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deadchannelradio · 25 days ago

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my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. ��Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped.

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says.

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham.

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free.

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile.

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms.

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear.

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees.

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

#my writing #jayroy #important to note that JASON'S thoughts on his position on the ace/aro spectrum may not be the most woke or whatever. THE AUTHOR (ME) think #that whatever jazzes your music is great and wonderful #Jason's thoughts are very complicated and he is dealing with a deep and wide trauma base and is not aware of the asexual/aromantic labels #this is not a “this is how YOU should feel!” this is a “how would a character w/o access to that type of language or emotional awareness #handle a situation where he has One Person who he does not know how he feels about just that he cannot let this person out of his life #and feels poorly because he thinks he is 'not enough' or 'does not feel enough' compared to that person? and is worried he will hurt them?"#& trusting and respecting someone enough to believe in them that they know the whole you and are making the choice to be in this #relationship with you with their eyes open and are okay with what they are getting and not trying to throw them out to 'protect them'#i at the time was having some real in depth thoughts about this stuff wrt the guy who i am now dating (he knows this)#and his position on these spectrums and my location on these spectrums etc. it kind of a little bit was a love letter to him.#anyways. it was going to be long and in depth and complicated and i just dont have room in my heart for long complicated in depth jayroy #at the moment. alas #i also then had my trans woman jason epiphany/sign from god and this was going to get EVEN MORE COMPLICATED #just not the threads i want to weave with anymore #if you read all these tags WOW

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wexhappyxfew · 9 months ago

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I have no idea what's the proper way to send a prop but I would love to see “If you do that one more time I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.” for Carrie + Douglass. Somethin' about the way they flirt, it's got me feelin' some typa way 😌 Of course, only if you can - thank you so so much!

HEY FRIEND!!!! thank you so much for dropping this in the askbox! so sorry it took me some time to get to it - the end of my semester was quite chaotic i must admit, but with the time i have, i was so excited to get to this one! (i think you asked it perfectly btw!!!) THEY MAKE ME LOSE MY MINDDDDD, i am so glad it is equally shared haha!! i hope you enjoy this then my friend!!! they are quite the duo!! :D

didn't think you'd notice

(a/n): for my carrie x dougie fans, this is for you! let's just say - i did NOT expect this to end as it did, but honestly, for these two, i'm not at all upset about it so, please enjoy! had this sitting around for a bit, but it need a lot of editing, and finally had time so! i hope you enjoy! :D

A crooning Louis Armstrong song echoed somewhere above the flying club as Carrie took a long sip of her beer, reveling in the taste and the warmth that filled her body.

"You drink anymore of that and you'll be facedown on the toilet tomorrow." Marianne said, settling on the chair opposite Carrie with Frank, the orange cat, curled around Marianne's shoulders like some sort of expensive scarf - except the scarf was very much alive.

"You don't know that," Vivian chimed in as she settled into the other open chair and sipped at her martini, "You may not know this Mar, but Bergie's quite good at holding her alcohol. Unlike some people-"

"No need to rub it in." murmured Marianne with a low chuckle, "I'm just saying, we may have practice runs tomorrow, don't need our bombardier passed out at the bombsight."

"We ain't even dropping bombs!" Carrie admonished as she sat up and glanced at Marianne with a winning grin, "We're flying low over English coastline. Nothing's dropping outta the sky except maybe Blakely's formation."

"Heard that." Ev Bakely's voice called from somewhere to their right, "You know, I could tell Lieutenant Bradshaw you are talking quite disingenuous about me and-"

"I never said a word!" Carrie said sitting up and pointing a finger at Blakely with a smile, "You can tell her I said so. That I was sweet as maple syrup to you and all the fixings." Blakely raised a brow and took a sip of his own beer and nodded.

"Then what's this about dropping outta formation?" he asked her.

"What she's saying is that your crew oughta drop outta formation before Silver Bullets even dips-"

"Don't give him ideas, Mar." Vivian said, interjecting the tail gunner's query, "I think you do a bang-up job, Ev, but I gotta hand it to ya, Silver Bullets does her job."

"That's because you got Annie Bradshaw at the wheel." a new voice joined in, the likes of Francis Montez entering the picture, "You have someone like Brady who crashes a fort on any given day, you might've thought differently. Or better yet-" Francis turned to Blakely and patted his shoulder, "-Ev Blakely. Heard you had your fair share of crash courses in flying B-17s." Blakely rolled his eyes and turned to Carrie.

"You think if I tell Annie her co-pilot's talking about Brady she'll-"

"Lose her shit?" Carrie asked him, enticed, "Please, I'd love to see that."

"I'm sure you would." Carrie heard from the groups left and watched as Dougie waltzed over, stubbing out a cigarette and throwing an arm around Francis' and Blakely's shoulders, "I'd bet a hundred dollars to see Bergie lose her shit."

"I'm talking about Lieutenant Bradshaw, genius." Carrie said, with a raised brow and watched as Dougie let out a dry chuckle and slid his arms out from around their shoulders and bent down in front of Carrie slightly.

"First time you've considered my intelligence, I'm honored." he said and Carrie smirked.

"Don't get used to it." she offered back. Dougie smirked at her as the song changed to a sanguine Ella Fitzgerald tune. She stared at him and watched as he, quite nervously, stuck out a hand and wiggled his fingers.

"Not everyday I consider my hand in a dance either, so…." Dougie said, "take it or leave it." Carrie stared at Dougie for a moment, the pound of her heartbeat picking up as he watched her, like he was trying to read a book that was far too complex to understand.

"Not everyday that I take it." she said back smoothly, placing down her beer and standing, letting him take her hand toward the dance floor, knowing she'd get some heckling for this back at the table with some of the girls.

Slowly, she turned to him, his gaze making her feel hot all over in a way she blamed merely on the amount of beer she'd consumed. His hands moved from her upper hips, fingers dancing on her lower back, as hot chills eclipsed her form, her own arms coming to wrap up and around him neck, his presence tantalizing and intoxicating as suddenly every breath made her feel very conscious about just how close they were.

Carrie watched him up close, her head tilted slightly upward at the sudden nearness and slight bit of height he had on her. He smelled quite nice, his face clean-shaven except for that stubborn mustache that was growing on her, and his hair wasn't in that ridiculous gelled cut he usually sported. For a second, she was almost ready to run her hands up and through his dark locks, but she kept her hands firmly locked behind his neck instead and resisted every urge to do so. With just how closely she was studying him, she could tell he was doing the same thing.

"What?" Dougie asked her quietly, the music drowning out the thought of anyone else around them, "You got that look on your face."

"What look?" she managed out, her cheeks uncontrollably turning crimson. Dougie let out a chuckle and let his eyes go all soft, enough to make her heart lose control for a second.

"Maybe you save it just for when we're talking, but," Dougie said softly, "you got that stressed and stubborn look on your face. We're just dancing, look." Dougie shifted closer to her to where his breath was fanning across her face and she could feel each individual finger on her uniform, enough to pierce her skin underneath.

"You don't gotta be stressed when you're dancing with Dougie." Dougie said with a low chuckle, and Carrie snickered and shook her head.

"Didn't think you'd ask me to dance anyway," she said, her mouth moving faster than her brain, "and you really need to start wearing your hair like that more often." She stared at him as she said it and watched as his own brain seemed to rewire the longer he stared back.

"Like this?" Dougie asked her, his grip tightening on her waist as he lingered closer to her and smiled softly, "Didn't think you'd notice something like that." Carrie watched him, inches from his face and smiled slightly, her eyes fluttering shut slightly, before peaking out to stare just beneath his eyes.

"I notice a lot of things," she whispered back, her voice tight and high strung, "more than you might realize."

"Hm, is that so?" he whispered to her quietly, her eyes holding his gaze again as they stared each other, wrapped in one another's warmth and intensity, "How about the first time I met you, I remember that you were wearing your hair in that pretty braid. When your hair had been longer." She watched him as his hand slowly crept up her form to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

"You tried convincing me to do a vodka shot with you," Carrie whispered back, trying to catch what breath she had left, "you did a poor job of doing so." Dougie let out a small chuckle, before adjusting those soft, puppy-dog eyes again onto her and smiling softly, enough to make her heart ache just at the way he watched her.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad," he whispered back, his smile riding high, before it disappeared, into a more desperate and yearning look that crossed his face, "listen, Bergie….." She felt her body press against his full, her hands finding their way up the back of his head into his hair. She watched him, from right in front of her eyes as her heart ached more and more.

"The second time I met you, you offered me a cigarette, a Lucky Strike. You had on your sheepskin, you gelled your hair and your aftershave was like Buck's. Pine and cotton." she said quickly, watching as he stared at her, "You danced with Marianne that night. Then the next night was Tatty, and then Charlotte, and then Gemma." She stared at him, her heart pounding.

"The next night, you asked Judy to dance and Dougie….I wished that was me." she managed out, her hand snaking up to the one on the side of his face, brushing her fingers over his soft skin, "You chew gum way too loud for my liking, you usually get a beer and then do a shot, before drinking water. It's all about balance, you say. You are a horrible dancer, but I am too." Dougie continued to watch her as she felt her face reddening and her palms become sweaty, but she didn't care. She couldn't hold back anymore with what emotions had been building for months, week after week.

"I could pick out your laugh in a crowd anywhere," she whispered, watching as his eyes grew wide with a certain depth and surprise, "and I sure as hell would notice when something is wrong." She stared a little longer, biting back her lip as she wrapped her hand around his a bit. "I always do." She watched him, a certain desperation filling her body.

"If you do that one more time, I don't think I'll be able to control myself." Dougie whispered, a certain lowness to his voice that made her cheeks burn.

"What?"

"Look at me like that. Like you always do," he whispered back, his voice husky in a way that made her knees weak. His breath ghosted over her lips for a moment and before either of them were aware of the world around them and whatever was going on between them, Dougie was kissing her. She didn't care that they were in the middle of a shadowed, crowded dance floor, laced with smoke, the smell of beer, and low, swing music. She kissed back like her entire world was right there in front of her.

#INSANE FOR THIS I TELL YOU #FREAKING OUT #SCREAMING #CRYING #THEY HIT THE PENTAGON #THEMMMMMM #(SCREAMING)#sorry yall i love them with my whole heart omfg #insane for this insane i love them #carrie x dougie #masters of the air #mota #silver bullets #mota writings #carrie achterberg #james douglass #james douglass x oc #i just want them to live long and happy lives okay?!?!?!?!

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