai#he was the only one in his platoon that never complained abt the food so his fellow soldiers assumed it was bc he came from a tough bg#when in reality he was just used to being poisoned on a daily basis from his dumbass husbands cooking and was hardly fazed from army ration#they write to each other although its more dazai sending and kuni receiving bc hes off fighting and doesnt have time to write back#dazai talks abt life on the homefront and how he has to grow a victory garden (everything is DYING HE CANT EVEN RAISE TOMATOES)#and kuni writes abt his fellow soldiers and how the war is going and when he thinks he'll be home and how he misses sleeping in a bed#ANYWAY yea thought i'd share sry for infodumping in the tags again#this post is for like the four ppl that care abt this specific flavor of knkdz so hopefully this gets four notes at least#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#kunikida doppo#doppo kunikida#kunikidazai#knkdz#lotus draws#bro sry for posting at two in the morning i couldnt sleep until i got this out of my head they have infested my brain
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#rui kamishiro#pjsk#project sekai#pjsk rui kamishiro#wxs#wonderlandxshowtime#wxs rui#wxs rui kamishiro#i just had a stroke of genius and I needed to put it to reality#I'm dying 3/4th of Rui's comms really are just Pain
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cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /
choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.
in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.
to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.
it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—
“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”
control which he now flounders to grab.
a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.
you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.
“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”
that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.
“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”
his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”
“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”
his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.
you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?
a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.
“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”
“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”
all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.
you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—
“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”
his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.
metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.
“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”
he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.
“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”
oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.
he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.
“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”
and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.
“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”
#sub choso u will always be famous#living out my gothic vampire dream. need#choso x reader#choso kamo x reader#jjk x reader#anime x reader#choso x you#choso kamo x you#jjk x you#anime x you#choso smut#choso kamo smut#jjk smut#anime smut#im thinking about the lore for this au now#gojo who acts like a hedonist but is actually tortured by the reality of his immortality#nanami who strictly feeds either on animals or sustainably sourced human blood 😭😭😭😭#vampire hunter toji who is also a vampire a la mikael mikaelson#also pup is what baby bats are called……. im dying#also goths call beginner goths baby bats but i think its fitting here#also no choso is not a baby or a child or anything he is v much a consenting adult 😭😭#i jusg think it puts like the extent of immortality into perspective#idk its 3am and i have work tomorrow#who up subbing they choso
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"the strike is gonna kill my favorite shows" babe okay if you don't want to think about the human livelihoods at stake (you should really be thinking about the humans though) like. think about what happens after this. when writing pays you enough to eat; more people get to be writers. more stories. more interesting plots and ideas. think about what gets made when artists aren't starving.
you've been complaining for years that tv is going downhill. part of that is because the writers aren't paid enough - a screenwriter needs to be able to live with a very low paycheck while being virtually anonymous, so as a profession it self-selects for a very slim number of people. part of bad writing is burnout and the absolutely criminal amount of influence corporations have over scripts. writing is actually a craft, despite what people who love chatGPT will tell you - and, as a craft; it takes time, diligence, and support.
and yes, i understand. you have a connection to a piece of media, which is what writers want. but we regret to inform you that your blorbo is as real as the image in the mirror - is your reflection actually you? can the reflection ever show anything but the truth? as writers, our work is the reflection. you can't keep throwing our bodies under buses and then being shocked that our work is bitter, 2d, "needs revision". imagine what gets made when the artist is inspired and has the time, space, energy, and fucking budget to actually make what makes them happy.
i love you so much. but also, really - and for real - before anything else, please remember it's human livelihoods at stake.
#tbh i think we're about to see another rush of “reality tv”#idk how well that same approach will go for streaming services bc that's a lot of how cable skirted around the last one#but also at the same time social media exists and reality tv has been dying pretty significantly -#there's a huge push for 'definfluencing' and being LESS involved in parasocial relationships which is VERY GOOD#but i wouldn't be surprised if netflix starts some kind of big brother/love island/etc#im writing this to seduce one very specific person#it's you
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everyone PLEASE take a look at these tlt pieces I got commissioned by @b1cr1ptic for my dead cav club au and please also weep for how awesome they are
#my post#fuck off lou#tlt#the locked tomb#im inconsolable and dk what to do w myself they're gorgeous im dying#camilla hect#coronabeth tridentarius#commander wake#commander awake remembrance of these valiant dead kia hua ko te pai snap back to reality oops there goes gravity#commander awake remembrance of these valiant dead#peep corona's bone horsey#yee - and i say this with the utmost gravity - HAW#dead cav club au
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It happens so often that someone tries to tell me that something is out of my control and I just stand there like "🧍♀️... I know something you dont"
#either is ageing or someone dying or some shit like that#they are always like “thats gonna happen to you”#and im like not it wont#i can just scripted it out#and then i remember no one around me knows about shifting#shifter#reality shift#shifting motivation#shifting#shifting community#shifting blog#shifters#shiftblr#reality shifting#shifting antis dni#quantum jumping#shifting to the mcu#desired reality#shifting realities#current reality
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#wizard bisan#free palestine#palestine#gaza#gaza strip#free gaza#genocide#gaza genocide#justice for palestinians#ethnic cleansing#israel#the reality for people in gaza#feed north gaza#starvation#a reality for people living in gaza#millions of people are displaced in rafah#people are dying#stand with palestine#this is a genecide not a war
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more parent trap au but its 198X and u are just getting to know the love of ur life
#good omens#good omens 2#good omens au#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#ineffable divorce#parent trap au#gabuart#im dying . everybody#younger guys doodles i promised#i cant . be normal i literally CANNOT be normal#this is a scheduled post i am probably asleep#im a nervous wreck every time i post welcome to my reality
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I love me some delicious miscommunications so:
Bruce and Jason standing off (again) after a mission actually gone right and Bruce is looking constipated trying to articulate how proud he is while Jason’s just pissed as fuck that he accidentally followed the bats’ rules and
Jason, fuming, thinking to himself: Bruce must be behind this, he MANIPULATED me into playing by the rules the asshole I didn’t even get to shoot ANYBODY today im never teaming up with them again my reputation is ruined people are gonna think I’ve gone SOFT
Bruce, going through five stages of grief just trying to find a way to say that he’s proud of Jason without him getting decked in the face and Jason running away: today showed me that you will always be your father’s son (he means himself)
Jason, thoughts immediately going to Willis because Bruce would obviously never address him as his son: actually fuck you, fuck you never speak to me again I can’t believe I was stupid enough to agree to this what the hell is wrong with you
So, on one hand. now you have Bruce face palming because he’s sure he articulated himself in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted so Jason obviously wants nothing to do with him and oh great they’re back to not speaking terms but hey at least Jason didn’t shoot at him so he obviously understood what he meant, right?? Right????
Meanwhile on the other hand Jason is capital H Hurt and so so angry about it because what the actual fuck. He’s TRYING to reform but obviously nothing will ever be enough for golden standards Bruce so he should just go back to at least beating criminals within an inch of their lives because he wasn’t going to prove Bruce right no matter how much he wants to take those pieces of shit off the streets permanently.
And of course, because both of them would rather shoot themselves in the foot than, I don’t know, talk, it results in a huge falling out and Jason’s “shoot at the Bats on sight” rule is back, until one day just happens to trap Bruce and Jason together in a warehouse rigged to explode. They accidentally went after the same gang and got themselves captured instead in the confusion. So Jason’s watching Bruce frantically trying to dismantle the bomb while sitting back casually taunting him like
Jason: you know damn well your cape’s gonna protect you from most of the explosion and the whole building is deserted by now, why are you trying so hard? The only one who’ll bite the dust is Willis’ son, fitting ending isn’t it? Always his son until the very end, you said it yourself!
And holy mothers of all fuckups Batman, there hasn’t been miscommunication this bad since the aftermath of the Tower of Babel
Bruce, turning around with the dismantled bomb in his hand, actively inventing new stages of grief: I was referring to myself actually.
#I would insert a joke about Jason’s head exploding but with his track record of bomb placements it would be too close to reality#this is meant to be silly so don’t come for my neck please#it’s basically word vomit#Bruce’s unwavering blind faith in his kids blinding him to the fact that it absolutely doesn’t go both ways#as in they neither have faith in themselves or in his faith in them#Bruce to any of his kids: you’re the best crime fighters I’ve ever known nobody will ever come close to you#and EVERY SINGLE TIME THEY GO#“WHAT???? Bruce are you okay are you dying what the fuck#and Bruce is so fucking confused?? like do they think he would allow and encourage them to lead entire superhero teams#and fight crime#if he wasn’t absolutely certain they were as competent as they can be and consistently the most competent people in the room?#batman#dc comics#bruce wayne#dcu#batfam#batfamily#dc robin#jason todd#red hood#batkids#ficlet#text post#incorrect batman quotes#incorrect batfamily quotes#incorrect dc quotes#crack post
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I know everyone wants stories with happy endings, and they all hate when the main characters die, and insist well what's the point of the story then, it didn't matter at all! they died!
but.
I don't know. do the stories of those who die at the end not matter at all?
because if that's the case, I have news about the stories told by everyone who has ever lived in this world.
we all die at the end. we are all doomed by the narrative.
but our stories still matter.
#writing#writers on tumblr#writerscommunity#listen it can be done well it can be done poorly#but i dont get this hatred of characters dying at the end and everyone not getting their happy ending#its not about realism#its about what the author is trying to say#some characters die because they need to die#because it fulfills their character arc it enhances it#it makes a difference#and there is catharsis in understanding that sometimes people die for a good cause for a glorious purpose#we all die#isnt there relief in seeing a story where our special friends die but it mattered in the end and death was something meaningful#if it was embraced with dignity#am i making any sense#i just know my own death wont matter#i like following stories where the mc dies but#it meant something the way mine will not#and the vast majority of people do not die for a good cause or with purpose#and those who do are heroes in our reality#but why are they so reviled in fiction#let your characters deaths mean something
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Jason Todd Fic (De-aged?)
(INCOMPLETE/UNFINISHED)
Of all the kinds of magic, Jason Todd hates death magic the most.
So when the call comes through about Grave Affair, he tells Oracle where she can shove it.
“Hood, if there was anyone else available I’d have called them. Believe me, you’re beyond my last choice for this.”
And he’s standing on a rooftop, firing rubber bullets at a guy wielding a magic scythe. He’s ranting about final words, last confessions, things Jason never had.
He’s trying not to think of dirt and starched sleeves and silk linings.
When he’s finally close enough, Jason disarms the guy, but not without the blade touching him.
There’s a thud behind him but he’s already got the wannabe reaper in cuffs by the time he turns around.
And is met with his 15 year old self, wearing an outfit he knows. An outfit that never made it back to his closet.
The boy’s in shock, momentarily disoriented and Jason’s lucky the kid isn’t running, but Oracle is in his ear, awaiting confirmation of something Jason doesn’t think he can say out loud.
He takes off the helmet, holsters his guns, and crouches as low as he can. The kid is squinting at him but he isn’t running.
“You’ve been displaced in time.” He jerks a thumb at the knock off grave digger behind him. “The scythe cut me and brought you here. I’m you, but older.”
The kid squints harder, if that’s possible. Jason uses a couple of the old bat-signs, and doesn’t remove his domino.
“Prove it.”
God, every time he’d tried to seem intimidating, that’s how he’d sounded?
Jason tilts his head and thinks a moment. His old scars are gone, it can’t be anything Jason would willingly volunteer, but even now he doesn’t want to say those things out loud.
“We never told Bruce about Catherine’s last dealer.” The kid stopped squinting. “Or, or about. Well, we never told anyone about Tommy.” The kid flinched. It was a name neither of them had spoken since he died.
“Are we going back to the manor?” Jason shrugged at him. He didn’t want to, but this wasn’t about what he wanted anymore. He wanted to take the kid back to his safe house and burn those clothes. He wanted to cut out his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at him. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Depends. Let me call in the calvary to come pick this guy up and you can decide. It’s the manor, or my safe house.”
He put the helmet on to be met with silence, either Babs was finally at a loss for words or had muted his channel. He sent his location and the pick-up signal. There was no confirmation and Jason decided he had hit his limit on dealing with bats before physically disconnecting himself from the comms network.
“If I pick the manor, how upset will they be?”
And wasn’t that just a crowbar to the gut?
“Not in the way you’re thinking, but a lot. I’ll be honest, it’s going to be worse than when [insert]. I know what you think they’re upset about and for them, it was years ago. But you going back will be like a bomb going off for them. I’ll take you, but you’ve gotta know it’ll probably overwhelm you.”
“And the safe house?”
“I’ll take the couch. And make you wear a different set of clothes because just looking at you hurts. But um, you can ask questions or don’t. Eat, read, ignore me. It’ll be a breather until the manor, or until the spell ends and you go back.”
“Go back?”
Jason wanted to throw up.
“To Ethiopia.”
——
True to his word, Jason burned those clothes the second they were in his safe house.
The kid, because he wasn’t willing to think of him as himself, had locked himself in Jason’s bedroom with a couple paperback copies of things he said he hadn’t read yet. Jason was making a sort of pasta bake in the oven and cleaning his guns on the coffee table.
His gear, except for the helmet, was stashed away properly, but he hadn’t turned the comms back on. He was sure that Oracle had been alerting all of the bats to the presence of his 15 year old self and watching live feeds of the interrogation to see what spell was cast, or how the scythe worked, but Jason was trying to avoid thinking about it.
Because if it was him, if he was 15 instead of 23 and in an apartment with an adult man claiming to be himself but built like Bruce, he’d fucking lock himself in and refuse to come out. Sure, he wouldn’t want to see the bats, all the people he remembers letting down by running away and at the peak of their fighting where Jason had believed none of them actually cared about him, but that doesn’t mean he’d really want to be alone with the veritable stranger of himself either.
He has his phone shut off, his comms are physically disabled, and this particular safe house is one he hasn’t had the chance to use yet since it’s a sort of last resort. It’s kept in a spot with few to no cameras and hasn’t been around long. Jason makes a point of keeping one safe house as a last resort, so that if he really does fuck up beyond what the bats can tolerate, there will be one place they can’t immediately find him.
He’ll have to burn this one soon, but it gives them a couple hours, if not about two days.
He’s trying not to remember the fight, the hasty decision to leave, being told there wasn’t enough room in the helicopter. God, he doesn’t even know at what point the kid was taken from, but Ethiopia hadn’t surprised him. He must not have made it into the warehouse yet.
When the oven goes off, Jason is trying hard not to picture cigarette smoke and eyes in the dark.
He makes two plates, sets one on the counter and the other on the coffee table, and goes to knock on the door to the bedroom.
When the younger Jason emerges, he looks wary, but not frightened. There’s also a calculating look in his eye that Jason knows others assume he got from Bruce, but was present while he was on the streets.
“Do you mind if I eat out here?”
“Knock yourself out.”
They’re almost finished eating when the boy finally speaks up.
“I’ve got questions for you.”
“Sure, but I have one for you too. Only one, so you pick what you wanna do first. Ask or answer.”
“Ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“The guy that brought me here, what does the magic entail?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure. He was doing his little speech while we were fighting, something about meeting yourself and seeking absolution I think. It sounded like a chance to ask yourself questions or have a conversation with a different version of yourself but I don’t exactly know why. I also don’t know how long it lasts. I got the call about him pretty late and walked in without a full picture. One of the other bats is probably looking more into it right now and we’ll get an update at some point.”
“Other bats?”
Jason doesn’t envy Talia for having to explain to him Bruce’s knack for acquiring orphans.
“Remember when Bruce first took us in and we couldn’t understand what he wanted from us? Well, it’s morphed into a bit of a habit of picking up orphans. It isn’t just Dick, Alfred and us anymore. There’s a couple others and all the explanations are kinda long, so I’ll wait till the end to really get into that if it’s alright. In terms of how many are important for you to keep track of and you might come across at the manor, at least six, excluding the three you know.”
“Why aren’t you living at the manor? Why do you have a safe house?”
“A couple years from how old you are now, Bruce and I have a fight. We’re still kind of working on it, but it’s easier for me to have my own place than have to deal with all the riff raff. The manor isn’t as quiet as it used to be, and it’s too many variables.”
God, he’s really trying to be vague here instead of having to tell the kid he’s right and his Dad doesn’t love him. That his Dad doesn’t save him and that he’ll try to kill him. Jason doesn’t know if he can look his younger self in the eye and tell him everything he’s done. But he remembers being overwhelmed by too many people, too many emotions to try and navigate in conversations. It’s still something he struggles with, not that he’s told anyone about it.
“What was the fight about?”
“Since we don’t know how much of this you’ll remember when you get sent back, I don’t really want to get into specifics, in case we create some sort of paradox. Once we know for sure I’ll give you more details but basically, appropriate levels of consequence alongside a heavy dose of blame for shit Bruce fucked up.”
“What about Dick and Alfred?”
“What about them?”
“What do they think? Do they agree with you or Bruce?”
“They’re a little more complicated. Alfred loves us, has made sure we know it, but abstains from voicing his true opinions on it. I think he disagrees with us, but doesn’t want to push. Dick is vocal about disagreeing with us, but doesn’t think Bruce is completely in the clear either. He’s harder to predict in conversation and his goals are less obvious than Alfred’s.”
“What’s your question for me?”
“What’s the last thing you remember before coming here?”
“Bruce getting in a helicopter and telling me to stay put.”
“Alright.”
“That’s it?”
“All the useful information will come from this time, not yours. I just wanted to make sure I knew what part of the day you’d already been through.”
His younger self appears to think this over.
It’s almost a relief talking to him. Jason’s goals have always been pretty straight forward. Stay fed, stay warm, protect himself against adults, and stay alert. There are no mind games, or unspoken rules, or demands, or debts for his actions. As an adult, there is nothing he would want from a kid and as a kid, he’s found probably the only adult he’ll believe doesn’t want anything from him.
“Can you tell me about the other bats?”
“Sure, but I’m starting on dishes and you’re filling tupperware while I’m talking.”
So Jason explains Tim and Damian and Cass and Steph and Duke and Babs. He’s careful to avoid his own history and how he met them, only really stating how they each got taken in. How they met Bruce. His younger self doesn’t seem to mind the vague information, it’s been a long day and Jason doesn’t have much to hide from him except the obvious, his death and resurrection. So by the time the kitchen is clean, there’s little left to say except a brief rundown of what’s stocked where, what parts of the apartment have traps set, and what weapons are allowed to be kept in the bedroom.
He tells the kid he’ll be doing a short patrol tonight. They have a code for “all clear” that predates the bats, so they’ll stick to it. And he gives the kid a burner in case his training isn’t enough. He shows him how to contact himself, and if it’s really bad, the emergency beacon.
Nightwing is the one who finds him, but he isn’t stupid enough to recognize the others are likely on hand but just out of reach so that when he runs, they minimize his head start.
“Oracle says you shut off your phone, comms, tracker, and is locating your safe house as we speak.”
“And you’re telling me because?”
“Because we need to bring him to the cave. Because he won’t cooperate with any of us. Because we don’t want either of you to be alone and you damn well scared the hell out of all of us by disappearing like that.”
“You guys figure out the scythe and how long before he’s sent back?”
“Lantern figured it out. About 7 more days, from what we can tell.”
“How long until B’s planet side again?”
“About 3 days.”
There’s math somewhere in that sentence that Jason can’t calculate. A problem he doesn’t have the answer for. He refuses to acknowledge what’s about to happen, because if he does, he’ll step off the roof without his grapple.
“Tell the calvary to stop hiding and meet us here. I need everyone to agree to ground rules.”
Cass is the most proficient at B’s trick of appearing from the shadows, but the rest of the bats are a fair hand at it too. And suddenly, everyone who had been out of town slightly over a day ago, was congregated on a single roof. If Jason couldn’t solve the problem of seven days and Bruce Wayne, he’s not sure he really has a chance with so many more variables thrown in. Especially with the least predictable ones.
“We will meet you all at the cave tomorrow, in the morning. You are not crowding my safe house.”
There is some shuffling, but no objections.
“I have told him all of your names. He does not know more than how each of you loosely came to meet B. He does not know my vigilante name, the new kids vigilante names, except Oracle, or how I met any of you. Or when.”
The shuffling has stopped. It’s just the dark, silence, Jason, and everyone he’s spent what amounts to his current life avoiding.
“He is 15 and for him, Batman just got on a helicopter in Ethiopia.”
If there’s silence now, Jason can’t hear it over the rushing in his ears.
“For as long as he is in this timeline, I will remain close enough to get him out of any situation you put him in.”
He’s focusing on a spot in the middle distance. Jason is afraid he might black out.
“He will know that we are lying to him soon, although I can’t guess how quick he’ll catch on. When he asks about it, about our - death.”
It takes almost a full minute for Jason to keep speaking.
“You will direct him to me.”
Jason sweeps his unfocused eyes over a mismatched group of vigilantes in the dark. They are rigid and unflinching. Jason wants more than anything in the world to be somewhere, anywhere else.
“You will not leave him and B alone in the same room together.”
This time, his eyes are focused and he meets each of their gazes.
He looks to Cass last, and at her nod, Jason steps off the roof and swings away.
——
Jason gives himself ground rules the next morning.
“You can ask questions. You might not always get an answer.”
“If someone will not give you an answer, come find me.”
“If you want out, of anything, you press the button I gave you.”
“I will remain in the same building as you at all times. If you need space from me, say so. If you want me in the next room, signal. I will stay as close or as far as you prefer.”
“There are things that the others will know that you have not shared. I cannot undo that, and I am sorry. However, both things that I told you as proof of myself are, to my knowledge, things they remain unaware of.”
“I will respect whatever decision you make in what you choose to share with them.”
“I will not, under any circumstances, allow you and B to be alone in the same room.”
The final rule gets him a raised eyebrow, one that he stares unflinchingly at.
“Why not?”
“I do not trust his emotional regulation when it comes to you. He is still safe, still Bruce or Batman or B. But he has made far too many mistakes for me to allow him to make decisions regarding you. I believe him to be, emotionally compromised.”
There is still skepticism in his own face. The face of a child that will never become an adult. Not the way he should have.
“And you won’t tell me why?”
“Not until we know for sure about eh paradox thing. And we both know there are some things neither of us are ever gonna want to talk about - for me, this is one of them. So, for now, no.”
The kid seems to accept this and they pack a small bag of Jason’s gear and books. They’re on his motorcycle in less than half an hour and are pulling up to the cave entrance in less than two hours.
There is no welcome party. Just the cave, and Alfred.
There is no glass case.
When Jason cuts the engine on the bike, he feels pins and needles down his spine.
He takes his gear out of his bag and moves towards the lockers to store it. He can’t watch this. Can’t watch his younger self approach Alfred. He tries not to hear what they say to each other. He fails.
Jason doesn’t have to imagine what he would have said to Alfred when he was 15, if he had gotten home. The conversation is eerily similar to his own nightmares.
“Hey Alfie.”
“Master Jason, it has been a long time since I have seen you, although I suspect the reverse is not quite true for you.”
He hears a huffed laugh behind him and squeezes his eyes shut.
“I’m sorry I ran away.”
Jason knows he must have steeled himself to the words, to say them now or risk not saying them at all.
“Master Ja-“
“And I know that I shouldn’t have done it. And that he, I said that it’s been years since you’ve probably thought about it, since I ran away, so maybe you’ve already gotten the apology but for me it was yesterday. And I don’t know how I’m going to go home and tell you that I’m sorry, and I know I will never get to skip chores for the rest of my life but Alfie I just need to know that you don’t hate me too.”
Jason remembers being 15 and thinking that Bruce didn’t trust him anymore, thinking that he killed a man, and that Dick was never really his older brother and that he just wanted a parent. Someone normal who could love him normally without it being twisted up into expectations and disappointment. He remembers the polite distance that he thought Alfred was using every time he called him Master Jason, and how it had felt like a barrier to one of the only adults he was almost convinced loved him. How he all but threw it back in the man’s face by running away to another continent to chase down a woman who sold him out.
Jason doesn’t know what Alfred’s face looks like. Doesn’t want to know.
Because he knows the tension in his own voice, the way it spells out tears. Knows that his younger self if already crying even if he can’t hear it at this distance. Cannot allow himself to picture what Alfred must look like.
“Oh Jason, my boy.”
And there is a soft sound behind him, a rustle of fabric and a hiccup pressed into a shirt.
He’s sure Alfred has bundled him up and carried him over to one of the cots, or chairs, or even the training mats. He doesn’t turn around. He wasn’t meant to hear this.
Because Alfred is murmuring nonsense into his hair. And holding him while he cries. And Jason forces himself to walk upstairs to the kitchen, to sit at the counter and wait.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time he calls Babs.
“Oracle.”
“Jason, what do you want?”
“I need an alert set up. One that will go straight to my phone the second B is planet side. One that tells me when he is within 100 yards of the manor, even if he comes by Kryptonian.”
There’s a silence on the line. Either the bats were broadcasting to her through an open comm during his little speech the night before, or Dick filled her in. Either way, they both know she knows his last rule.
“Alright.”
“Thank you.”
Jason drifts for a while. At least until he hears footsteps closing the familiar distance between the cave and the kitchen.
Jason gives them both a small nod when the come in, and the younger Jason takes a seat right next to him, without a buffer, but they don’t speak much as Alfred starts his prep work on lunch.
It’s obvious the kid has a question when his shoulders start to tense.
“What’s your question?”
“What room am I staying in?”
Jason glances over to Alfred, and he looks about as calm as to be expected. He’d never expected to see Alfred cry, but he feels a dulled shock at the sight of his reddened eyes.
“You are welcome to your old room, or I can prepare a guest room for you.”
“Why wouldn’t you be using our room?”
“That fight I mentioned? Well, I was - hurt a while after. It was easier for me to stay on the first floor than to take the stairs. I’m not here as often anymore, so I mostly stick to the guest room if I am. You can take our room if you want it.”
There’s a small part of him that wants to pray that Alfred made the room look less like a shrine, or a time capsule, because the kid knows several years have passed for Jason and if he walks into the same room he remembers from earlier “that day” Jason isn’t sure how he’ll face those questions right now.
“I had some time to prepare it this morning, it might be close to what you remember and I took the liberty of stocking it with your old clothes that fit you now.”
“Thanks Alfie.”
After a while, the kid glances at him and Jason supposes he’s got a fair guess as to where he wants to go. He clears his throat.
“We’ll be in the library until lunch. And um, thank you.”
He doesn’t want to read the look on Alfred’s face. He doesn’t want to be in this kitchen. In this building. The look on Alfred’s face is kinder than he deserves.
“Of course, Master Jason. Do enjoy yourselves.”
They aren’t ambushed on the way to the library, but they aren’t alone when they enter.
The kid stiffens beside him and shoots a glance at Jason’s left hand. Counts the taps, and then relaxes.
Jason knows Cass also probably counted the taps, and might be able to figure out what they mean, but they’ve never talked about it.
“Hello, Cass.”
“Hello, Jasons.”
There’s a snort from the kid and Jason is grateful that she staged their meeting like this. Of everyone else in the manor, Cass is the one who hates seeing anyone, including Jason, in pain. She’s the only one aside from Alfred who seems to understand when he needs to leave and lets him.
“Want me to read in here or go put books in your room?”
The kid eyes Cass for a moment, and then Jason.
“You can take the books. But if you want to read too I won’t stop you.”
Jason takes that for what it is, that the kid will be alright for a few minutes, but doesn’t want more than 20 by himself.
Dick is waiting for him outside the door to his old bedroom.
“You didn’t say the rest of us couldn’t see him alone, just Bruce.”
Jason’s mouth is dry. He pushes the door open and is off kilter. It looks like when he was 15. It looks like he never went to high school. It looks just enough like his old room and yet everything that had made it his, was gone.
“It’s up to him. Bruce is the only one I won’t allow to be alone with him. It doesn’t have to be me in the room if the kid doesn’t want, but they won’t be alone.”
“You think he’ll hurt him?”
That startles Jason, badly enough that he laughs. It’s a broken sound, scratches all the edges of his throat and teeth as it leaves his mouth. Dick tenses behind him.
“You don’t want to know what I think.”
“Jason, I don’t know how to fix this.”
Jason sets the books down on his old desk and turns. He doesn’t want this conversation. He doesn’t want to keep talking to these people. He’s sick of the echoes of his old life, the one he can’t return to. He can’t sew himself back into belonging, he doesn’t have enough of the fabric of himself to try.
“You don’t have to try.”
Dick makes a sound like he’s been punched.
“Of course I do -“ Jason cuts him off.
“We weren’t brothers, Dick. You made that clear, not just to me, but to him. I don’t know what you’re trying to do now, but you don’t have to. I’m not asking you to. It’s not your job to try and clean up B’s mistakes. You’re running yourself into the ground trying to play clean up crew for him. Just stop.”
“I’m trying to fix my own mistakes Jason, not his. I shouldn’t have treated you like you weren’t my brother. I want you to be my brother now. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what you want, but I want to try. It’s the only regret I can’t live with.”
Dick looks close to tears. Scratch that, Jason can see them, running silently down his face. His breath just isn’t hitching and he can’t seem to decide if Jason will be more or less upset if he keeps up the eye contact, but he continues to stand outside Jason’s childhood bedroom. Waiting. Asking for permission. Asking to be let in.
“Is this your dry run of the speech you’re gonna give the kid?”
“This is the first time you’ve been in one place long enough for me to get the words out. You’ve bolted long before I had worked up the nerve to say it to you before.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’d like to.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then tell me how to prove it to you.”
Jason thinks it over. He thinks about himself, about a kid sitting on a roof and squinting at him, asking for proof. He’d known how to convince his 15 year old self. He’s not sure how to convince himself now. He wishes the dull ache in his chest would go away. That he could stop wanting people, stop remembering the familiarity they used to share, even if it wasn’t always happy.
It never stopped him, even when it should have. He would still run jobs for Willis, or get a fix for Catherine. He still tried to save Shelia. He wasn’t sure if he could survive it again. He didn’t last time.
But the part of him that he couldn’t avoid thinking about anymore, the part of him standing in his favorite room on the planet, just down the hall, felt like it was clawing through his ribcage. The part of him that would always be 15 and desperate to have an older brother, to have a family, someone who could just make the world go away for a minute. Not another fucked up parental figure, but someone else. That part of him was trying to escape himself and curl up inside the person who wouldn’t even cross the threshold of his door without permission.
“Ask me again in two weeks.”
“What?”
“Once the kid is gone, give me a week. If you’re serious.”
“I am. In two weeks, what then?”
Maybe more of his composure had cracked than he was willing to admit. Because the look he was giving Dick made the man crumple.
“I don’t know, but. I’d be willing to try.”
“Can I - please, Jason I won’t. Right now I just. Please come here. Just for a minute, please Jay.”
And maybe in two weeks Jason would be able to let him in, maybe he wouldn’t have to wait outside the door. But he knows the week he’s in for. It’s going to be long, and worse than any torture Jason’s been through so far. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to get through it.
To look a 15 year old in the eyes and send him to his death.
Jason fucking hates death magic.
So he takes a step forward, and another and another until the door is shut behind him. Until Dick has a death grip around his waist and forces Jason’s arms over his shoulders. His face is jammed right into his chest and Jason rests his own against Dick’s shoulder.
“I am so glad you’re alive, little wing.”
Jason allows himself five minutes. To memorize the sensation in a way that he wouldn’t be able to forget. Sometimes, when he would try to think back and picture Catherine, he would wish he had been able to memorize the hugs she gave him more clearly.
When he steps back, Dick’s hands spasm beneath him for a minute before seeming to remember himself and let go. He doesn’t try to wipe at his eyes and the smile he tries to give Jason is shaky. Jason doesn’t know what his face looks like. He’s not surprised when Dick’s hands brush tears from the undersides of his eyes.
He doesn’t think he can say anything else. And Dick seems to understand, because he gently turns them both in the direction of the library and walks with him until Jason’s steps are more sure.
When he turns to go in, Jason knows he’s damming himself. Because the glance he risks behind him, not quite turning back, but not not tuning back, is met with a smile he’s never seen before. One that makes his chest seize painfully because it’s full of something Jason can’t believe is still in him. That hasn’t been drowned out by the relentless wave that Jason has struggled to keep his head above. The one thing he hadn’t parted with even in his final moments.
Hope.
——
From the looks of it, the kid’s conversation with Cass had gone better than his own with Dick. He looks weary, and still a bit on edge, but he hasn’t been crying, nothings broken, no one’s yelling, and Cass has a small smile that is usually reserved for Steph on her face.
Whatever Cass can read in his own posture doesn’t seem to alter her stance, but the kid looks slightly more alarmed when he meets his eyes.
He taps his leg four times and gets a look of utter disbelief, but the subject is dropped before it’s even picked up.
“What’re you reading?”
“The Brothers Karamazov.”
Huh. Jason’s not sure what to say to that. Not without spoiling more than a book.
“Let me know if it’s any good.”
That gets him a laugh. Small, but there. And yeah, he wouldn’t believe he hadn’t read it either.
Cass looks like she’s said all she wanted to, so he sets up shop, cracks open something at random, and settles in. She briefly squeezes his shoulder, and then is gone.
It’s maybe 20 minutes before Jason hears the pages of a book not in his own hands stop turning.
“Are you sure about the four?”
One meant danger. Two meant stay alert. Three meant “safe enough.”
Four meant safe.
They’ve never used four taps for anyone. If Jason had to hazard a guess, the only person that would come close is Alfred, but he’d hadn’t shared the street code with the Bats back then, so it wouldn’t have meant anything to them.
“Yeah, Dickface wanted a quick chat. I’m not sure when he’ll try and drop by to talk to you, but I’d guess before lunch. Once he settles down a bit.”
“Cass said she’s new to learning English, that she doesn’t have much practice speaking yet. Said she reads posture better than words.”
“She gives the old man a run for his money in combat. Of all of us, she’s the best at hand to hand.”
“You didn’t try and school your posture when you came in.”
“Figured out pretty early on it’s not really worth it. And with multiple people in a room, trying to sort out all the contradictions can give her a headache. She’s never used it against us in a way we didn’t deserve, so I don’t hold it against her.”
“What did Dick want?”
“My fight with B is a bit bigger than I really wanted to concern you with. Dick wanted to talk to me before speaking with you so that I don’t complicate what he has to say to you with what he has to say to me.”
“Can we please figure out quicker whether or not there will be some sort of paradox once I’m sent back? Because I’ve been pretty good at rolling with your vague fucking answers, but I’m reaching my limit for bullshit.”
“Noted. After lunch I’ll try and get in touch with Lantern and see what the full deal is.”
“Do you want to be in here when Dick comes to talk to me?”
“Not about me kid. It’s up to you.”
“You didn’t stick around for Alfred.”
Jason doesn’t have anything to say to that. The kid’s right, it was the only break he was willing to give himself.
“You’ve done alright with him and Cass so far. Do you want me in here when Dick drops by?”
“I don’t know.”
It should surprise him more that this version of himself is giving him such direct answers. But then again, after reorienting, he supposes that out of everyone, Jason really had only trusted himself. He knew the lengths he would go to to protect himself, to stay alive. And if the kid knows he uses guns now, then maybe it really has settled in that nothing has changed except the knowledge of how far he’d really be willing to go.
“God, what is it with all of them and talking?”
Jason laughs a little at the frustration. It’s one he shares.
“One and I’ll get you out. Two and I’ll stay but Dick will leave. Three and we’ll both stay. Four and I’ll leave.”
He gets a brief nod, and then they’re both absorbed in their books for at least an hour.
He notices Dick in the doorway a full 15 seconds before the kid does. Neither startles, but he can see the kid roll his eyes from behind his book.
When he seems to catch himself with what he’s doing. He tenses.
Dick looks different from when he was 18. To Jason he’d seemed like an adult, but it’s obvious to him now that he’s a far cry from the adult he is now. He’s steadier, less volatile. Less teenage angst, more adult grief.
“Hey, Dick.”
There’s a small smile on Dick’s face and Jason tries to tell himself to focus on his book. He doesn’t succeed.
“Hey, Jason. I wanted to come and see you before lunch. It’s going to be pretty hectic and you’ll probably meet most of the new kids. But, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you at 15, and from what Jason tells me of the day you came from, I figured we should talk just between us.”
“I - you’re off world right now. Um, I left a note for B and Alfred but yeah. I kinda ran away. And, I don’t know if it’s different now because Jason said B adopted like a million people, but I did try and call you before I realized you were off world. I left a voice mail and. And maybe we’re not really brothers right now. But, I’m still sorry. I don’t know how I said it in the future, or when you got back, but -“
Jason doesn’t know what his own face is doing. But he can’t look at the kid. All he sees is Dick, who had already cried himself out earlier, get a fresh sheen of tears in his eyes.
It would have been kinder for Jason to shoot him.
The younger Jason risks a glance at Dick and then shoots Jason a look with far more panic in it than he feels equipped to handle. Jason taps three times.
Dick sucks in a long breath, trying to recenter himself under the scrutiny.
“It’s alright, little wing, I know I wasn’t a very good brother when you came to the manor. I couldn’t set aside my problems with Bruce and it wasn’t fair to you. I promise you none of that was your fault, or about you at all. You don’t have to apologize.”
There’s a look on younger Jason’s face that he’s trying and failing to school away. Of all the traits of Bruce he’s been told to have, Dick was the only one of them that ever properly managed that blank and unreadable look. Jason has always been too expressive.
It’s longing and a whole lot of distrust.
“B thinks I killed Garzonas, Dick.”
Dick does take a step forward then. Jason seems to realize that the couch he’s sitting on really is big enough for two, because he scoots over just a bit.
“B says a lot of things he regrets, little wing. I know for a fact that you didn’t kill him, that B’s wrong and it wasn’t fair of him to accuse you of that.”
“You know now maybe, but you’re not really my Dick Grayson.”
Dick takes another step forward and Jason stays perfectly still.
“Maybe not right now, but you’re still my little wing, no matter how old you are.” He shoots a wry glance at Jason. “Or how many of you there are.”
“What did you say before? Eighteen year old you?”
It’s an effort for Dick and Jason not to look at each other. To not give it away.
“By the time I got back planet side, things were different. We never really talked about it much, but I ripped B a new one when I learned what he’d said to you. It’s one of the bigger fights we’ve had actually. But I don’t think that’s really what you mean.”
“I should have told you that it wasn’t your fault. That when I was your age I wanted nothing more than to kill the man who took away my parents. That watching him walk around was an injustice I couldn’t stomach. That B had to physically restrain me and I had lectures about it for weeks before he let me anywhere near the case. I was so angry with him, with Zucco, and a part of me is still the kid that wanted him dead. That not every death is always a sad one, even if we’re not responsible for it. And I’m sorry he made you feel like he didn’t trust you because of it. You are my brother and I love you so much and it wasn’t your fault.”
Dick takes his final step towards the small couch and Jason throws himself at his brother. The brother he always wanted and could never seem to have.
“He just fell Dick, I swear I didn’t push him. And I’m glad he’s dead, he killed her and I just, I can’t believe B didn’t believe me. That he doesn’t trust me. I’m sorry I ran away, I’m sorry he fell. He said I’m not his son.”
Dick was wrapped around the younger Jason who had finally given in to the brother he’d always wanted.
Jason wonders if it would have been that easy if Dick hadn’t been in space. If he’d been able to crash at his apartment and talk this out with him before running off to Ethiopia.
But they hadn’t really been on the best terms anyways back then. Even leaving him a voicemail had felt like pushing the boundary of what Jason was allowed to ask for. At 15 he had only learned to mostly accept Alfred, and sometimes B. Dick was more of a distant idea than a real person, a tangible relationship.
When Jason tuned back into the conversation, eyes were being dried and there was a faint look sent his way. But no taps, so they were in the clear.
*I sometimes write drafts of fics in the notes section of my phone but a lot of them never get finished or are incomplete.
I’m not sure I’ll ever come back to/finish this but people are welcome to add/rewrite or do whatever with this.
#jason todd#dick grayson#cassandra cain#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#batman#dc universe#barbara gordon#i know jason is angry and has the pit rage but seriously i think there is real tragedy in looking at your past self and knowing#he’s going to die and that there’s nothing you can do to stop him from dying or change the past but to be reminded#of your own innocence and have to consign him to the same fate you had knowing he will die#and i don’t think he’d be angry i think he would be sick to his stomach at being confronted with the reality#of the fact he is still powerless even moreso maybe because it’s happening a second time or maybe it’s a closed loop and there was already#nothing he could do to stop it
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So do you guys actually think that Jason's entire story, relationship to the others, and philosophy amounts to him being a rebellious teen who wants his dad's attention? Like are you 100% serious? I thought you were joking about that but too many of you are saying it with your whole chest.
And what the fuck is this "Bruce antagonizing Jason is fanon!" Shit I've been seeing? You guys are aware that a parent can love their kid and still be a shit parent right? I know you guys don't want to fathom the thought that maybe your blorbo might also occasionally have to face responsibility for consistently endangering children but let's not start being delusional now.
Bruce does love his kids, that doesn't mean that he hasn't hurt them. And I'd also argue that for the most part he feels in the right for it, and he's said multiple times that he believes it's for their own good, so you can't even argue that he's sorry about it. It's okay for you guys to admit that your PERSONAL INTERPRETATION of the character wouldn't do that but don't sit here and pretend that it's not a facet of the source.
#you can argue meta until you're blue in the face#but I can't ignore the ingerent abuse of Batman and Robin because DC is always drawing attention to it#Stephanie and Jason directly died because of Robin#Stephanie wanted to impress Bruce to live up to his idea of a sidekick and prove her worth#Sheila only sold Jason out when she found out he was Robin#Damians life certainly got worse when he became Robin/moved with Bruce#if you bring up racist retcons I'll kill you btw#how are we supposed to read children dying and being tortured and traumatized constantly#and just ignore that these are children#I can ignore the reality of child sidekicks in campy light hearted early comics#but if DC wants to deal with serious topic they're going to have to deal with some serious implications too#Also that post that's going around about “Bruce loves Jason and it's Jason who's causing all the animosity” is such bullshit#what the fuck are you even talking about#and let's not act like Jason is the ONLY one at fault and Bruce is just a poor loving father#is Bruce spreading that utter bullshit about Jason's death and who he was not an act of violence?#was he not the one to cast the first stone by disgracing Jason's legacy and using a version of him that never existed as a cautionary tale#and I know some of you are going to argue that with most of the kids there's nothing Bruce could have done to stop them#and this is the one time in which I will ignore all the very real ways that he could have#but I still think that in universe the characters have a right to be angry about it#Jason always since his debut as red hood been a vehicle for calling out Bruce#he's so heavily steeped in meta narrative because his run is when they started dealing with the real BAD cases#The Cult Garzonas onscreen murders were getting more common#AND NO ONE CAN CONVINCE ME THAT BEING ROBIN DIDN'T MAKE JASON'S LIFE WORSE#THERE WAS NO REASON TO MAKE HIM ROBIN HE COULD HAVE BEEN VERY HAPPY AS JUST A NORMAL KID#But Bruce made having a place in his home synonymous with being Robin because the narrative dictated it had to be#what was homeless orphan Jason going to do? say no?#it was basically coercion and it doomed him and he has every right to blame the adult that put him in that position#dc#bruce wayne critical#bat family
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