#just like jason but this one is never coming back

[pluckyredhead]

Do you think Dick has a favourite brother?

I LOVE THIS QUESTION. I'M GOING TO ANSWER IT AT UNNECESSARY LENGTH.

But for the tl;dr crowd: yes, 1000000%. It's Damian. Dick would not admit this under pain of death, even to himself, but it's Damian.

THE LONG VERSION:

So Dick and Jason are not close and never have been. I always sort of blink in bewilderment when people say they are, or were when Jason was Robin, because they are demonstrably not, and that's what's interesting and tragic about them.

The fact of the matter is that Dick simply wasn't around very much when Jason was Robin. The Doyleist reason for this is that he wasn't really being treated like a Bat character: he was a Titans character, appearing in Titans books, with only the occasional cameo in Batbooks. He and Jason get along very well in Jason's first origin story (when Jason was a circus acrobat and his parents were eaten by crocodiles); in fact, Dick tells Bruce he wants to adopt Jason and Bruce is like "Not if I adopt him first!" But after that, Dick simply...wasn't there very often.

If you need a Watsonian reason for this, it's pretty easy to extrapolate one. Dick and Bruce were not getting along well during this period, so of course Dick would avoid Bruce and Gotham. And yeah, I think it's fair to assume Dick felt some kind of complicated feelings about Bruce having a new Robin, especially post-Crisis when Bruce made Jason Robin without Dick having any say or even a warning that it was going to happen. I tend to headcanon that he resented Jason a little, but was mature enough to know that it wasn't actually Jason's fault, and partially decided to stay away so that he didn't take that out on Jason. But Jason, a smart and sensitive kid, interpreted this as Dick avoiding him because he didn't like him.

And then Jason died.

Dick took that hard, and I think it was less "my brother who I had a close relationship with died" and more "this child followed in my footsteps and it killed him and I wasn't even there for him when I had the chance." To me, that absolutely forms the subtext of the relationship he develops with Tim.

Not at the start. At the start, once "A Lonely Place of Dying" is over, he's as checked out with Tim as he was with Jason. The Doyleist reason is the same - Dick literally just wasn't supposed to be in Batbooks too much - but the way it plays out is sometimes really funny in an awful way. Like in and just after Knightfall, when Bruce gets his back broken by Bane and is like "I've known Jean-Paul Valley for two weeks and he barely has any training, most of it done by my extremely new 13-year-old Robin...I think I'll make him Batman." And then Tim's dad and Tim's dad's doctor, Shondra Kinsolving, get kidnapped, and since Bruce has been aggressively romantically pursuing Shondra to the point of it being uncomfortable and inappropriate, he's like "Okay going to rescue Shondra! I mean, your dad! I'm taking Alfred with me! Tim, you're in charge of Gotham and Jean-Paul byeeeeee!" And then JPV immediately gets unhinged and violent and tries to kill Tim and Tim keeps calling Alfred like "Um can you please come back and help" and Alfred's like "No" and Tim's like "Okay well did you at least rescue my dad?" and Alfred's like "Also no." Anyway Dick finally comes to Gotham and Tim is like "THANK GOD, HELP, BRUCE MADE AZRAEL BATMAN AND HE'S TRYING TO KILL EVERYONE, I NEED AN ADULT" and Dick is like "He made someone who isn't me Batman??? 😡😡😡" and then just...fucks off back to New York and leaves Tim to deal with it. Very out of character, VERY funny.

BUT ANYWAY. Then we get to around 1996 and 1. Dick is no longer on the Titans which has a whole new lineup and 2. there's an editorial shift emphasizing the Batfamily. This is where the line really expands: Robin (started in 1993, but still pretty new), Nightwing, Birds of Prey, Azrael, eventually Gotham Knights in 1999 and Batgirl in 2000. Dick moves to Bludhaven and spends way more time in Gotham.

This is when Dick looks at Tim, says "Is anyone gonna big brother that?" and doesn't wait for an answer. All of a sudden he's behaving in a way that suddenly feels in character for him (although the idea of Dick as a big brother/mentor...really wasn't a thing for him prior to this era, so it's more of a new development that feels correct in retrospect). He's training Tim, he's giving him advice, he's teasing him about girls, he's coming up with inside jokes, he's giving him noogies. It's like he watched a bunch of 80s sitcoms to learn how to be a big brother and applied his research accordingly.

And Tim? Tim absolutely blossoms under the attention. Tim, who has been adultified by every other adult in his life since he was, like, eight, is getting treated like a kid. Tim, whose parents are never around, and don't pay attention when they are around, has an adult he looks up to who wants to spend time with him, for fun. Tim, who has hero worshipped Dick Grayson since he was...well, according to the math, he was one (1) year old so let's ignore the math, but he was small, is now basking in the full force of Dick Grayson's off-the-charts charisma. This is the best thing that has ever happened to Tim. This is the dream.

I want to be clear here: I think Dick's extreme reversal here is a delayed reaction to Jason's death, but I don't want to imply that he doesn't care about Tim as an individual. He loves Tim as much as Tim loves him. Tim's good opinion is incredibly important to him. This relationship goes both ways.

Annnnd then both of their lives fall apart extremely rapidly, and Damian shows up, and Bruce dies. And Dick tries to get out of it, but ultimately it ends how it has to: with him accepting the mantle of Batman, and responsibility for Damian.

The relationship Dick has with Damian is nothing like the relationship Dick has with Tim. Tim is his little bro. Damian is his baby. He's fourteen years older than Damian and as much of a parent figure as a sibling figure. And Damian is difficult and exhausting but Dick slowly, slowly coaxes a degree of trust and affection out of him that even Bruce will never achieve. And he can only do that by making Damian Robin, which means Tim has to stop being Robin.

This is where Dick and Tim fall apart, because what they need in this very vulnerable moment is so diametrically opposed, and neither of them are wrong. To Dick, asking Tim to step down - or up, from Dick's perspective - from being Robin is a compliment. Dick fought to free himself from Bruce, to become his own man with his own name, and so asking Tim to do the same thing is a show of faith in Tim, in his skills and experience.

Whereas Tim's hero-worship has always been for Robin, not Batman, and every glimpse he has had of a future beyond Robin has always been a dystopia. But more importantly, Tim has just lost his father, his stepmother, his mentor, his girlfriend, and his two best friends. He desperately needs to be able to lean on Dick, the grown-up he admires the most, and instead, Dick is kicking him out of the nest.

In other words: Dick is saying, with all the love and trust in his heart, "I need you to help me by being a fellow adult." And Tim is saying, with all the love and trust in his heart, "But I need you to be my adult." And they both get a no.

This is water under the bridge now, and they've healed even though they've never really talked it through because Bats don't do that (although what I wouldn't give for a Nightwing/Red Robin miniseries where they do everything but talk about it). But I do think Tim looks at the closeness and affection between Dick and Damian and feels some kind of way about it to this day, because it's so clear to everyone that Damian is Dick's favorite...but Tim remembers when he was Dick's favorite. And what Tim doesn't see is that Dick values him as a genuine partner in a way he will never quite achieve with Damian, because to him, Damian will always be his baby, even more so than he is Bruce's. (Dick is Bruce's baby, actually, not Damian. In this essay I will...)

(I could see a really interesting dynamic developing between Jason and Tim here, as the ones on the outside of that mutual appreciation society, but sadly the comics have never gone there. Alas.)

Finally, I think the relationship between Dick and Duke is very much "I just work here." Like, Dick is grown, he's out of the house, he's largely matured past the Bat-drama. He likes Duke but he doesn't feel the compulsion to brother him the way he did with Tim, and Duke doesn't need the mother henning Damian did.

IN CONCLUSION, and hooboy, sorry anon, most of this wasn't at all the question you asked:

Duke and Dick get along fine but aren't particularly close.

Damian is Dick's precious baby and always will be, even when Damian is an adult and annoyed by this treatment (but privately kind of loves it because he is a princess at heart).

Tim is Dick's buddy, his pal, his equal. If Dick were ever going to talk something through with a sibling, it would be Tim. (But that would require Dick admitting that everything isn't perfect or asking for help, so it'll never happen.)

Jason and Dick can't be in a room together for five minutes without fighting and Dick finds him wildly frustrating, but they will throw down for each other. When they aren't punching each other.

(And to answer the corollary: Damian's favorite brother is Dick. Tim's favorite brother is also Dick. Duke's favorite brother is Tim by default, since he doesn't know Dick very well and Jason and Damian are both too annoying, but really he's closest with Cass. Jason's favorite brother is Ace and he has communicated that often and loudly (but really it's probably also Dick).)

[deadrobinthoughts]

†  marry me : various.

♦ request: drafted request ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: none

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

The morning is soft and golden, a lazy warmth curling between you like something that belongs here. The city hums beyond the window, the muffled sounds of Gotham waking, but neither of you are in a hurry to move. Dick is half-asleep, one arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a quiet comfort. His fingers skim slow, absentminded circles against your back, the kind of casual, easy touch that only comes from years of knowing someone by heart.

You’re not thinking when you say it. It isn’t planned, isn’t something heavy or serious, just a thought spoken aloud in the quiet. "We should get married."

For a moment, he doesn’t react. There’s a slight hitch in his breathing, a fraction of stillness in the way his hand stills against you. And then, carefully, deliberately, he opens his eyes. They are softer in the morning, deep blue and a little dazed from sleep, but there’s something else there now, something awake, something searching.

"You think so?" His voice is quiet, hoarse from sleep, but not teasing.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to look at him properly, brushing the edge of his jaw with your fingertips. "Yeah," you murmur. "It just makes sense, doesn’t it?"

Something in his expression cracks. Because it does. Because of course it does. Because there is no version of his future where you are not in it, no reality he would ever want where you are not the person he wakes up beside.

For all his life, Dick has been good at keeping people at arm’s length, at making things light and easy, never too serious. But this? This is real. And he wants it. He has always wanted it. And now, you’re giving it to him like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

The night is still clinging to him - bruised knuckles, adrenaline still lingering in his bloodstream, the sharp scent of leather and gunpowder thick in the air. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, methodically wrapping a fresh bandage around his wrist, the movements sharp and precise, muscle memory at this point. He doesn’t look up when you step in, doesn’t acknowledge your presence, but he doesn’t have to. He knows you’re there.

You kneel in front of him, settle between his legs with careful ease, reaching for his hands before he can pull them away. Your fingers ghost over raw skin, over the places that have been broken and healed more times than you can count. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the tension in him, coiled tight beneath the surface.

"If I ask, will you run?" Your voice is quiet, but there is no hesitation in it.

Jason stills.

His breath goes uneven, his pulse kicking sharp beneath your fingertips, but he doesn’t move. His eyes flicker over your face, searching for something - for the joke, for the out, for a reason to pretend that this is not what it is.

"You don’t want that," he says finally, his voice rough, something uneven in the way it lands between you. "Not with me."

You tilt your head, your grip on his hands tightening just slightly. "Says who?"

He exhales, slow and sharp, fingers twitching around yours. "Says me."

You let the silence settle, let him sit in it, feel it, face it. And then, finally, you murmur, "I know it's a surprise, but you aren't always right."

For a moment, Jason doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know how to hold it, how to believe it. But you don’t let go. And he realizes, maybe for the first time, that you aren’t asking him to prove himself.

You’re just asking him to stay.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

The loft is dim, the only light coming from the pale glow of Tim’s monitors, the familiar hum of a dozen open tabs filling the silence. He’s at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, head buried in another night of chasing something only he can see. You’re curled up on the couch, watching him in quiet amusement, because for all his brilliance, Tim Drake is painfully oblivious to his own needs.

So you say it.

Not seriously. Not carefully. Just casually, tossed out like an afterthought, meant to be nothing.

"We should get married."

Tim freezes.

Completely, utterly freezes.

You glance up from your phone, biting back a laugh at the way he’s suddenly locked in place, fingers hovering mid-typing, his entire system short-circuiting before your eyes.

"Wait, what?" His voice is flat, stunned, like he just took psychic damage.

"You should have seen your face just now." You grin, stretching lazily. "Classic."

For a long moment, he says nothing. Just stares at you, mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to piece together whether this is real or a glitch in the matrix.

And then -

"Do you mean it?"

And oh.

Because now, he’s thinking about it. Now he’s looking at you like he’s considering it. Like it’s something he could have. Something he wants.

And suddenly, maybe you do mean it.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

You say it to mess with him.

Because Damian is always composed, always measured, always so damn serious. You love to push him, to test the boundaries of that unreadable mask, to see how much he will let you get away with.

So you wait for a moment when he’s distracted—seated at his desk, sketching in his notebook, utterly unaware of you watching him.

"We should get married."

There is a pause.

And then - slowly, carefully - he sets the pencil down.

When he turns to face you, his green eyes are quiet, unreadable.

"I do not jest about such things."

And oh.

Because you were joking.

But he isn’t.

Damian Wayne does not love lightly. He does not give what he is not willing to keep. And now, you have said something that cannot be undone.

Because if you mean this - if you are asking for this - then you are asking for something he will give you completely.

And suddenly-

Maybe you do mean it.

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

It isn’t meant to be a heavy moment. It isn’t planned, isn’t some great declaration, isn’t anything more than an absentminded thought spoken aloud as you lean against the kitchen counter, sipping your coffee in the dim light of early morning.

"You should marry me."

Your voice is light, teasing, barely breaking the quiet between you. It isn’t meant to change anything.

But Bruce stops.

He was flipping through the morning paper, reading one of the latest Gotham articles, already half-distracted by the weight of the day ahead. But now, he isn’t turning the page.

His grip on the paper tightens slightly, jaw locking, but he doesn’t move.

"What did you just say?"

His voice is low, measured, as if he’s giving you a chance to take it back. As if he’s not sure if he heard you right, or if he’s already started imagining what it would be like if you meant it.

You blink at him, sipping your coffee. "I said.. you should marry me."

Silence.

And now he’s looking at you.

Not a passing glance. Not something brief. A full, steady gaze, like you just spoke something into existence that he cannot ignore.

Because Bruce Wayne does not let himself want.

Not like this.

Not out loud.

And now, you’ve given him something to want.

And if you don’t take it back - he will never let you go.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 —

Cass has always been careful with words.

Not because she doesn’t feel them - but because she feels too much.

And so, when you say it, when you look at her like it’s the simplest thing in the world, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

"We should get married."

You say it softly, the weight of it sinking between you as you sit together on the rooftop, watching the lights of Gotham flicker below. The wind moves through her hair, strands catching the glow of the neon skyline, and for a long moment, she doesn’t speak.

She just watches you.

Not with shock. Not with hesitation. With something deep and unreadable.

"Forever?"

It isn’t a rejection.

It isn’t fear.

It is a question.

Because Cassandra Cain knows how to be a weapon, how to be a shadow, how to exist in the spaces between people without ever truly belonging.

But she does not know how to be someone’s forever.

And yet - you are offering it to her now.

And if you mean it-

Then maybe she can learn.

𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 —

You don’t plan it.

You don’t think before you say it.

It’s late, too late, and you’ve both been running on fumes, coming back from a long night in the Narrows, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones. Duke is sitting on the fire escape outside his apartment, one foot resting against the metal railing, head tilted back against the brick wall, eyes closed but not asleep.

And you say it before you can stop yourself.

"We should totally get married."

Duke snorts.

Not because he doesn’t care, not because he’s laughing at you, but because he thinks you’re joking.

And then - he realizes you aren’t.

He opens his eyes, head turning slightly, gaze sharp beneath the glow of the streetlights.

"Are you serious?"

The way he says it - it’s not doubtful. Not hesitant. Just quiet, cautious, like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Because Duke Thomas has never been the guy people stay for.

Has never been the person someone chooses in the end.

But now, you are looking at him like he is something worth choosing.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

Because if you’re serious - if you really mean it - then he’s already yours.

𝐑𝐨𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐫 — ( bonus )

It happens like a punch to the gut.

Not a soft moment. Not a sweet, dreamy confession. Not a candlelit dinner with an open velvet box.

It happens because Roy Harper doesn’t know how to accept good things without bracing for the pain that comes after.

It happens because you don’t know how to love him halfway.

"We should get married."

You don’t say it softly. You don’t hesitate, don’t cushion the words with humor or give him an easy way out. You just say it, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s obvious, like it’s already been decided and the only thing left is for him to realize it.

And Roy-

Roy doesn’t know how to breathe.

You had been watching him for a while, watching the way he kept his distance without actually leaving, watching the way he smiled like it didn’t hurt, watching the way he always stood on the edge of something without ever stepping forward.

Because Roy Harper does not let himself want things.

Not things like this.

Not things that last.

Not when everything he has ever held onto has slipped through his fingers, burned to ash, or walked away before he could even start to hope.

But now - you are here.

And you are not leaving.

And now, you have said something he doesn’t know how to hold.

So he does what he always does.

He laughs.

A short, sharp breath, more exhale than amusement, because that’s the only way he knows how to deal with things that make his chest ache. He shakes his head, leans back against the kitchen counter, tries to play it off the way he plays off everything that matters too much.

"You know, most people ease into this kind of thing," he says, smirking like it doesn’t hurt, like it doesn’t feel like you just took a knife and pressed it gently against his ribs. "What, no romantic speech? No getting down on one knee?"

But you don’t let him run.

You step closer.

And Roy - Roy flinches. Not physically, not in a way that anyone else would notice, but inside, deep in his ribs, in the part of himself that always expects love to come with conditions.

"Roy." Your voice is steady, grounding. "You know I don’t need all that."

And that’s the worst part.

Because you don’t.

Because you have never asked him to be anything other than what he is.

Because you don’t want the cleaned-up version of him.

Because you want him, just as he is.

And that terrifies him.

Because if you really mean it - if you really want this — then that means you think he’s someone worth staying for.

And Roy Harper has never been someone people stay for.

His mouth feels dry.

His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body locked in that instinctual urge to move, to step back, to put space between himself and whatever this is before it can sink too deep.

But he doesn’t.

Not this time.

Because you are still looking at him like this isn’t a mistake.

And for the first time in his life - he lets himself think about it.

Not the loss.

Not the inevitable heartbreak he always expects.

Not the way people always leave.

Just this.

Just you.

And maybe - just maybe - that’s enough.

[vacate-et-scire]

*̩̩̥͙　-Your Tears Kill Me-ˏˋ⋆

Jason has seen you cry before.

A misty-eyed sniffle when you watched a sad movie. A few stray tears when you laughed too hard. That one time you got frustrated over something stupid and wiped your eyes before you even realized you were crying.

But this? This is different.

You’re sobbing.

Not quiet, not composed. It’s ugly, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking—the kind of crying that makes your whole body tremble, the kind that says this isn’t about one bad day, or even one bad week.

This is everything crashing down at once.

And Jason doesn’t know what to do.

He just stands there, stiff as a board, watching as you clutch your arms around yourself, shoulders shaking, breath hitching violently between sobs. You’re trying to talk—he can tell—but all that comes out are broken, gasping hiccups.

His heart clenches, because fuck, did he—?

"Hey, hey—" He steps forward, hands hovering awkwardly. "What happened? Did I—? Shit, did I say something?"

You shake your head wildly, but it does nothing to stop the tears.

Jason curses under his breath. "Then what? Talk to me, sweetheart."

But you can’t. Not yet. You’re still unraveling, like a dam finally bursting after holding back years of pressure. And Jason—who’s so good at fixing things with his hands, with his weapons, with sharp words and sharp instincts—doesn’t know how to fix this.

So he does the only thing he can.

He pulls you in.

You collapse against him like you were waiting for it, hands fisting into his shirt, your weight pressing into him like you’re afraid he’ll let go. He won’t. He won’t.

"Shh," he murmurs, running a hand over your back, his touch uncertain but there. "I got you. You’re okay."

You shake your head again against his chest, a choked noise escaping your throat. "I’m not."

Jason’s breath stutters.

Because he knows what it’s like to believe that—to feel like no matter how many times someone tells you you’re okay, you never are. And knowing you—someone who always smiles, always finds the light in things, always keeps going—are feeling that way?

It guts him.

"Fuck," he breathes, tightening his arms around you. "I—" He swallows hard. "I don’t know what to say, babe. I don’t know how to make this better. But I’m here. Okay? I’m right here."

You just sob.

And Jason? Jason just holds you through it. Through the shaking, through the gasping, through the way your fingers clutch at him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He wishes he had the right words, wishes he could take whatever weight you’ve been carrying and break it over his knee like he does to every bastard who deserves it. But he can’t.

So he stays. He holds you, rocks you gently, presses kisses into your hair, murmurs reassurances even if he’s not sure they help.

And eventually, eventually, the sobs quiet. Your breathing evens out. Your grip on his shirt loosens, just a little.

Jason leans down, voice soft. "You back with me?"

You nod weakly.

"Yeah?"

A sniff. A small, fragile, "Yeah."

Jason lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "Good." He presses his lips against your forehead. "Now, you wanna tell me what’s going on, or you wanna just sit here for a while?"

You don’t answer right away. But you don’t pull away, either.

And that’s enough.

So Jason stays. He holds you tighter, presses another kiss into your hair, and lets you breathe.

Because if you ever start breaking again, he’ll be right here to catch the pieces.

Every damn time.

[prlssprfctn]

AU, where Priest!Jason Todd keeps receiving random quests from the alternative universe, who are very, very persistent on getting his advice.

At some point, Jason stops getting surprised by the absolute unexplainable events in his hometown. He died and came back — so, what are some guests from the other realities for him? Absolutely nothing. He already helped that girl once, Traci. She also appeared out of nowhere.

And Jason... well, Father Jason is all about helping people, not asking questions.

That's why, when he sees a strange flash of light outside the church and hears heavy steps, coming closer to the confessional, he makes sure not to be too curious. Curiousity leads people to wrong paths sometimes.

'Jason?' The low, rumbling voice asks.

It reminds him of Thomas Wayne's a little but softer.

Thomas is not necessarily his friend, but they smoke sometimes together since Jason once accidentally found bleeding out Batman at the stairs leading to his church. He is a nice man.

'You shall call me Father Todd,' Jason fixes the guest methodically. 'How can I help you, my child?'

The man lets out a soft, amused laughter, and Jason hears him dragging his heavy body inside the booth before plopping on the cold, wooden seat.

'I am not here to confess,' the man warns. 'But I might need an advice.'

'An ask for help is also a confession in a way; sometimes, a bolder one,' Jason replies. 'I will do my best to guide you, my child. Tell me more about the issue you are facing.'

'I... I have a son,' the man starts slowly. 'I hurt him a lot in the past. And I don't know how to fix this.'

Jason hums, encouraging him to continue. They talk for the rest of the night. The mysterious guest leaves pleased.

In a week after that, another guest drops by. This time, it is a young man who keeps tapping his feet nervously and persistently cracks jokes straight until Jason gently tells him to lay on him all his burdens. This makes him snap and break down crying. Richard — or so he calls himself — never asks for advice, but he confesses in all things he had done; and then for things he didn't. Jason hears him out, reassuring that half of those wasn't even his fault, and they pray together that night through the thin wall dividing them. Richard tells him that it was a while he felt himself this free before leaving. Jason never hears from him again.

A seemingly young boy visits next. He is amused for the most of the time, but Jason still patiently talks him through the casualties of ceremonies like this, deciding not to get mad at a teenager — he was no better at that age. Somewhere in between long pauses and questions, Timothy suddenly starts talking quietly about his parents; about how they were religious, but he never understood their faith. Not really.

He says he misses him, and he wishes he could turn time back to agree on following his mom in the church in these rare days they were not working. They sit together for a while, and Jason allows him to reminisce about his parents. Tim leaves, thanking him for being heard.

Jason accepts a few more strange quests. A kid with the vocabulary of an ancient creature that admits that he is not even Christian — Jason still offers him an ear telling him it doesn’t matter; not when a child of God needs advice — a silent girl that speaks in short sentences and asks how to get rid of regret and guilt following her around for years, and then, a total opposite one: a blabbering and giggling girl that ends up talking with him about her mom. He swears, at some point Duke, the kid from Narrows that he has over with his family on Sundays, visits him too; just, somehow, an older one. Even that doesn't cause Father Todd to ask questions.

...Not until someone enters the confessional with a strange, animal-like cautiousness.

'So, you are the one they visit all the time, huh?' The stranger comments, his voice... his voice surprisingly familiar. 'Father Todd.'

If there is a slight mocking intonation in the low voice, then Jason prefers to ignore it.

'That would be me, yes. How can I help you, my child?'

'Well, well, Father Todd... Riddle me this...'

The more the unknown boy speaks, the more nauseous Jason feels. He knows this story; he remembers finding Catherine dead, he remembers stealing tires — and even though the boy by the other side found a family, while he didn’t, the death and reborn he speaks about, is still something Jason relates to.

For the first time since he started to get strange visitors, Jason indulges himself — he allows curiosity to take over.

The visitor is in the middle of casually, almost intentionally so, retelling how he woke up in the casket, when Jason walks out of his part of booth, and unceremoniously opens the opposite side of it, facing a boy in the red armour. He hugs a big, intimidating helmet, and when their eyes meet, Jason freezes, despite knowing an answer all along.

It is him. Of course, it is him.

'Jesus fucking Christ, ruining the very little privacy this place has, in our Catholic house?' The other Jason mocks him, leaning slightly forward. 'I expected more from us. I am hurt.'

Father Todd just sighs.

Nothing could ever prepare him for needing to... accept a confession from himself. Yet, he is here, staring at the scruffy youth with a wolf-like smile who is so obviously lost behind all these fake bravado that it hurts.

'Behave,' he purses lips in a thin line before closing the door in his face again.

He doesn't need to see to know that a surprised expression touched his sharp features.

Jason makes his way back to his side of confessional, and clears up his throat again.

'I apologise. Please, you shall resume your story.'

The other Jason is silent for a while. He thinks the boy might leave — they had it in themselves, after all; leaving when being met with an unexpected touch of gentleness from others, instead of rage — but then, he doesn't.

His voice lacks all mockery and amusement when he speaks up again, the words lacing in a tale of sorrow and regrets.

And Father Todd... answers, of course. He is not here to ask questions, after all. He is all about helping people.

And who, if not Jason Todd, knows that there is no one but higher forces and themselves, who can help them through their toughest times?

[sanjisprincesss]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Dating Headcanons

*ೃ༄ Bat Family x GN!Reader

ׂ╰┈➤ Dick Grayson x Reader, Jason Todd x Reader, Tim Drake x Reader, Bruce Wayne x Reader, Wally West x Reader, Stephenie Brown x Reader.

·˚ ༘ Content warning- Fluff Fluff and more fluff no warning needed.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

♡︎ Supportive and Playful: Dick is the kind of partner who makes you feel seen and valued. He’s always there to support your goals, whether it’s something big like a career change or something small like a new hobby. He’s the first to cheer you on and the first to offer help if you need it. Expect a lot of encouraging texts, sweet notes, and spontaneous surprise dates.

♡︎ Playful and Teasing: Dick loves to tease you in the most affectionate ways. He’ll make fun of your little quirks (like that habit you have of always forgetting where you put your keys), but it’s always with a playful smile and a wink. He knows how to make you laugh and lighten the mood, even in tense moments. And when you’re out in public, he’s not afraid to show affection, whether it’s holding your hand or leaning in for a quick kiss.

♡︎ Romantic Gestures: Dick is the type of person to plan spontaneous date nights, even if it’s just picking up your favorite food and watching a movie at home. He enjoys the little things that make you feel loved—like waking up early to make you coffee or sending you cute messages during the day.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Jason Todd (Red Hood)

♡︎ Protective and Intense: Jason can be a little intense, especially when it comes to protecting you. He’ll never admit it, but he’s constantly worried about your safety, especially in Gotham. He’s the one who’ll always check in with you, even if you’re just going out with friends. It’s his way of making sure you’re safe without hovering too much. Jason can be very serious, but when it comes to you, there’s a soft side that shows up when you least expect it.

♡︎ Passionate and Loyal: Jason is incredibly loyal, and when he’s in a relationship, he’s all in. He doesn’t do things halfway. He’ll make it clear that you’re his and no one else’s. He’s not the type to hide his feelings, and you’ll know when he’s frustrated or upset, but he’ll also go to great lengths to make things right.

♡︎ Tender Moments: Though Jason has a tough exterior, he’ll surprise you with his tenderness in private moments. He’ll open up about his past or his thoughts in ways that he doesn’t with anyone else. He’ll hold you close when you need comfort and always make sure you feel safe in his arms. Expect surprise cuddles after a long, hard day, or him running his fingers through your hair while you’re relaxing together.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Tim Drake (Red Robin)

♡︎ Thoughtful and Supportive: Tim is incredibly thoughtful. He’ll remember the smallest details about you, like your favorite flavor of ice cream or your preferred way of drinking coffee. He’s the kind of partner who goes out of his way to make you feel understood. Expect lots of little gestures—he might buy you something you casually mentioned weeks ago or make you a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

♡︎ Low-Key but Affectionate: Tim doesn’t necessarily show his affection with grand gestures, but in his own subtle way, he makes it clear how much he cares. He’ll hold your hand during walks or gently place his hand on your back as he guides you through a crowd. His affection comes through in quiet, meaningful ways, and even in the midst of chaos, he’ll always prioritize spending quality time with you.

♡︎ Honest Conversations: Tim values open and honest communication. If something’s on his mind, he won’t shy away from talking it out with you, even if it’s uncomfortable. He’ll be the first to apologize if he thinks he’s wrong, and he’ll always be there to listen to you when you need to talk.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Bruce Wayne (Batman)

♡︎ Mysterious and Reserved: Bruce’s love language is subtle, and he tends to show his affection through actions more than words. He’s not one for grand declarations or over-the-top romantic gestures, but his loyalty and care for you are unwavering. He’ll ensure you’re taken care of in ways you might not even realize, like checking that your favorite book is in stock or arranging for you to have some time off when you’re stressed.

♡︎ Protective and Caring: Bruce can’t help but want to protect you. He might be distant at times, especially when his work takes over, but he always makes sure you’re safe. He’ll check in on you when you least expect it, just to make sure you’re okay. When you’re with him, he’ll always keep an eye on your safety, whether it’s walking you home or ensuring your surroundings are secure.

♡︎ Quiet Moments: Bruce isn’t the most outwardly affectionate person, but when he’s with you, he lets his guard down just a little. He enjoys quiet moments—whether it’s sitting in the Batcave while you help him with a case or sharing a meal in silence. It’s his way of saying, “I trust you,” without words.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Wally West (The Flash)

♡︎ Playful and Spontaneous: Wally is the kind of partner who keeps things exciting and fun. He’s always coming up with new and spontaneous dates, from surprise trips to the beach to random ice cream runs in the middle of the night. He knows how to make you laugh and bring out your playful side, often pulling pranks or making silly jokes just to get you to smile.

♡︎ Affectionate and Open: Wally is incredibly affectionate, and he has no problem showing it. He’ll hold your hand in public, kiss your cheek randomly, or surprise you with a bear hug when you least expect it. His love for you is clear in the way he treats you with kindness and warmth.

♡︎ Always Makes You Feel Special: Wally is great at making you feel special, no matter the occasion. Whether it’s remembering your favorite snack or surprising you with a small thoughtful gift, he knows exactly how to make you feel appreciated. He’ll always make time for you, no matter how busy he is, and he’ll always find ways to remind you that you matter to him

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Stephenie Brown (Spoiler)

♡︎ Playful and Fun: Stephanie keeps things light and fun in the relationship. She’s always making you laugh, even when things get tough. She’s not afraid to act goofy, and she loves to make your days a little brighter with her antics. Whether it’s planning a spontaneous date or sending silly texts, she keeps you entertained.

♡︎ Caring and Thoughtful: Stephanie may be goofy, but she’s also deeply caring. She’ll always check in with you when you need support, and she’s a great listener. If you’re upset, she’ll make sure you feel heard and comforted, often with a comforting touch or a silly joke to cheer you up.

♡︎ Romantic in Her Own Way: While she may not do grand gestures, Stephanie will surprise you with small romantic moments that are meaningful. Whether it’s buying you your favorite dessert or leaving you a cute note

©Sanjisprincess ||| do not copy or translate my work.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyyy, So not much to say just felt like making this lol }~

•Soul Watcher•

Jason was getting real sick of dealing with cults.

Ok wait let’s back up a bit, So Jason and the bats don’t have to deal with cults in Gotham all to much like only a one or two a year and when they did happened someone else could find them before the cult could really do anything.

But unluckily right now he and the bats were fighting off cultists in a warehouse while trying to get to where some other cultist are in a circle chanting, the reason for them being this late and not stopping the cult earlier is because they somehow got the bat-computer to overlook any suspicious activity from them as well as bribed some cops to get what they want.

And after 14 or so minutes with all the cultists down Jason goes over to the main guy and start to tie him up (As he can’t kill him with Bruce literally 20 steps from him) but before he can finish the guy bangs his head into the concrete floor and as result starts to bleed from his nose and yells something out but what has Jason’s attention and the rest of the bats is the Lazarus green smoke coming out of the summing circle.

Jason of course try’s to jump back, key word try’s. The smoke makes a clawed hand and grabs his ankle and pulls him into the green smoke and than everything goes black..

Jason woke up to the sound of running water and…humming?

So Jason gets up and walks towards the sounds, as he walks he looks at the black marble for the pillars and floor and how there is no sky or land just space with stars and that when he notices that the humming and running water coming from behind a thin-semi transparent fabric going from the ceiling to the floor and somewhat overlapping on itself.

Jason walks up to the fabric as quietly as possible and pushes it back a bit just enough to see what was behind it and that’s when he sees it two streams

One had pure and clean water with white pearls with a blue tint, The other one had gray water with black pearls with a green tint. the two Streams circled around each other but never touching and in the middle was what the closest thing to a nest made out of blankets and pillows.

And that’s when Jason saw the person who was in the nest thing and they saw him…Why was this reminding Jason of a book he read.���

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W were so dumb.

They thought that just because ghost were “Non-sentient” and “Dangerous” they decided to fucking NUKE THE GHOST ZONE.

You know which held all of the afterlife’s and made sure everything that was alive….you know exist so if the G.I.W planed actually worked everything would kinda just fall apart and cease to exist.

And it wouldn’t be possible to make a nuke that would actually work but with Government money and the Fentons work, they somehow actually made it and sent it through a portal the Fentons remade in a different location.

But of course you can’t nuke the Ghost Zone so it threw it back to the G.I.W and there world and with how much power they put into that fucker it did what it was supposed to…but with WAY worse consequences for the G.I.W and Fentons, So that world is a lost cause.

Now let’s go over to what Danny was doing.

He was with Clockwork discussing how he’s holding with Dan. After rehabilitating Dan Vlad gave him a clone body so he can walk around without a mass panic over him but after a VERY close call with the G.I.W where they got a lucky shot the clone body started to melt so Danny followed his (Ghost) Instincts and grabbed Dan core and shoved it in his gut.

And like a normal (well as normal you can be as a half-ghost) person Danny starts losing his shit like “Why the Fuck did I just do that?!?” And “Did I just technically eat Dan???” So after a panic attack or two Danny books it to Clockworks tower and tells him what happened and to just…help????

Well Danny is currently starting on panic attack number three Clockwork just grabs his shoulders and make him sit down on some very soft chair and after a minute or two Danny chills out a bit Clockwork explains what this means and that Danny’s essentially pregnant with Dan [“No Danny you did not eat Dan”].

And they now meet every other day just to talk and for Clockwork to explain more about being a ghost so something like this doesn’t happen again while they are talking about things they suddenly feel like the whole Ghost Zone just did something so Clockwork goes to check it out with Danny not far behind him.

And as they try to see what could have gone down and that when Danny sees one of the time string that look like it exploded and points it out to clockwork, And Clockwork looks at the string with surprise and turns to Danny after a moment with knowledge of what’s going to happen and tells Danny that this string was Danny’s home-world. [Now for The Panic Attack: Part four the musical]

After a couple weeks Danny’s mostly okay (He is pregnant he’s emotional and ghost are already extremely emotional beings and he has to deal with everything he’s ever known and lived is dead so leave him alone) and Clockwork gives him the job of Watcher Of Souls with his usual cryptic bullshit.

And now we’re here!

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The Pearls in the stream are souls of all living things.

•I headcanon that The Ghost Zone is somewhat sentient but it doesn’t have thoughts, Just Vibes

•The old Watcher just stoped caring about it and that’s how so many people got brought back from the dead and how Danny become a halfa

•Vlad is NOT a halfa, he’s just possessing his own corpse that his core is keeping looking alive but he looks very uncanny valley to humans and is very gruesome and uncomfortable for Ghost, Its half the reason Danny hated him on sight the rest is his “Rich Asshole meter” going off

•Clockwork hates the Flash family so much, He would want the Fuckers dead but he doesn’t want them to cause MORE problems for him and Danny

•Danny hangs out with Lady Gotham a lot so he knows who the bats are

•The Bat-fam are freaking the fuck out

•Danny spends a lot of time by the streams and with Dusk he wants to be comfortable so he made a nest :)

•Danny lets Jason stay in his lair until someone comes to get him

•Jason feels like he’s in one of his romance novels and he LOVES IT

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny’s Appearance•

~{ And that’s it! Sorry if this is a bit scatter brained I had to do stuff while making this lol so sorry about that anyway hope you gremlins like it until next time byeeeee }~

[indulgentdaydream]

Bliss and Misery - Pt. 2

Ex!Jason Todd x Fem!Ex!Reader || Angst; Hurt/Comfort; || Word Count: 3,447

Warnings: Accidental Injury Acquired by Romantic Partner, if you have a history of being a victim of domestic abuse, this may not be the fic for you. If you don't mind being spoiled, dm me and I'll explain what happens so you can make that decision for yourself. Not Proofread.

NEVER thought i would make a part 2 to this fic LITERALLY A YEAR AND A COUPLE DAYS LATERRR. But I received a vision and also spring is coming and I'm out of my depression and have been blasted with a ultra sonic ray of creativity.

ANYWAYS this may be slightly controversial

The night of Gotham was curling its fingers, slowly finding its way centimetre by centimetre in order to reach into the crevices of Jason's mind as he stood on a rooftop. There was a crack in his helmet from a fall earlier that night, letting a draft of cold air consistently hit his cheek, keeping him in the moment.

He couldn't get that dream out of his head. It had been days. He never remembered dreams for this long, never this clearly or vivid. Rarely ever dreams. He missed you. Missed you so damn bad that after patrol every night he would go straight to sleep to try and have that dream again. To see you. To see the life you two could've had.

The image of your last encounter entered his mind and he physically flinched. The panic in his heart and head. The hurt in your expression as you turned away with a hand over your face. The pain in his hip when he had done nothing but scramble away from you, not realizing he'd hit the edge of the bed even as he fell backwards.

Yet you had still reached for him. Called his name as he stood on shaky legs, heart pounding. He grabbed his duffle bag of gear by the foot of the bed and left. Practically ran, just like the coward he truly was. He hadn't even been fully dressed, pulling on a shirt halfway down the stairwell because the elevator would've taken too long and you might have caught up. Hadn't taken all of his things, either. Jason had had to come back the next day. Went at a time that he knew you wouldn't be home in order to grab the rest and a few other things he kept there. Then, he left the key you'd given him on the kitchen counter. He didn't even leave a note.

What could he have said? He'd written you poems before. A dozen love letters, most of which never left his desk drawer. Though, he wasn't sure how to encapsulate the surmounting shame of his actions alongside his undying love for you.

Jason shook his head. He stepped off, aiming his grappling hook and moving on. He couldn't go back to you. He kept himself from even seeing a glimpse of you.

This was keeping you safe.

That was a week ago. His dream was three days ago.

He'd move on. He'd done it from every other kind of relationship he had in his life. So what you were the best one? The best thing, period. There had been a best before you and that had gotten him dead.

----

Red Hood was fighting in an apartment. Some deadbeat who was using his apartment as a coke lab. It was minuscule, but it was a punching bag.

The man was tied up on the floor now, unconscious. Jason wiped his hands together and briefly sent notice to Oracle. He was stepping out the window and onto the fire escape that led out to a short alleyway that led straight to the street ahead of him. His motorcycle was off to the left, left between two dumpsters. He stood there for a moment, reloading his guns, listening to the various cars going by.

Then there was footsteps below, in the alley. He was only a few floors up, close enough to see everything clearly from his shadowed corner.

Two figures just below him, both male, skinny but strong-looking, walking out towards the alley entrance. Their back were to him, focused on...

You.

He recognized that pale, aged yellow diner waitress uniform before anything else. He froze, taking too long to be sure of what to do. Too focused on just the sight of you to even realize what was happening.

You'd been walking into the alley. There was no logical reason for you to do so. He knew that street was your route home from after work. But you shouldn't have been walking home anyways. You rarely worked this late. He'd always pick you up before patrol when your shift ended in the early afternoon–

Right. You wouldn't have had a ride.

You were already stepping back, hands clutching the strap of your purse across your chest, ready to go back into the open.

One man grabbed you by the arm and tugged you back. The glint of a switchblade caught the streetlamp across the road. Jason aimed and the gunshot echoed off the brick walls of each building on either side. That man fell limp to the ground beside you.

Jason saw the way your head snapped to the rooftops, looking around. Apparently, to you, that took precedence over the dead body and the puddle of blood that was about to stain your shoes.

The other man seemed to get the message. He turned on his heel, running back from where he came. Red Hood jumped down in front of him. His fist connected with the guy's face, sending him flying back, knocked out and splayed on the concrete.

"Jason?"

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice. You were a distance away.

He wanted to cry.

Your stance was timid, eyes fixed on him like he was a deer about to bolt.

He was about to bolt.

You couldn't see his expression or eyes. Couldn't see the way they fixated on your left eye, a dark, inflamed purple. He could tell from where he stood that it wasn't swollen shut, but it had been. The bruising faded up and around your nose bridge. He knew the signs. Anyone who knew them could tell it was a week old.

He tensed. He shouldn't speak to you. He wanted to hold you.

"What the hell are you doing in an alley at this time of night?" He said, his modulator adding onto the rough and harsh tone.

You blinked, taken aback by it, "I... I saw your bike." Jason looked back over his shoulder. The nose was peaking out.

He couldn't look at you. He fixated on the man he'd knocked out beside him. He bent down and grabbed him ankle. Jason turned his back to you and began to drag him away.

You spoke up again, a little more desperate, "I saw it and– and–" You huffed. "Can't we just talk? Jason!"

"I need to deal with this guy," He said, voice levelled, controlled. "This could be trafficking."

"I'm bleeding."

His whipped back so fast it made him dizzy. He dropped the guy's leg and was in front of you in three strides.

His hand went to your right elbow, where you were trying to twist to look at the back of your bicep. There was a cut from the first man's blade. Jason inspected it closely. The blood was dripping down your arm, staining the white sleeve of your waitress dress.

You tilted your face to his, hidden by his helmet, as if you were trying to see through it. He kept his head lowered, focused his eyes on your arm as if you'd be able to see if his eyes flickered to yours.

He realized his thumb was gently stroking the side of your elbow, a habit he'd always had as an attempt to soothe you. His chanced a look at your face and felt his stomach churn.

The bruise looked worst than he'd initially thought. The edges that had begun to heal were a sickly yellow. The blood vessels in your eyes had burst, causing your sclera to now be an slightly opaque pink. The swelling was still quite a bit, and it looked painful. He knew it was painful. He'd had plenty of black eyes in his time.

He took his hand away and took a few steps back, avoiding your gaze again. He shouldn't be touching you. He shouldn't be anywhere near you.

"You know how to treat it," He was already half turned away. "Go straight home, stay on the main streets."

You stepped towards him again, "I can't reach it. I'll need help."

His back was to you, "Go to a walk-in then."

"Do you trust anyone else to take care of me other than yourself?"

He paused, head turned to side-eye over his shoulder. "You."

He didn't trust himself anymore.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

He looked at your face. Eyes trailing over that horrid bruise, the pinch of your eyebrows and the downwards pull of your lips.

How different you'd looked in that dream; so peaceful. So cozy. So beautiful. Not that you weren't in this moment. But there, you'd been at peace. You'd been safe.

It was what could have been and he'd gone and fucked it all up. He'd never even apologized.

He let out a sigh and hung his head.

"Go home. I'll..." He faltered and clenched his fists. You had a way of convincing him that never needed words. A way to melt his resolve with not heat. "I'll be there soon–"

You shot back with a tone of anger that hadn't been present until now, "Will you?".

Jason flinched, "Yes. I–" He shook in head in frustration. He shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be talking to you. But that cut was deep. You could need stitches. "Let me deal with these guys first."

You were glaring. This is how he'd originally thought their encounter would go. "If you don't come–"

"I'll be there." He said. "Go."

----

You trekked your way back to your apartment. Jason had handed you a clean cloth from his jacket for you to tie around your wound before sending you off.

It was difficult. You hadn't seen him in an entire week. Gone one night and then along with the rest of his things the next day when you'd come home. Who could blame you for wandering into an alley at the first sight of his bike? At the first hope of seeing your boyfriend after what had happened. You're fairly certain he had blocked your number.

By the time you made it to your apartment, you were shocked to see Jason already inside. He stood in your kitchen, first aid kit on the counter with everything laid out that he would need. He was readying a needle and thread.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, mostly revelling at his presence in your home again.

His helmet was gone along with his leather jacket and gloves. His hair was messy, dirty. From this angle you could tell he hadn't shaven in a few days, scraggly hairs poking out from his cheeks and jaw and awkward places.

A moment passed before he actually looked to you. He didn't meet your gaze, opting to look at the ground in front of you instead. There were bags under his eyes and his lips were dry and overly red and worried.

He looked rough.

"Jason?" You said softly. You wanted him to look at you.

He nodded to your right and looked back to the suturing thread, "Sit on the counter." There was a spot next to you that he had seemingly cleared off.

You did as he asked. He still looked ready to bolt. You couldn't take any chances.

He stepped in front of you, holding an antiseptic wipe. You let him push up your sleeve and clean off your bloody bicep. You welcomed the sting, knowing it was the price to be able to feel his gentle touch holding you again.

You were expecting him to speak first. But, with the way he purposely stayed further away than normal, the way every muscle in his body was so tense, the way he wouldn't meet your eye, and the way his lips were pulled tight that let you know he was uncomfortable, you began to lose hope.

He stepped away again, tossing the bloody wipes into your sink. He picked up the needle and walked back. His movements were mechanic.

He reached for your arm and you moved it back.

He still wouldn't look at your face. All his words were mostly mumbled, "Lemme see your arm."

You turned to hide it more, leaning closer to him, "I wanna talk first."

He leaned away, speaking a little louder "Lemme see your arm."

"I wanna talk about this, Jason."

He closed his eyes. He looked like he was in pain. He muttered your name quietly. A warning.

"It wasn't your fault!"

He spoke forcefully, "Yes. It was."

You gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned closer. "It was a nightmare! An accident!"

"I fucking punched you!"

Jason was looking at you now. But... he wasn't meeting your gaze. His eyes were only fixed on your bruise. You could tell by the way his gaze wavered, by the pain and shame that made its way to his features.

"I–" He let out a breath. The needle and thread shook in his hands. His voice was a whisper now, "I hurt you. Look at what I did to you."

"You had a nightmare," You spoke carefully now. You didn't want him running out again. You'd waited to seem him again for a week. You had thought you would have to wait longer. "You were scared–"

"Scared doesn't make that okay!" He stepped back. He seemed scared all over again. Worked up. Anxious. He hit the counter opposite you and behind him. He dropped the needle and gripped the edge of it. "I– I didn't know where I was–"

You'd gone over it so many times in your head that you'd already figured that.

You remember waking up to Jason talking in his sleep, shifting restlessly. You'd never witnessed him having a nightmare before. You didn't know what to do. You could barely even see him, your room was so dark on his side. The only light coming from your side being a soft green from the small light on your extension cord, under your desk.

He had sat up so suddenly that you had gasped a bit, but his own half-yell had swallowed it. He was leaning forward. You were sitting a bit behind him. He was scanning the room in front of him. His head was turning in an almost frantic way.

You hadn't wanted to spook him. Didn't want to make any noise as to startle him. You realized afterwards that that groggy decision may not have been the best choice.

Reaching out, you had meant to gently touch his arm. Meant to simply let him know you were there. But he had shifted to lay back down as you had done so. Your hand reaching directly for his face out of his peripheral.

He'd only acted on instinct. You know that. With the light coming from behind you, he wouldn't have been able to see your features. A shadow figure. He would have seen only after the impact. Only as your head had flown back and your face had entered the light.

Right away, you knew it wasn't on purpose. You had seen the fear on his face when he turned, fist raised. You'd seen the flurry of emotions that had come over him in his realization from between your fingers and tears that blurred your vision.

Jason stood in front of you now, on the verge of tears.

"Look at you," He repeated. "Look at what I did to you."

You wouldn't let him run away again, "I forgive you."

"Why?" He cried. "You shouldn't forgive me! I could've knocked you out! I–" His voice cracked. "I didn't know I hit you that hard."

He lowered his head to hide his tears. You slipped off the counter, but didn't move towards him. "We both made mistakes that night, Jason. I shouldn't have reached for you like that."

He shook his head, still slumped back against the counter, staring down at his feet. He sniffled and ran his palm down his face. He looked to the side, shaking his head.

You took a tentative step forward.

"You're not even safe with me..." His voice was wavering. "I can't be with you again. You shouldn't be near me ever again. I broke up with you too late. I should've done it a long time ago so this would never have happened–"

Your shoulders dropped, "We're broken up?"

Jason looked back to you, eyes filled with tears. He shrugged his shoulders, throwing a hand in the air briefly, "The note. I... I was going to leave a note with the key." He shook his head again, pressing his lips together. "I never did."

There was a moment of silence between you two. It was an understanding. He didn't truly want to let you go, but he felt like it was an obligation, now.

You take a few small steps forward until you're in front of him.

His eyes fluttered over your face. They lingered on your bruise, his lips pulling into a deep frown as he tried to hold back his tears. He lifted his hand as if to cup your face, but held it a few centimetres from your skin, holding himself back.

Your heart hurt for him, watching his inner turmoil.

"Look at what I did to you," He whispered again. "I can't even protect you from myself, baby."

"Where did you think you were?" You were curious.

He shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know."

Silence again. He dropped his hand.

"I had a dream," Jason said.

You listened intently.

"Few days ago," He sniffled, trying to collect himself. "We had a baby."

You paused, "Boy or girl?"

He shrugged, "Dunno. Had my hair. Eyes kept changing."

You nodded in understanding. You just wanted to know what was going on in his mind.

He shook his head again. Wiped a hand over his face. "They came waddling into our bedroom and you were asleep beside me and it was just... it felt good. Peaceful." He shook his head. He looked like he was going to run again. "I can't give you that life. Not if I'm going to go around swinging fists because I can't recognize you."

"It was dark."

"I knew I was in your room." He said and sighed. "Not at first. But at that point I did. I was about to reach for you, too. I didn't know you were awake."

"Exactly, Jay. You were still scared–"

"It's an excuse!" He bit back, voice cracking with emotion. "It's all excuses. I didn't even fucking write you a note, baby. Fuck–" The tears welled up again. He lowered his head and put a hand over his eyes. A silent sob wracked his body. "I told you I break everything I touch. I ruin everything I love."

Your own tears started to fill up. You gently reached up and took his wrist, pulling it away from his face.

He wouldn't look at you, fat tears rolling down his face, "Why even try and look for me? Why would you even want to?"

You swallowed, "Because I love you. And I forgive you."

A sob wracked his body. He shook his head before looking up at you. "You're crazy." He swallowed thickly. "...I love you."

He lifted his hand to your bruise again. He hesitated, but you gently took his hand and turned your face into his palm, letting him cup your cheek.

His tears fell faster, his voice raw, "I don't even know how to fix this."

"We'll work on it," You whispered. "Together."

He sobbed, "I just wanna keep you safe."

You pressed a kiss to his palm, eyelashes shiny with tears. "I know," You whisper. "But I wanna keep you safe, too. I can tell you haven't been taking care of yourself."

He shook his head, gesturing to your arm, "Can't even sew you up properly without breaking down–"

"Hey," You say softly, "It's fine. We both know it doesn't really need stitches."

Jason huffed, still worked up. "Don't deserve you."

"None of that," You meet his gaze again. "We can start slow. Maybe with going back to your therapist first? And we can get night lights."

"I feel like a child." He whispered.

"Not a child," Your thumb caressed his hand. "Just in need of a little help."

He stared at you for a moment. Then, slowly, tentatively, he tilted his head forward. He lifted his chin and placed a feather light kiss to the edge of your black eye. Then he pressed one a little firmer, letting in linger.

"I promise you I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making this up to you." He muttered.

You smiled, "We can start there, too."

This is why we don't ask Missy to make things better because she'll only make them extremely worse and then only slightly better

this was heavy. go get yourselves a treat.

[dollwhite]

Face of another

FOA fic. Made by dolling

Aunt reader chapter 4

Also this does not look like 1k words but it is I promise😭

“So auntie what is it that you’ve been doing around the world?” Damian asked his gaze fixated on you. “You know, the usual. Modeling, rich party’s, and more modeling.” You muttered. Your eyes focused on the road.

“How come you never bothered to call, or text, or send a letter?” He hissed. If you were just doing the same things you did, when you were living with his mother. How come you didn’t make time for him?

Your only nephew? What since did that make? Oh well he can answer that!

Simple, it didn’t. No matter how hard Damian tried to look at it. From different perspectives, and angles. He just couldn’t see what could possibly make you so busy?

So busy you couldn’t send one ‘good Morning’ text?

“Hun.. I just needed a well deserved break.” You confessed, pulling over the car into your apartment driveway.

“Away from your family? Grandfather also said family should never abandon family.” He uttered, his voice flat, trying to get straight to the point.

“Me and your…Mother, didn’t exactly get along.” You whispered, even just thinking about the memories with Talia were painful. “Even as we got older, she always felt… superior towards me.”

“But from my perspective, you and mother got along just fine.” From as far as Damian could remember you and Talia, always had a Solid relationship.

Even if you both had a disgment about something. At the end of the day you both put it behind eachother to get to the bigger picture.

You and Talia once had a sibling relationship, but that was when you were 12 and younger, at least that’s what Damian believes.

From the rare occasions when you told him stories about your childhood.

“Yes, from your perspective. Me and your mother knew better than to be around you, when we were arguing, our relationship only started getting better when you were born.”

With any other person, they would have just left the conversation there. But Damian? Oh he wasn’t just any other person. If he wanted to know about something, he would find out. One way or another.

“Tt, blood sisters not getting along?” Damian questioned, he’s never heard of such a ridiculous thing. Sibling argued and had sibling rivalry.

But just plan not liking each other, at all?

And by his mother and her twin. His mother, the same woman who constantly reminded him when he was growing up. That family is everything?

“Maybe we should continue this conversation later” you said, not giving him the opportunity to speak.

“What wait-you, you can’t just walk away!” He said opening his door to follow you to your apartment.

“Child, do not try and tell me what I can and cannot do” you peep him trying to get the trunk door open, so he can get his bookbag out of the trunk . he really does look exactly like Bruce and Talia, such a beautiful but sad combination.

“Tim, what did you find about her.” Bruce said, it had been only a few hours since you and Damian left. But they had wasted no time, in trying to find anything about that they could.

“Nothing other than the fact, that she models” Tim said. His voice hiding his uneasiness. Finding any information on someone from the league was hard enough. Finding info about Ra’s second ‘daughter’?

Now that was tough, even for the greatest detectives in the world.

That’s why Bruce was so quick to send Damian with you. He was Bruce’s son, sooner or later. Damian would ‘try’ and put mini car in your house.

Dick had left a little while after you, and Jason went back to his apartment to get ready for patrol.Duke is sleeping, Stephanie is doing whatever shit she does before partrol.

And Cass is already out there fighting the crimes, so really it’s just Tim and Bruce.

And Alfred with the occasional pop up with refreshments.

Maybe Bruce should’ve asked you where you lived, just so he could check up on Damian. Or…to check up on you.

And here you go again, flooding Bruce’s thoughts. It’s like he couldn’t get you off his mind no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it’s the way you look at him.

The way you look at him like he’s not Batman the greatest crime solver, like he’s not Bruce Wayne the billionaire playboy. Like he’s just him.

Like he’s human.

“Understand, you should grab something to eat before patrol.”

Tim sighed in disbelief, Bruce telling him to go to sleep? the same man who Alfred has to continually remind him to go sleep?

“Maybe you should take your own advice.” Tim hissed, he didn’t mean for his words to come out that way. It’s just this random woman, walks into the batcave.

Like she’s some close old friend of Bruce’s? And than clams to be Damian’s aunt! And Damian doesn’t even deny it.

When Tim was with the league, he hadn’t heard of Ra‘s having another daughter.

And the worst of all was, that Bruce let Damian go with this random woman. Even if Tim and demon spawn had a confusing relationship Tim still didn’t want his bother in danger.

Tim didn’t trust her. Not one bit.

“I’m sorry, da-Bruce I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” Tim said, turning around his chair to take a look a Bruce. Lightly stroking his hair.

It was a habit, he had since he was younger. It was something his old nanny did to him when he use to cry because his parents wouldn’t make it to his birthday celebrations.

Aka them parting like their lives depend on it. Sometimes even forgetting they had a child at home, most of the time they would remember when it was time to pay the nanny’s.

“It’s fine Tim, I get your just worrying about Damian. But I can reassure you, he will be fine.” Bruce said, his voice not reaching his eyes.

It was clear he was slightly paranoid about Damian too.

“How can you be so sure about that? We know nothing of her. Nothing…”

“Your brother knows how to take care of himself.”

Hopefully you guys liked thissss! 1k words but special! Because myyy bday is coming up! March 24444444

Taglist: @lazyemmy @ninihrtss @tsuniio

[novaursa]

The Golden Court (voyage of life)

- Summary: You were taken from the royal court by your father when you were a child. Now you return as a woman grown from exile. A woman that ignites fires in her wake.

- Pairing: Jason Lannister/trag!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Adult themes will progress more and more as chapters go on. This fic is pure filth and I make no apologies for it. You have been warned.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: the pyre

- Tag(s): @idenyimimdenial @scarletdfox @princesstiti14

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quieter now, the revelry of the Great Hall fading behind you, leaving only the distant hum of celebration in its wake. The halls were bathed in the dim glow of torchlight, the golden lion banners fluttering lightly as an evening draft swept through the fortress.

Jason walked at your side, his hand firm on your waist, his thumb idly stroking against your hip through the fine silk of your gown, while Tyland moved slightly ahead, ever composed, ever the one to ensure their path was clear.

The weight of the night still lingered, though Jason’s smirk had not yet faded.

“Do you think they understand yet?” he murmured, his voice carrying that same rich amusement he always bore when he was particularly pleased with himself.

Tyland did not glance back as he replied. “The lords of the Westerlands? Of course not. They’re still reeling from the lions in the cages, let alone the fact that you paraded a dragon princess through their halls.”

Jason chuckled, unbothered. “Then let them reel. Let them whisper. Let them weep to the gods that abandoned them. It changes nothing.”

You let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting your head slightly. “The Faith will not stay quiet.”

Tyland, ever the pragmatist, nodded. “They will plot. But they won’t act—at least, not yet. Not while the memory of today’s spectacle still lingers, not while Daemon remains so very present.” He paused before adding, “They’ll wait until the tides turn. And they always do.”

Jason’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his green eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Then we make sure the tides never turn against us.”

Tyland turned to his twin. “You think ruling is that simple?”

Jason grinned, wicked and self-assured. “I think it is whatever we make it. The realm will call this unnatural, a curse, an insult to the gods—but they will bend. They always do.”

Tyland did not argue, because Jason was right.

As the doors to your shared chambers opened before you, the warmth of the room enveloped you all—the glow of candlelight reflecting off the polished stone, the great bed draped in crimson and furs, the scent of spiced wine and smoldering embers curling in the air.

Jason was the first to move, his hands already reaching for the clasps of his tunic, the rich fabric falling away with practiced ease. He turned toward you, his eyes taking in the way your silk gown still clung to you, how the candlelight flickered against the pale expanse of your skin. “Come, my love. I believe we’ve worn these fine clothes long enough.”

Tyland, more controlled but no less certain, stepped closer, his fingers catching the delicate fastenings at your back, undoing them with slow, measured precision.

Jason, already bare from the waist up, smirked as he watched. “Careful, brother. Take too long, and I might think you’re hesitating.”

Tyland merely arched a brow, his fingers never faltering. “Unlike you, as always, I enjoy patience.”

Jason laughed.

You exhaled as the fabric slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving only the warmth of their gazes against your skin.

Jason stepped forward, his hands brushing over your waist, up along your ribs, his touch both familiar and possessive. “I do love watching you like this, you know. Stripped of gold, stripped of the weight of the realm—just you. Just us.”

Tyland, now rid of his own formal attire, let his fingers trail down your arm, his green eyes flickering between you and Jason, quiet but filled with intent. “The realm will never see us like this.”

Jason hummed, dragging his lips along your collarbone. “That is their loss.”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly, your hands brushing over the planes of Jason’s chest before turning toward Tyland, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “And what shall we do with this stolen moment, before the world claws at our door again?”

Jason grinned, pulling you flush against him, his lips hovering just over yours. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

The chamber was heavy with warmth, the flickering flame reflecting off the gilded adornments that framed the vast, canopied bed. The silken sheets, dyed a deep Lannister crimson, pooled beneath you, the luxurious furs brushing against your skin, trapping the lingering heat of the night’s feast.

Jason, always the first to indulge, had already begun his worship, his broad hands mapping your body with a familiar, possessive reverence, his mouth trailing the slow, deliberate path of a man who had waited long enough. His breath was hot against your skin, his movements fluid, languid, teasing—not to prolong, but to revel in the anticipation.

His hair, still slightly tousled from the evening’s festivities, tickled against your throat as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your collarbone, his fingers pressing against the dips and curves of your waist, mapping them with memorized certainty.

“You’re always so eager for us, little dragon,” Jason murmured against your skin, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he settled himself over you, his weight a familiar anchor, his green eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker.

Tyland, always the quieter presence, lingered at your side, his touch featherlight in contrast to Jason’s bolder claim. His eyes, so alike Jason’s but always more calculating, more measured, flickered down toward where Jason moved against you. He watched—not as a bystander, but as a man who knew he would follow soon enough.

And yet—there was something more beneath his gaze tonight. Something only you could recognize.

His fingers, skimming over your arm, felt more attentive, his touch careful, his presence deliberate.

A silent caution. A message, given without words.

Jason, of course, was too caught in his indulgence to notice the unspoken exchange between you and his twin.

But you felt it.

The quiet way Tyland’s hand settled against your thigh, grounding you just slightly, a subtle but unmistakable restraint, as if ensuring Jason’s usual fervor did not grow into something unchecked. The pressure of his palm, the slight shift in his grip, was not controlling—only mindful.

You met his gaze then, and the corner of Tyland’s lips twitched, just slightly.

A shared secret.

A question between you, left unspoken: How long before Jason realizes?

Would it be one moon? Or longer?

Jason, oblivious to the silent conversation unfolding above him, only smirked against your skin, dragging his lips lower as he drank in every sound you made beneath him.

“I do love the way you tremble for me, sweet one,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Tell me, is it me you need, or my brother? Or shall we decide for you?”

Tyland, ever composed, merely sighed, his fingers brushing back a strand of your hair as he leaned closer, his breath fanning against your temple. “She’s already made her choice tonight, Jason. Do try not to ruin it.”

Jason laughed, the sound low, rich, and utterly self-assured. “Ruin it? No, no, my dear brother. I intend to make it unforgettable.”

And he did.

His rhythm was as it always was—on the cusp between pleasure and pain, his usual hunger unchecked as he pulled every ounce of reaction from you, as he claimed, as he reminded. The pressure of his body, the heat of him, the way his hands gripped and possessed—all of it was familiar, all-consuming, a reminder of what he was to you.

What you were to him.

Tyland, who had waited patiently, who had watched with that same calculating gaze, finally stirred when Jason’s pace grew near its peak, when the inevitable release began to unwind.

His hand pressed against Jason’s shoulder, a silent command that few could ever issue to him. “Move.”

Jason, still lost in the haze of his pleasure, huffed out a breath, his smirk faltering as he finally stilled, rolling onto his side with an exasperated sigh. “You are so bloody commanding, Tyland.”

Tyland merely arched a brow, his green eyes flickering toward you. “And you are too indulgent. She is still ours, Jason. Let me remind her.”

Jason laughed, breathless and sated, watching as his twin took his place.

Tyland’s hands were more precise, more deliberate, but his control was the most telling difference.

Because unlike Jason—Tyland was careful.

You felt it in the way his grip never grew too tight, in the way his rhythm remained measured, in the way his touch never left bruises.

He tempered you. He protected you.

Even now, when Jason watched with amusement, his gaze flickering between the two of you, completely unaware of what Tyland truly ensured.

And you met Tyland’s gaze again, your fingers curling against his shoulder as he moved against you, as he kissed you, as he held you like something more precious than a conquest.

And in that moment, the secret between you both was sealed.

Jason, still sprawled on his side, watching the two of you with lazy satisfaction, let out a deep chuckle, oblivious. “You know, little dragon, I do believe you prefer my brother’s patience more than you let on.”

Tyland, lips ghosting over your throat, chuckled softly, but said nothing.

You simply smirked. Because one moon would pass. Maybe two. And then Jason would finally realize the truth.

The great halls of Casterly Rock were in an uproar of movement and preparation, the sheer weight of Jason’s demands sending the castle into a frenzy that had not been seen in decades. Servants scrambled through the corridors, arms burdened with trunks of fine silks, chests of Lannister gold, and an endless stream of provisions for a journey across the sea. The courtyards bustled with activity, banners unfurling in the salt-kissed wind as wagons were loaded with supplies to be transported to Lannisport, where their fleet waited.

And at the heart of the storm, standing atop the high balcony that overlooked the madness below, was Jason Lannister, draped in the sheer confidence of a man who was both the cause of chaos and its master.

You stood beside him, a vision of silver and fire against his crimson and gold, watching as he barked orders down to the servants with an air of indulgence, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Jason’s grip on your waist was firm, possessive, his thumb idly stroking against your hip as though he were far more invested in the feel of you beneath his hands than the actual preparations unfolding beneath him.

A frazzled-looking steward, his forehead glistening with sweat, wrung his hands as he looked up at his lord with barely concealed distress.

“My Lord,” the man stammered, bowing deeply, “we have packed the finest Dornish wines as per your request, but the ship’s capacity—”

Jason waved a hand lazily, entirely uninterested. “Yes, yes, more than enough room. And my personal collection of Arbor reds?”

The steward nodded hastily. “Already secured in the ship’s hold, my Lord. Along with—”

“Good, good. And the furs? The ones I personally selected?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Jason smirked, turning his attention back to you, his hand trailing along your back with a languid, almost idle pleasure as he surveyed your expression. “See, my love? Everything is as it should be. We shall not suffer even a moment’s discomfort.”

You arched a brow, watching as another pair of servants struggled beneath the weight of a chest that no doubt contained more of Jason’s ‘essentials.’ “Tell me, my lion, are we traveling to Essos or laying siege to it?”

Jason laughed, his green eyes dancing with amusement. “A siege is a tempting idea, but alas, I am feeling generous. I only intend to conquer a bed, not a city.”

His grin widened, his hands roving lower, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against the side of your throat.

The steward, still standing there, looked anywhere but at the scene unfolding before him.

You exhaled, amusement flickering in your gaze as you tilted your head slightly, letting Jason indulge in his usual public displays.

The steward, growing red-faced, cleared his throat. “There is also the matter of security, my Lord. With your absence from the Rock, some of the bannermen are unsettled. They—”

Jason groaned, pulling back just enough to roll his eyes. “Tyland will deal with that. That is why I have him. I refuse to be burdened with such dull matters while we prepare for something far more enjoyable.”

You chuckled. “And what of Tyland? Where is he now?”

Jason let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his thumb against your lower back. “Drowning in paperwork, no doubt. I gave him full control over the more mind-numbing aspects of our journey—permits, chartering the ships, ensuring we have the necessary documentation to avoid Essosi tariffs. All quite dreadful.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “And you do not think he resents you for it?”

Jason grinned, unapologetic. “Of course he does. But that is what makes us a perfect pair—he does what I refuse to do, and I make sure he never forgets how much he enjoys it.”

A shout from below momentarily stole Jason’s attention.

The servants, having struggled beneath their burden, had finally lost their grip on one of the chests—its heavy lid bursting open upon impact, revealing an obscene collection of silken robes, perfumes, and gold-threaded garments spilling onto the stone.

Jason let out a mock gasp. “My robes! My beloved finery!”

The servants frantically scrambled to gather the items, their panic evident.

Jason sighed, shaking his head as if they had personally offended him. “I do believe we must bring along additional help. If they cannot even carry a chest without collapsing, how will they handle the pressures of the open sea?”

The steward, still desperately trying to maintain order, bowed quickly. “I will see to it, my Lord. At once.”

Jason nodded approvingly, though he was already more focused on you than anything else.

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your waist, his lips finding the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, my love, are you looking forward to this voyage as much as I am? To the nights at sea, the taste of wine on our lips, the rocking of the ship beneath us?”

You hummed, turning slightly to face him fully. “I imagine I will enjoy it more than the poor servants you’ve condemned to carry your excesses.”

Jason laughed, deep and unrepentant. “Oh, my dear, they should be honored. They serve a union that will be remembered in legend.”

Tyland, having finally returned from his administrative duties, entered just in time to hear Jason’s last remark.

His brow arched as he took in the scene—servants in disarray, Jason draped over you in his usual possessive manner, and you looking entirely too amused. “I take it everything is going according to plan?”

Jason grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. “Better than that, brother. We are on the precipice of something marvelous.”

Tyland sighed, exasperated but unsurprised. “Then I assume all that is left is for me to ensure we actually depart without the Rock collapsing in our absence.”

Jason smirked. “See, my love? This is why I keep him.”

Tyland shook his head but said nothing.

You simply smiled, watching as the final chaos unfolded before you, knowing that soon, Casterly Rock would be behind you, and a new adventure awaited.

The salt-heavy winds of Lannisport curled through the air, tugging at the banners that lined the docks, the lions of House Lannister rippling like fire against the sky. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting amber hues across the sea, turning the rolling waves into a shimmering field of gold and copper. The ships that had been prepared for the voyage stood tall, their sails taut against the rising breeze, the sigils of House Lannister and House Targaryen displayed side by side upon the mast.

The port was a frenzy of movement, with sailors securing the last of the cargo, ropes being pulled taut, and servants hurrying back and forth with final provisions. The hum of anticipation vibrated through the crowd, nobles and commonfolk alike having gathered to witness the departure of the newly wed rulers.

But above them all, above the clamor of the city, there was a shadow that never ceased moving.

Haelle.

Your dragon soared in wide, agitated circles above the docks, her massive form cutting against the sky like a blade of shadow and gold. The great beast did not like ships, did not like the sea, did not like anything that smelled of water and salt. She would fly ahead, of course, to claim her own space, but her agitation was evident.

Jason, standing beside you, smirked up at her with amusement. “I must say, she looks positively murderous.”

Tyland, ever more composed, focused his gaze, flickering between you and your dragon with something more akin to patience than anything else. “I suspect she’ll make peace with it once we’re far enough from land.”

Jason laughed, adjusting the cuffs of his fine tunic. “Unlike the rest of us, you mean? Because I, dear brother, have no intention of making peace with being surrounded by endless water.”

You sighed, your silver hair catching in the wind as you turned away from them, your gaze settling upon the one figure who had remained motionless amidst all the movement.

Daemon.

Your father stood near the edge of the docks, his dark cloak whipping behind him, his hands clasped behind his back, his dark violet gaze trained on the ship that would soon carry you away. He had said little since arriving, though that was hardly unusual.

But this was different. Even without words, you knew what this moment meant.

Your steps were slow, deliberate, as you closed the distance between you, coming to stand before him, the sea rolling gently behind him, the wind catching in his silver hair.

For a moment, Daemon said nothing.

Then, finally—he exhaled.

His sharp eyes, so much like your own, flickered down to meet your gaze. “Are you ready?”

The question was not a simple one. It was not about the voyage. Not truly. It was about everything.

The choice. The union. The path you had chosen, the chaos it had birthed, the enemies it had stirred from their long-dormant slumber.

And yet—your answer was clear.

You lifted your chin, your voice steady. “Of course.”

Daemon huffed a quiet breath, something between amusement and resignation. His hands, scarred from years of war, years of wielding Dark Sister, years of ruling over the Stepstones in blood, reached for your shoulders, his grip firm, grounding. “Then go. And do not look back.”

You hesitated, just briefly, before tilting your head slightly. “Will you join us? Soon?”

Daemon’s lips curled into something like a smirk, though there was no true amusement in it. “Not yet.”

He released you, his gaze flickering toward the waves for a moment before returning to you. “Viserys needs me in King’s Landing. With you off across the sea, I suspect the Faith and the Hightowers will try to rip the throne apart while he is too weak to stop them. Someone has to remain behind to ensure they don’t succeed.”

You studied him, the way his words were harsh, but his eyes softer.

You nodded, slowly. “Then I will see you when the tides change.”

Daemon smirked again, but this time, it felt more like a promise than a dismissal. “Perhaps.”

Jason, having grown impatient, finally strode forward, his boots clanking against the wooden docks as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him with that same easy arrogance that had defined him since the day you met. “Father-in-law, I would say I’ll miss you, but I fear I’ll be far too preoccupied with my wife to think of much else.”

Daemon’s expression did not change. “Let’s hope your preoccupations don’t get you killed.”

Jason laughed, utterly unbothered.

Tyland, ever the diplomat, bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “We will send word as soon as we arrive.”

Daemon barely nodded.

Then—without another word, he stepped back, turning away, already walking toward his own waiting ship.

The farewell had been brief. But that was how Daemon had always been.

No sentimentality. No unnecessary parting words. Only purpose.

Jason let out a breath, watching as Daemon’s cloak billowed behind him. “Gods, he really is dramatic.”

You smirked. “It runs in the family.”

Jason grinned, pressing a quick, teasing kiss against your temple as he led you toward the ship.

Tyland, ever composed, was the last to board, his gaze lingering on the docks for just a moment longer before he stepped onto the deck.

The moment the gangplank was raised, the sails unfurled, and the ropes released, the ship began to glide forward, cutting through the waves, carrying you away from Westeros, away from Lannisport, away from the familiar.

Haelle, still circling above, let out a piercing shriek before banking hard to the east, flying ahead toward the unknown.

The wind tugged at your hair, the salt settling on your skin, the sea stretching endlessly before you.

And behind you—Daemon stood alone on the docks, watching as the sails faded into the horizon.

The ship swayed with the slow rhythm of the open water, the deep blue of the Narrow Sea stretching infinitely in every direction, the horizon an endless meeting of sky and waves. The winds had been kind thus far, carrying them swiftly away from Westeros, away from the stone and gold of Casterly Rock, away from the weight of crowns and expectations.

It had been weeks at sea now, and the once-thrumming energy of departure had softened into routine. The crew moved about their duties with practiced ease, the crash of waves against the hull a constant backdrop to life aboard the ship. The salt air clung to everything, sinking into clothes, hair, and skin alike, though none of it particularly bothered you.

Not when Jason and Tyland had found far more pleasurable ways to pass the time.

The cabin that had been prepared for you was vast by any sailor’s standard, far more lavish than any ordinary lord or lady would be granted aboard a ship. The walls were lined with polished mahogany, the furniture carved and adorned with Lannister gold. A large four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in deep red silks, its presence wholly unnecessary, yet utterly fitting for the three of you.

And now—Jason, Tyland, and you lounged there in the midday sun, basking in the slow lull of the ship, utterly unbothered.

Jason was stretched across the bed, his bare chest gleaming in the candlelight, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other lazily trailing along your thigh, utterly at ease. His hair was slightly damp from the earlier heat, tousled and wild, his usual smirk tugging at his lips as he idly toyed with you.

Tyland, ever more composed, sat beside you both, his expression unreadable as he reviewed a parchment he had retrieved from the captain earlier that morning.

Jason tilted his head slightly, watching his twin with amusement. “Gods, Tyland, even at sea, you insist on playing the part of the dutiful lord.”

Tyland did not immediately respond, his green eyes flicking over the document before he set it aside. “Unlike you, Jason, I do not take pleasure in knowing that Westeros is likely burning in our absence.”

Jason laughed, full-bodied and rich, utterly unrepentant. “Oh, come now, brother. You must admit, it’s rather poetic, isn’t it? We wed the Rogue Prince’s daughter, we humiliate the Faith, we defy every expectation—and then, before the dust even settles, we sail away, leaving them all to wallow in their own misery.”

You huffed, shifting slightly beneath him, his touch never faltering as his fingers skimmed against your bare skin, absent yet possessive. “You speak as if we did not set that fire ourselves.”

Jason grinned. “Oh, we did. And I do not regret it for a moment.” He lifted his goblet, swirling the deep red liquid before taking a slow sip. “Think of it, my love—by now, the Hightowers are scrambling to regain what little control they had. The Faith is no doubt wailing to the heavens, calling us an abomination. And dear Viserys—” he laughed, shaking his head, “I imagine my father-in-law is the only thing keeping him from keeling over entirely.”

Tyland sighed, setting the parchment aside and leaning back against the headboard. “You take too much joy in this.”

Jason smirked, his fingers tightening slightly against your thigh, his voice dropping into something lower, richer. “And you take too little.”

Tyland’s brow arched slightly, his expression unreadable. “And when we return? What then? Do you truly believe the realm will simply accept this?”

Jason shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What choice do they have? We will return with even more power than before, our union solidified, our claim undeniable. By then, the realm will have no choice but to bow.”

You tilted your head, watching Jason with quiet amusement. “And if they do not?”

Jason grinned, sharp and wicked. “Then we make them.”

Tyland exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “It is exhausting being your brother.”

Jason laughed again, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your jaw. “And yet, you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tyland, after a moment, merely sighed. “Unfortunately.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail against Jason’s chest, watching as his amusement deepened.

The ship continued its steady course, carrying you all further away from Westeros, further into the unknown.

But in this moment, wrapped in gold and fire, surrounded by nothing but the open sea—none of it mattered.

The air was thick with salt, the steady lull of the sea a never-ending rhythm beneath your feet, the ship cutting through the endless blue with unwavering purpose. The wind whispered against your skin, teasing strands of silver hair free from their bindings, catching against the open collar of your gown, its edges billowing slightly against your thighs.

And Jason—Jason was behind you.

His hands were firm on your waist, his breath hot against your ear, his body a solid, unyielding presence pressed against yours as he pinned you against the railing of the ship.

His fingers dug into the curve of your hip, possessive, indulgent, the weight of him pressing you against the wooden banister as his lips found the hollow of your throat, his pace steady, deliberate, knowing.

You could feel the grin against your skin, the satisfaction in every movement, in the way he filled you, in the way he relished in the gasp that left your lips as he rolled his hips deeper. “Gods, my love, do you feel that? The open air, the taste of salt on your lips? I do believe this is my new favorite way to pass the time.”

You exhaled sharply, gripping the smooth, weather-worn railing, your fingers curling against the wood as his pace quickened, hard and consuming.

Jason’s laugh was low, dark, and filled with utter delight. “No escape now, sweet one. Not when there is nothing but the endless sea before you.”

You opened your mouth to retort—only for Jason’s next movement to steal your breath, leaving you trembling beneath him.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, teasing, taunting, reveling in the way your body responded to him so effortlessly.

“Beautiful,” Jason murmured against your ear, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck. “Like a goddess carved from fire and fury. No man could stand against you. No man but me.”

A gasp left your lips, your body trembling as his rhythm turned harder, faster, more demanding.

Jason grinned, pleased.

And then—a sudden noise.

A startled yelp.

And suddenly—a blur of motion at the edge of your vision.

Jason stilled just slightly, his body still pressed against yours, his hands still firm on your waist.

You turned your head just enough to see it.

One of the sailors, wide-eyed and utterly horrified, stood a few feet away, clearly having stumbled upon something he had no business seeing.

The poor fool froze in place, mouth agape, his body caught somewhere between panic and utter disbelief.

Jason’s grin widened into something utterly wicked.

The sailor—pale and visibly trembling—took a single step back.

And that was his undoing.

His heel caught against the coiled rope near the mast, sending him flailing backward with a sharp, startled cry.

And then—he was gone.

The splash echoed against the hull, the water swallowing him whole in an instant.

Jason laughed—loud, unrestrained, utterly delighted. “Oh, that is spectacular. Gods, I think I love this voyage.”

You sighed, still pinned against the railing, your breath coming in shallow pants, your body still trembling from the sudden interruption. “Jason—”

Jason huffed, shaking his head, smirking as he finally—finally—released you, though he made no move to pull away entirely.

“Oh, don’t worry, my love. The sea is vast, but not cruel. He will either find his way back or he will not. Either way, what a sight.”

Tyland’s voice, dry and unimpressed, rang from behind you. “Jason.”

Jason tilted his head back just enough to glance over his shoulder, utterly unbothered.

Tyland, who had clearly arrived just in time to witness the entire debacle, sighed. “Would it kill you to take anything seriously?”

Jason grinned, placing a slow, deliberate kiss against the back of your neck. “Why would I ever do that? The gods have gifted me with endless entertainment, and I mean to enjoy it.”

Tyland, ever the rational one, pinched the bridge of his nose before exhaling.

Then a sudden gust of wind, a massive shadow passing over the deck.

You glanced up just as Haelle’s wings stretched wide overhead, her massive body dipping low over the ship.

She let go.

The sailor, drenched and visibly in shock, fell from the sky, landing unceremoniously onto the wooden deck with a wet thud, coughing up seawater.

The crew gasped.

Haelle, clearly unimpressed with this entire ordeal, let out a loud, irritated snort before banking hard, returning to her place in the sky.

Jason let out a delighted chuckle, watching as the poor man tried to regain his bearings. “See? The sea is kind. Or rather, our wife’s dragon is.”

Tyland sighed again, long-suffering.

The sailor, still sputtering, stared up at Jason with sheer horror.

Jason offered him a wide, utterly pleased grin. “Might I suggest keeping your eyes on your duties rather than on my wife? It will save you the trouble of nearly drowning again.”

The sailor did not answer.

He simply scrambled to his feet, still dripping, and hurried away from the scene as quickly as possible.

Jason shook his head in amusement, his hands returning to your waist, his fingers teasing against your skin. “Now, my love, where were we?”

Tyland, expression unreadable, turned on his heel and walked away.

You sighed, but could not help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

This voyage would be the death of someone.

Whether it be Jason, the crew, or your patience—only time would tell.

The Narrow Sea stretched still endlessly before you, its deep blue waters rolling with a quiet, almost eerie calm. The sky was clear, the wind steady, and for the first time since your departure from Westeros, there was no storm of politics, no roars of dragons, no cries of alarm—just the steady rhythm of the waves, the creak of the ship, and the occasional cry of seabirds that ventured too far from shore.

It was almost peaceful.

Which meant, of course—something was bound to happen.

The theme of this journey had been chaos, indulgence, and spectacle, and today would prove no different.

Jason was lounging at the stern of the ship, his hair wind-tousled, his tunic only half-laced, his usual smirk present as he tossed a dagger idly between his hands, clearly bored.

Tyland, having grown tired of Jason’s antics, had buried himself in yet another stack of parchments inside their quarters, leaving you with your more restless husband, who was a man in need of constant entertainment.

You stood beside him, leaning against the railing, watching the vast emptiness of the sea, your fingers absently tracing patterns into the polished wood.

Jason let out a dramatic sigh, stretching out like a lion lazing beneath the sun. “Tell me, my love, do you think we are cursed to an existence of monotony now?”

You arched a brow, glancing at him. “After everything that has occurred on this voyage? You call this monotony?”

Jason huffed, tossing the dagger into the air once more before catching it effortlessly. “The last excitement involved a sailor nearly drowning because he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. And while that was entertaining, I find myself growing restless.”

You smirked. “Would you rather another storm? A kraken? Perhaps a mutiny?”

Jason grinned, his green eyes gleaming. “Oh, a kraken would be wonderful. Do you suppose Haelle would enjoy such a challenge?”

Before you could retort, a sudden cry rang out from the crow’s nest above. “Something in the water! To the port side!”

Immediately, the deck came alive, sailors scrambling to peer over the edge, murmurs of confusion rising among the crew.

You and Jason exchanged glances before moving toward the railing, peering down at the deep blue depths below.

Soon—you saw it. The water was not empty.

A dark shape—large, shifting, unnatural—moved beneath the waves, its form just barely visible beneath the sunlit surface.

Jason let out a low whistle, leaning further over the railing. “Well, well, what have we here?”

The crew began to murmur, some stepping back, muttering prayers to the gods, others gripping weapons they knew would be useless against whatever lurked below.

It moved abruptly.

The thing beneath the water was fast, far faster than anything natural, its shadow shifting and growing, moving alongside the ship in long, unbroken streaks.

A few of the men let out shouts of alarm, others gripped the ropes of the mast as though bracing for something.

A massive tail, sleek and ridged like the spine of some forgotten beast, broke the surface of the water for just a moment before vanishing again.

Jason grinned, utterly delighted. “Oh, now that is something.”

The crew, however, was not amused.

“A sea serpent,” one of the older sailors muttered, his face pale. “A beast of the deep. We’re doomed.”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Doomed? My dear man, we are not doomed. We are blessed with spectacle!”

The sailor did not look convinced.

Tyland, having finally been drawn from his quiet administrative duties, emerged onto the deck, taking one look at the gathered men, then at you and Jason, before sighing. “Why is there shouting?”

Jason motioned toward the water. “We have a guest.”

Tyland followed his gaze—and for the first time in a very long time, his usually unreadable expression faltered. “That… is not normal.”

“No, no it is not, dear brother.”

The water churned, the ship rocking slightly as the dark shape shifted again, circling beneath them.

You felt the wind change, your dragon above letting out a harsh, irritated cry.

Then—a head broke the surface.

It was not like any sea creature you had ever seen before.

Sleek, black, its scales smooth like polished onyx, its long, serpentine form curving as it lifted just enough to break the surface, revealing gleaming, slitted eyes that shimmered with eerie intelligence.

The crew collectively took a step back.

Jason, however, leaned forward, grinning.

“It’s watching us,” he murmured.

And it was.

The beast hovered just beneath the surface, its gaze locked onto the ship, unblinking, unmoving.

And then—it spoke. Not in words. Not in a language of men. But in sound—a deep, guttural clicking, a vibration that rolled through the air like the hum of an ancient force, something older than the sea itself.

The ship shuddered, the waves rippling outward.

Jason exhaled, shaking his head. “Gods, I love the sea.”

Tyland sighed.

You merely smirked.

This voyage, it seemed, would never be quiet.

The beast lingered beneath the waves, its massive, serpentine form gliding just below the surface, its black eyes still locked onto the ship. There was something unnatural about it, something that made even the most seasoned sailors whisper prayers to the gods they barely remembered.

The water around the ship began to shift, the gentle rolling waves turning into something more unpredictable, more restless. The sea was alive with movement, the ship rocking just slightly, enough to unsettle those who did not have Jason’s unwavering arrogance.

Suddenly—Haelle let out a scream.

The sound tore through the sky, sharp, piercing, the kind of cry that made lesser creatures scatter in terror.

A moment later, her massive form blotted out the sun.

The crew stumbled back, some of the men dropping to their knees, others gripping onto the mast for balance as her wings sent powerful gusts through the ship, rattling the rigging, knocking loose barrels across the deck.

Jason, of course, was delighted.

He laughed, loud and full-bodied, gripping the railing to steady himself as he watched your dragon descend. “Oh, now this is a proper spectacle.”

Tyland, ever composed, took one look at the chaos around him, exhaled slowly, and began to brush at the dust that had settled onto his attire. “Of course, it is.”

The crew was not as composed.

One of the younger sailors let out a panicked shout, scrambling back toward the rigging as the shadow of Haelle’s massive wings spread across the deck.

Another stumbled toward the helm, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled desperation.

“The ship won’t hold against them both!” one of the men cried. “The gods have cursed us! We will drown!”

Jason rolled his eyes, utterly unbothered. “Oh, stop your wailing. The gods had nothing to do with this. My wife, however, has everything to do with it.”

You tilted your head, watching Haelle with quiet amusement.

Your dragon was not pleased.

Her golden-streaked wings flapped once, twice, sending powerful bursts of wind rolling across the deck, making the wood groan, the ship tilt slightly.

The serpent in the water let out another guttural clicking noise, coiling its long form beneath the ship, its head tilting slightly upward, watching.

Jason grinned, leaning closer, utterly fascinated. “It isn’t running. It’s testing her.”

You nodded. “And it’s going to regret it.”

As if on cue, Haelle dove.

Her wings snapped shut, her body moving like an arrow straight toward the sea, her talons outstretched.

The crew screamed.

Tyland, not even bothering to look up from smoothing out the creases in his tunic, sighed. “Jason, do try not to get knocked overboard. I would rather not fish you out of the water.”

Jason grinned. “Oh, Tyland, what little faith you have in me.”

The impact was violent.

Haelle’s talons struck the water with devastating force, sending a massive wave crashing against the ship, drenching half the deck, sending barrels rolling, knocking one unfortunate sailor flat onto his back.

The serpent recoiled, its sleek black body twisting away, its eyes no longer curious but wary.

Haelle let out another warning shriek, her massive wings spreading again, her body rising into the sky once more.

Jason laughed, utterly enraptured.

The crew, however, was less amused.

“She’s going to sink us!” one of the men cried.

Tyland shook his head, plucking a damp cloth from the table near the cabin doors and methodically dabbing at the bit of seawater that had splashed onto his sleeve. “If we were going to sink, it would have happened already,” he said flatly.

Jason, still grinning, gestured toward the serpent, which had now fully uncoiled itself, turning sharply, disappearing beneath the waves. “See? Even beasts of the deep know when to cut their losses.”

The crew did not seem comforted.

The ship rocked slightly from the aftershock of Haelle’s assault, the last waves rippling outward, fading into the vast sea once more.

Jason sighed, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, my love, I must say, your dragon never fails to make an impression.”

You smirked, watching as Haelle banked upward, circling the ship once before flying ahead, her presence still looming, but now satisfied. “She does not like sharing.”

Jason chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you against him with that same easy arrogance. “Neither do I.”

Tyland, watching the two of you with mild exasperation, finally set down his now-damp cloth, satisfied that he was at least moderately presentable again. “Are we quite done with theatrics for the day? Or should I expect another divine spectacle before nightfall?”

Jason grinned, glancing at you. “What do you think, my love? Shall we find another way to pass the time?”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. “I suppose we shall see what the sea brings next.”

Jason laughed, delighted.

And the crew—well, they prayed the sea brought nothing at all.

The ship swayed with the steady rhythm of the open sea, the scent of salt and polished wood thick in the air, the sound of waves lapping against the hull a familiar backdrop to the slow passage of time. It had been another week at sea, and while Jason found himself restless, constantly seeking out amusement in the form of indulgence or spectacle, Tyland remained as he always was—focused, composed, and frustratingly diligent.

You found him, as expected, in the small study adjacent to your quarters, seated behind an ornately carved desk, hunched over a spread of parchments. A quill rested between his fingers, poised over the inkpot, his expression unreadable as he scanned over what you could only assume to be trade agreements, ledgers, or some other mind-numbingly dull matter.

Tyland never truly left his duties behind.

Even here, with nothing but the vast sea stretching for miles in every direction, he still found ways to busy himself with the affairs of governance.

You, however, had no intention of allowing that to continue.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you did not pull his gaze away from his work, though you knew he was aware of your presence.

“If you’ve come to scold me for ignoring Jason’s latest antics, I assure you, I am quite content in my ignorance.” His voice was smooth, measured, though there was the faintest trace of amusement beneath it.

You smirked, stepping forward, your fingers trailing lightly along the edge of the desk. “No scolding. Just observation. You have hardly moved from this desk in two days.”

Tyland sighed quietly, setting his quill down, finally glancing up at you. His green eyes flickered with something unreadable, something deeper, but he only exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Someone needs to ensure we do not return to complete financial ruin.”

You arched a brow, leaning closer, resting your hands on the desk as you peered at him. “Tyland. We are on a ship. Sailing across the sea. Do you truly think anyone cares about ledgers and tariffs in this moment?”

He huffed a soft breath, running a hand over his face, tilting his head back slightly. “I care. Because Jason certainly does not.”

You smiled and moved.

With practiced ease, you slipped around the side of the desk, your hands trailing along the polished wood before settling onto the armrests of his chair.

Tyland did not stop you.

He did not even protest when you eased yourself into his lap, your thighs bracketing his, your weight settling against him in a way that made his posture tense—just slightly.

His hands hesitated, hovering just over your waist, as if debating whether to place them there or push you away.

But you knew he would do neither.

Instead, his green eyes locked onto your violet ones, his breath steady but measured, calculating.

“And what exactly do you think you are doing?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the shift beneath it, the careful restraint.

You smirked, tilting your head, your fingers trailing down his chest, slowly, deliberately. “Something far more interesting than paperwork.”

Tyland’s lips twitched, just slightly, though he still tried to feign exasperation. “You do realize these agreements are important? Unlike your other husband, I prefer to ensure our ventures are not solely driven by indulgence and arrogance.”

You hummed, leaning closer, pressing your lips just beneath his jaw, your breath warm against his skin. “And yet, despite all that diligence, you have not stopped me.”

Tyland exhaled slowly, his hands finally settling on your waist, his grip firm, grounding. “You are impossible.”

You grinned, pressing your lips fully against his.

Tyland did not resist.

He kissed you back, slow at first, controlled, his fingers tightening against your hips. But when you shifted against him, rolling your body just enough to elicit a quiet sound from the back of his throat, that control began to waver.

His hands roamed lower, his lips parting against yours, his breath turning deeper, more uneven.

The papers—the ones he had been so meticulously reviewing just moments ago—were forgotten.

With a single, fluid motion, you reached back, shoving them aside, sending loose parchments scattering across the desk.

Tyland let out a sharp breath against your lips, half amusement, half exasperation. “You will be the death of me.”

You smiled. “Lucky you.”

And then—his restraint snapped.

His hands found purchase along your thighs, pulling you flush against him, his lips pressing harder against yours, demanding, hungry.

Your fingers worked at the clasps of his tunic, loosening them, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the fine fabric as you pulled it open, exposing him to your touch.

His own movements were less hurried, more precise, methodical in the way he untied the bindings of your attire, slipping the fabric from your shoulders, baring more of you to the cool sea air that drifted through the open window.

The rhythm of the waves matched the slow, deliberate movements between you, the tension building with every touch, every breath, every whispered sigh.

And when he finally pressed into you, when your bodies finally joined, he let out a low, reverent sound, his grip tightening against your waist as he pulled you down fully against him.

You gasped, your hands bracing against his shoulders, your body arching into his, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

Tyland’s breath was heavy, uneven, but his pace was steady, controlled, unwavering in its thoroughness.

Unlike Jason, who was wild, untamed, lost in the fever of indulgence—Tyland was precise, deliberate, every movement meant to pull you deeper, to make you feel him completely.

You took what he gave, matched him, reveled in the way his composure began to slip further, his breathing turning rougher, his grip growing more desperate.

The ship swayed, the papers forgotten, the world outside ceasing to exist.

Here—in this moment, it was only you and him.

Only the feeling of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin, the sound of your shared breaths filling the quiet study.

And when pleasure finally took you both, when your body trembled against his, when his own release followed in a deep, shuddering exhale—he held you there, his arms wrapped firmly around you, grounding you in the aftermath.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—Tyland sighed. “Jason will be unbearable when he finds out about this.”

You laughed, breathless, pressing a kiss against his temple. “Then let’s not tell him.”

Tyland huffed. But he did not disagree.

[blessedgirthma]

How I would take the relationship between Batman and the Joker

This is just something that I've had in my veins for a while now and needed to get it out there so I wouldn't go CRAZY.

Howdy Doody!~

For a long time, I've been trying to figure out what would be an interesting direction for Batman and the Joker's relationship. One of the directions that I like the most is for Batman to finally kill the Joker.

Now, I know DC would never go for this because the Joker is one of their main cash cows. But I think what it could end up being is a spiritual successor to Knightfall. Where instead of Batman being broken physically and partially mentally, I think his killing the Joker would break him spiritually and shake him to his very core regarding why he became a hero in the first place.

There are countless ways that it could go down. But if I were to write the story, I think I would have the Joker trap Batman in some sort of labyrinth underground where he's completely cut off from the rest of the family. Joker would obviously put Batman through the wringer, torturing him and forcing him to go through deadly trials and tribulations. Overall, standard stuff when it comes to both of them. However, while Batman is trapped, the Joker plays him videos and footage of Gotham being destroyed, forcing Batman to watch as he destroys his city, kills his family, and ruins everything while he's still trapped.

It pushes Batman to his breaking point as he sees countless people being murdered, butchered, and torn apart. And it's all to the sound of Joker's constant mocking as he blames Batman for everything since he never decided to finish things and just kill him. At the same time, he's also throwing him through death trap after death trap before Batman finally gets to him.

From there, it's the standard beat down. However, this time, it's different. It isn't Batman fighting the Joker anymore; it's the man, Bruce Wayne, who's beating the clown prince of crime to death. And in a moment of pure and utter hate on Bruce's part, he finally does it. He kills the Joker. For me personally, I never see him doing it with a gun since he's so opposed to guns. But when he does it, Bruce finally manages to escape, only to find that Gotham is fine.

Turns out that all the footage he showed Batman was fake and that the Joker finally managed to get Batman to kill him without even having to kill anyone.

From there, word began to spread rather quickly that Batman killed the Joker, and it completely changed the dynamic between Batman and his villains. They're all now more cautious around him since it's been proven that if pushed far enough, Batman IS capable of killing. But for the most part, the entire world celebrates along with most of the hero community. However, for Batman himself, he hates it, he hates it all.

He hates that he's being celebrated for breaking his one rule. He hates that he's now one of the world's most beloved heroes for finally killing the Joker. He hates how no government or law enforcement official wants to bring him in. Most of all, he hates how good he feels afterward, like he can finally breathe easy and not have to worry about the clown prince of crime. And so, for a time, he hangs up his cowl and retires. He sees himself as tainted after taking a life, even if that life was the Joker's. But through his support system, people like Superman, Nightwing, and even Jason help Batman see that he can still be a hero even if he broke his one and only rule.

It takes time, of course. When he puts the cowl back on, he drifts between being too brutal and being too soft. He's scared that he'll end up killing again since he's done it once before, but at the same time, he doesn't want another Joker. But after a while, he finds his right footing and becomes a brighter hero. Not on the same level as someone like Superman or Nightwing, but for the first time in almost 30 years of crime fighting, he has hope that his mission will finally come to an end.

From here, he fights other villains, with perhaps someone like Bane stepping up to the mantle to become Batman's greatest foe now that Joker is out of the way. But for the most part, things return to some form of normalcy. Even then, the death of the Joker still weighs heavily on Batman's mind, but not as much as before.

But life goes on. Villains come and go. Gotham sees destruction come its way time and time again. However, one day, via some villain, whether it'd be in a Justice League book or a Batman title, Batman ends up in Hell. And who's there to greet him at those Hellish gates? Well, it's none other than the Joker.

Turns out that, after everything the Joker had done throughout his time as a villain, he's earned himself a special spot in the underworld as one of, if not THE most evil human being out there.

But for Batman, he now has to traverse Hell and find a way out while Joker tags along and tries to make his journey all the more painful as he taunts him about the fact that he finally managed to make him break his one rule. By the end of it all, Batman manages to escape Hell after managing to trick the Devil himself. In response, the Devil then revives the Joker as a demon whose sole purpose is to torment Batman.

However, unlike before, the Joker can't die since he'll just be resurrected, thanks to the Devil. This allows Batman to be more brutal than ever with the Joker; whether it'd be chopping him up into tiny pieces or burying him alive on the moon, there really isn't a limit to what Batman will do. But every once in a while, the Joker comes back, and Batman has to stop him once again. Although, thanks to the Joker now being part demon, he's able to pull more tricks that push Batman further than ever before.

Just off the top of my head, I see Joker maybe possessing people Batman cares about, creating new strains of Joker toxin that transform people into horrifying laughing monsters, and maybe even shapeshifting into new forms so that he can become an ally to Batman, only to stab him in the back.

To add onto this, Batman would ONLY get that brutal with the Joker since he can now take it.

I don't know if any of this makes sense or if it's any good. If anything, at the very least, I think it'd make a good Elseworld story, but beyond that, I'll leave it up to you.

[hauntingblue]

There was going to be a red hood spin off of the titans show. Thank god it's dead an buried

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[vacate-et-scire]

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹Baby Whats My Name◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

There are moments Jason never thought he’d get. The quiet ones, the soft ones. The ones that don’t come with gunpowder in the air or sirens wailing in the distance.

But right now, it’s just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, your head resting against his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes against your back. The TV hums in the background, some late-night show neither of you are really watching, but neither of you bothers turning it off.

And then, out of nowhere, you say, “So… what do you think of the name ‘Samuel’?”

Jason blinks. His fingers still against your back. “For what?”

“For a kid.”

His whole body tenses for half a second before he forces himself to relax. Not because the thought of kids scares him (okay, maybe a little), but because he wasn’t expecting this conversation at 11:42 PM on a Tuesday.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “I mean, we’ve talked about having kids before. Might as well get a head start on names, right?”

Jason squints at you. “Are you—?”

“No, I’m not pregnant.” You roll your eyes, amused. “I’d tell you if I was.”

He exhales, a little more relieved than he wants to admit. Not because he doesn’t want kids. But because if that day ever comes, he wants to be prepared. He wants to be ready.

Still, he hums, considering. “Samuel’s not bad. Sam. Sammy.” He shrugs. “Yeah, I could get behind that.”

You smile, clearly pleased with yourself. “Okay, your turn.”

Jason exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. “What about… Elliot?”

You raise a brow. “Elliot Todd?”

He nods. “Sounds solid. Smart. Plus, if the kid hates it, they can go by Eli or Lio or something.”

You tilt your head, considering. “I like it.” Then, after a pause, you add, “I was expecting something way more dramatic from you, though.”

Jason smirks. “Like what?”

You wave a hand. “I don’t know. Something ridiculous. Like Maximus.”

Jason’s grin widens. “Now that would be a badass name.”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Our child is not going to be named after a gladiator.”

Jason snickers. “Fine, fine. No Maximus.” Then, after a beat, he says, “...What about a girl’s name?”

You perk up. “Okay. What about ‘Ivy’?”

Jason hums. “Pretty. Simple. Also, I know a certain someone in Gotham who might be very smug if we pick that.”

You snort. “True. She would take credit for it.”

Jason taps his fingers against your back, thinking. “What about ‘Rosa’?”

You blink. “Like… rose?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s got an old-school feel to it. Plus, ‘Rosa Todd’ sounds cool.”

You test it out under your breath. “Rosa Todd.” Then, you nod. “I actually really like that.”

Jason grins. “See? I do have taste.”

You roll your eyes but kiss his jaw in silent agreement.

Another moment of silence passes, warm and easy, before you nudge him again. “Okay. What if we just went full Gotham legacy and named our kid something over-the-top?”

Jason smirks. “Like?”

You grin mischievously. “Richard..?”

Jason groans so loudly you can’t help but laugh. “Absolutely the hell not, hat's a horrible idea” he says.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” Jason insists. “He would gloat for eternity.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Alright, fine. No Richard.”

Jason sighs dramatically. “Thank god.”

The two of you settle back into a comfortable quiet, your fingers tracing idle circles against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. It’s a silly conversation, maybe even premature, but the fact that you’re having it at all—that Jason’s letting himself have it—means something.

Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or next year, but one day, this won’t just be a conversation. It’ll be real.

And somehow, that thought doesn’t terrify him. Not like it used to.

He glances down at you, lips brushing against your forehead. “Y’know,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out. When the time comes.”

You smile against his skin. “Yeah. We will.”

And for now, that’s enough.

[prlssprfctn]

I actually need some fanfic, where Bruce and Jason are in the middle of some argument, and a casual (and a well-practiced with Dick before) sentence leaves his mouth, something along the lines "How old do you think you are?!", meaning that he is acting childishly. And because Jason is irritated, and his tongue runs loose in his anger, he screams back that he is nineteen, and Bruce just freezes, because... Oh. Jason is nineteen. He is a fucking kid - his kid - that lost years of his teenhood, and was forced back without anyone giving him a space to catch up, with everyone else already treating him like an adult... When he isn't.

[superbat-lmao]

Jason travels to an alternate universe where Bruce only cares about being Batman. He took in each of his kids to serve the mission, not be his children.

Now, faced with alternate versions of his family, Jason has to grapple with the fact that his Bruce does care, that he is his father. Because the man in front of him now, trying to send him home, isn’t even close.

[brucie-baby]

Thinking of a sentient Gotham AU where she makes Bruce her champion and stuff, and it basically makes B immortal until his mission is complete. Until Gotham is rid of corruption and it's the utopia that B dreams of making it, he's not going to die.

Like, he stopped aging in his mid thirties and no damage done to him is permanent. Bane breaking his back? Gotham healed it up good as new, every time he SHOULD die? He doesn't.

This can go one of two ways with the Batfam:

1) His children are unaffected by his mission and he has to watch them grow old and die.

2) Gotham extends her claim onto his children as well and they are also unable to die.

I prefer option 1 but what do you think?

i loooove sentient gotham thank u for this

i like the idea that like. bruce is constantly grappling with the fact that he's been granted immortality but his loved ones have not. he kind of hates himself for it, honestly. he feels it whenever robin!dick gets injured but never more than that time dick got shot, when he fired him. in this little au, bruce fires him because (in his mind) dick has seen him defy death one too many times and now acts like he can do the same. but he can't. he can die. he will die. but the longer dick is around bruce, the more dick acts like he's invincible. this is not the case, of course - bruce is just projecting. but he thinks, in this desperate attempt to save dick, that if dick stops working with somebody who cannot die, he'll stop acting like he also can't.

but then comes jason. and bruce tells himself that this time will be different. he won't tell jason that he can't die. he won't act like he can't die. this time will be different and jason won't get hurt and everything will be fine and suddenly they're in ethiopia and there's a warehouse and a clown and a boy who knew he could die but who just wanted to save his mother and--

and bruce is constantly grappling with the fact that he's been granted immortality but his loved ones have not. he really hates himself for it, honestly. he hates gotham for it too. why would she give him this blessing and turn it into a curse? why wouldn't she help his children, the people he loves?

gotham may not grant his children immortality, but bruce will. bruce will dig down as deep as he can, tug on strings he didn't know existed, feel the black sludge of magic in his veins and cast it out into the world and it will find his children if bruce has to guide it there himself. gotham fights back, throws everything she has into stopping him, but bruce is too strong, too determined. gotham cannot stop him when he knows her streets better than the endless corridors of his own home.

then something gives. he feels the magic being shared. and he knows, with absolute certainty, that all of his children, past, present and future, will be safe. they will not die.

bruce can now, though. bruce can die. but his children can't, and so bruce is okay with this. because somewhere out there, eyes he thought would stay closed forever have just burst wide open.