#jason undefined

[little-prince-sits-on-his-stone]

"I'm too close to you [...] They'd never let me live if you go down."

lia vazzi — the last don (1997) / the last don 2 (1998)

[jane-lynndrake-t]

What is your brother's name?

His name was James Thomas Crowne.

Everyone called him Jim or Jimmy, but he made his friends call him JT.

I called him Jamie because he'd call me Janie.

Now that I'm older, I've started referring to him as JT. No one knows who I’m talking about when I use Jamie.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

shameless

minors. dni.

your roommate, biker!JASON TODD, still hasn’t taken his helmet off.

readers can expect: a helmet wearing jason todd x fem!reader in an undefined relationship. reader in a dress and makeup. use of nicknames like “baby” and “sunshine.” implied consent but not explicitly stated. thigh riding and some dirty talk. minor, minor amounts of fingering.

he’d just gotten home from a ride, the same time you’d gotten back from shopping. you always did the same thing after, so he’d settled himself into a chair to give you and your new clothes an audience. but the mirrored panel he’s watching you through doesn’t give you the same privilege.

you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if he likes the clothes or not.

he’s been silent the whole time, too. if you didn’t know him better, you’d worry he was mad at you. but you know him well. sometimes you think better than he knows himself. jason just doesn’t talk if he feels like he doesn't need to..or if he’s extremely distracted.

he’s leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed. the motion is making his forearms bulge. the fabric of his flannel straining, already rolled up to his elbows.

your brain is light and fluttery at the idea of his arms holding you close. his hips meeting yours with each thrust. his helmet on.

you’re itching for him to touch you. itching.

you twirl in the new black dress you got, hoping to catch a reaction of some sort.

he tightens his grip on his bicep. shifts in his seat, spreading his legs wider. the fabric around his crotch is definitely more taut than it was when you started.

but he says nothing.

you practically gulp, turning around to go put on the last thing you got.

you come back out in a new red dress. the ruching up the sides pulls the fabric tight against your skin. it ends mid thigh, but you might’ve hiked it up a little higher. might’ve reapplied your lipstick before coming back out. tousled your hair a little bit. who’s to say?

you come a little closer this time, spinning again. you stop, propping a hand onto your hip.

“what do you think?” you turn to the side.

his head tilts. he says nothing.

“okay, well, this was the last thing.” you turn, starting down the hallway.

jason mumbles, the words lost into his helmet. you stop in your tracks. spin back around.

“hm?” you step closer. “did you say something?”

the bulge in jason’s pants is too obvious to ignore now. he shakes his head, beckoning to you, patting his leg.

you have to hold yourself back from practically running to him.

you sit yourself down on a thigh, his hand immediately finding the curve of your ass. electricity runs up your spine. his other hand settles on your upper thigh, slowly inching closer to the junction of your legs. warmth unfurls in your belly at the sensation of the leather of his glove on your bare skin. you lean in, throwing your arms around his neck.

still nothing.

you’re looking at yourself in the mirror covering his eyes. it irks you. you want to see his eyes, the dark slashes of his eyebrows. the corner of your mouth rises as you bring your face in, and plant a lipsticked kiss on the plastic of his visor. jason pinches your waist. his cock twitches behind the thick fabric of his pants. he’s grateful he has his helmet on. it’s hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks.

he recovers, flipping up his tagged visor. just to make a show of rolling his eyes at you. his grip on your thigh tightens as you study the sliver of his face he’s letting you see. a tuft of hair covers his forehead, his telltale white streak cutting through the darker hair, into his right eyebrow.

he looks at you through half-lidded, deep blue eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

you smile at him, batting your lashes. the itch grows stronger.

he rolls his eyes, again.

“feelin’ feisty today, huh, sunshine?”

you nod, humming in agreement. jason tightens his arms around you, bringing you closer. his eyes narrow, the look in them making the heartbeat between your thighs pound harder. you squeeze your legs together. jason glances down, then scoffs, shaking his head.

“you’re shameless.” he decides.

you nod again, blushing a little as you concede.

he adjusts you, grabbing at the fabric around your hips, pulling it up until it’s bunched around your waist. he pauses when he sees the lace of your underwear covering your sex, his own heart pounding in his ears. he fights the urge to clear his throat, a nervous tic he has that you’d pick up on immediately. he can’t fuck this up. he’s been desperate to touch you since the last time you let him, done nothing but think about the pretty little sounds you’d made. he’s gotta play this just right.

“were these really necessary?” he hooks a finger on the waistband, raising his eyebrow. a giggle bubbles out of your throat as you stand up.

“..my underwear? yeah, i’d say they might be.” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you do, before pulling off them off.

jason grabs them from you, wrapping the lacy fabric around his wrist like a bracelet. at your shocked face, he shrugs.

“just for safekeeping, sunshine. i’d say don’t get your panties inna twist about it, but ‘s a little late for that.”

he looks up at you in his helmet, and even though the lower half of his face is covered, you can practically see the cocky smile he’s wearing. you set yourself back onto his leg, straddling his thick thigh. the rough fabric of his riding pants meets the smooth skin of your inner thigh, a wet spot already forming.

“well? show me how bad you want it.” he settles back.

you brace your hands on his shoulders while he folds his own gloved hands on his stomach.

you move your hips, starting a delicious rhythm. the friction makes you moan, feels so good you don’t even realize you’re making a sound. you rock yourself back and forth, back and forth. the movement jostling your tits.

jason’s eyes flicker down, his eyebrows raising. a low groan emanates from his throat. the sound takes you to another level. he reaches up, pulling the front of your dress down. his eyes flare in response, breaking his tense posture to reach up with a gloved hand and palm one.

the worn in leather on the delicate skin of your chest feels like heaven. he pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. the combined stimulation drives you to move your hips faster, gripping your fingers into the sturdy angles of his shoulders.

your hands on him has his cock aching, no doubt leaking pre all over the front of his underwear. he can’t believe what you’re able to do to him without even trying.

“that’s right, baby.” he takes in how your face changes, pleasure so acute it’s unmistakable on your features.

“use me, just like that.”

you pick up the pace just a little, your toes curling as his eyebrows raise and he nods his encouragement. his big hands sink into the flesh of your tits, kneading them as you move.

“that’s right, you’re so close, keep going—”

it builds up, and up, and up, the waves cresting as your thighs clench around his, your back arches, you throw your head back. jason is humming is approval deep in his throat. he swipes your clit a few times with his leather-clad thumb, drawing out your orgasm, making your thighs tremble.

“needed that bad, huh?”

your face grows hot, and you flip his visor down.

he pushes it up again, rolling his eyes at you as the corners of them crinkle with what you can guess is a smile. jason caresses your thigh with his hand as you slump into his chest. your breathing matches his, and he brushes your hair out of your face.

“i like this dress.”

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Could we have a peek of what went through Dick's mind at the Zoo when he heard Peter's plans for World Domination with Dog or the research proposal for Ivy? Or heck, any of the bat family just randomly catching the strange plans he says out loud?

I was going to write something short for this, and then these 1500 words came out! (o′┏▽┓｀o) Enjoy the above scene from Chapter 14 Dick's POV! It was an interesting perspective to write from as it's been many years since I've read any Nightwing comics! It's also not a play-by-play because I can't abide writing like that 🙃

Peter Parker was a strange creature and not remotely close to the kind of person Dick would ever think to see Jason settle down with.

Then again, Dick had never really thought Jason capable of settling down. Though it filled him with guilt to even think it (especially when Dick knew that Jason wasn’t without his share of romantic entanglements), he’d always thought of his little brother as someone who sailed alone. Perhaps it was the death, or just something about the fleeting nature of Jason’s relationships, but Dick always got the impression that Jason wasn’t even interested in sex or romance. That was certainly what he’d heard from Rose.

And then along came Peter, and Dick was forced to reevaluate his assessment of his brother. Not only was he a man — when all Jason’s relationships, as much as Dick was aware, had been with women — but Jason was invested in him.

Like, actively invested in Peter. Forcing himself to spend time with the family for Peter’s benefit, even though Dick knew Jason would rather extract his own teeth. Defending Peter when their siblings toed the lines of appropriate behaviour. Worried over how he was meant to reach out to a man who apparently held himself in the harrowing space between an unspecified traumatic past and the present.

In a line-up of Jason’s relationships, Peter certainly stuck out like a sore thumb. Granted, Dick was well aware that he was ‘painfully hetero’ (Steph’s words), but by all accounts, there was nothing particularly special about Peter — besides his undefined meta abilities. He wasn’t a statuesque goddess like Artemis, nor did he have an air of feral danger like Rose. He wasn’t even close to the refined — but toothless — beauty of that air hostess Dick was ashamed to say he didn’t know the name of. Sure, Peter had a nice enough jawline, Dick supposed, but otherwise, he broke the mold when it came to the romantic interests of Jason Todd.

There was something… vulnerable to Peter Parker. A fragility to his expressions that gave the impression he was permanently on the precipice of shattering. It was a far cry from any of Jason’s past attachments.

But perhaps that was what made it work. The Jason Dick knew — before Joker got to him — on occasion would slip into a caregiver role, especially when out as Robin. In a way, Peter was the logical conclusion to that tendency. Peter was clearly in need of people on his side, and Jason oh so clearly wanted to be someone who was needed.

It was clear even now, as Peter clung absently to Jason’s arm, taking in the zoo with bright and clever eyes, and Jason held their umbrella aloft between them. Dick doubted Peter was even aware that Jason was making sure he was the one to enjoy the umbrella’s coverage, which despite it’s impressive breadth, still wasn’t comprehensive enough to shield two grown men from the rain. Water dripped steadily onto Jason’s shoulder, the waterproofed leather sending the droplets cascading in pearly beads down his sleeve.

Dick wondered if Jason was even aware of what he was doing.

Of course, in other ways, Peter fit right into that line-up. He was clever, for one. Exactly how clever, Dick was hesitant to say, but Peter was observant. It didn’t take long for him to notice there was something up with the zoo.

“Is it just me, or are these exhibits like, weirdly well-made?” Peter said. He and Jason were pressed so close together, their coats would have made a peeling noise if they were pulled apart. It was adorable. “Pretty sure those trees—” Peter pointed at the gibbons enclosure, “should not be as happy as they are in a place like Gotham. They’re tropical.”

The moment Jason mentioned Poison Ivy, Peter’s thoughts took an analytical turn. He studied the rainforest like it was a scientific mystery he couldn’t wait to solve. Dick was familiar with that look: he saw it all too often on Titans and members of the Justice League.

It must have been a terribly cruel thing for Peter to experience, to have been ripped out his home in New York and school. Dick knew Steph joked that Peter’s family got sucked into a cult, but Dick suspected it wasn’t far from the truth. Whoever it was that turned Peter’s parents against him, to the point that Peter had to run away… well, Dick definitely should have pushed a bit harder to know what Jason did to them.

Should have. Hadn’t.

… Wasn’t going to.

“That’s… a bad idea.”

Dick decided it was time to insert himself into the conversation. He sidled closer to the two lovebirds and nearly laughed when all he got for his troubles was a pointed look from Peter and Jason — a mutual ‘what do you think you’re doing?’ — before they were drawn back to each other. Yeah… Peter might not be the kind of person Dick thought Jason would gravitate towards, but when they were together they made sense.

Even the way they flirted, quips bouncing between each other in rapid fire, made the two of them seem like a perfect match. Jason’s sly grin made Dick’s chest ache to see.

“I just think she’d be a fascinating person to talk to!”

“Yeaaah. Not sure if Ivy’d agree with you there.”

“Poison Ivy?” Dick had to fight hard not to laugh. As much as he would have enjoyed stirring the pot, he doubted Jason would be very forgiving if Dick suggested Ivy would be happy talking to some random guy. “She’s… not particularly friendly. To men in particular.”

Peter’s face fell. God, Dick felt a bit like he’d kicked a puppy. “Oh… What if I approached her with a research proposal?”

“Do you have one?” asked Jason, mouth curled into an indulgent smile.

“No,” Peter scoffed. “But I could make one.”

“You trying to dip your toes in a little villainy, Pete?” Dick couldn’t help but laugh. Nevermind his earlier thoughts about Peter: if he was already thinking of ways to ingratiate himself to Ivy for the sake of science, perhaps he wasn’t that far from the pattern of terrifyingly competent women from Jason’s romantic history.

Jason, unseen by Peter, returned Dick’s knowing look with a vicious glare. Dick chose to retreat a little and watch them slip back into their seamless flirting.

Was Jason even aware of how he smiled when he spoke with Peter? Softly fond, eyes crinkling in a way Dick hadn’t seen from him since…. Before. That was his brother. Little Jay. Happy Jay. Cheeky, wry Jay. The Jay that had been stolen from Dick and Bruce.

And there he was, resurfacing for this — this outsider. Some guy who’d popped up out nowhere, bursting into their lives without warning.

Why Peter?

Why weren’t they enough?

You know why.

Irrationally, Dick suddenly seethed with jealous hate for Peter. He could tell from the easy air between them that the camaraderie between Jason and Peter wasn’t performative. This Jason was the Jason Peter got to see every day. A Jason with an even keel, never looking like he was a few bad waves away from capsizing. Dick loved Jason even as he was now; he was proud of how far they’d both come since Jason’s first, brutal return to the city. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss Jay. Jay, who’d been stolen from Dick far too young, before Dick could even really get his feet under himself and step up to the big brother mantle.

It was a petty and cruel emotion. Dick forced it away as soon as it bubbled forth, but he didn’t think he managed to school his face to completely hide it from his brother. After Peter had been dragged off by Damian in the reptile house, Jason sidled up to him.

“Spit it out then,” he said, and for fuck’s sake, he was already on the defensive, shoulders squared up like he was bracing for a blow.

This was the Jason that Dick usually met, while Peter got friendly, happy ‘Jace’.

Dick was so fucking tired of the antagonism. So he forced on a benign smile and clapped Jason on the shoulder.

“I was just thinking you two are a good fit. Let me know when you go looking for a ring.”

Jason choked on nothing but air. Laughing to himself, Dick strolled sedately in the direction Damian had dragged Peter and Duke in, though they were long gone by now. Comforted by his little brother’s mortification, the unfair resentment towards Peter was a little easier to push aside.

Bruce, inevitably, would be concerned, but Dick was hit by a wave of aching optimism.

Maybe Peter was the person all of them needed. It certainly seemed he was the person Jason needed. And though Dick could hardly say he knew Peter, he hoped , at the least, that Peter was someone generous enough to share his Jason with the rest of them.

Dick thought he’d be happy with a compromise like that.

[sunnie-angel]

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

[heartbarisi]

an incredibly queer list of criminal minds hcs (if you wanna fight me idc just scroll)

emily: that is a lesbian your honour. (“oh but max you’ve made a hotchniss edit” sometimes i make edits for ships i don’t ship man idk im just creative like that)

jj: you can play this two ways either she’s a lesbian with astronomical levels of comphet or bisexual and has astronomical levels of internalised biphobia. i flip flop between these options

tara: lesbian. next.

elle: bisexual in the way that she loves all women and loves men that she can peg

penelope: that is a queer woman if i’ve ever seen one. also nonbinary transfem because I SAID SO THATS WHY

luke: bisexual icon luke alvez i love you. also yeah i hc as a trans man. is there any hint to that in canon? no. is it just because i want him to be? yes. t4t garvez and ralvez you will always be real to me

spencer: now i know y’all are expecting me to say trans man. NO! spencer doesn’t align with gender. any and all pronouns bc gender isn’t real. they are just existing. asexual. bi or gay i can’t decide. yes this entire hc is entirely biased bc he’s me. i literally chose the middle name reid bc of him. argue with the wall

morgan: see i used to be a moreid shipper but i am now a ralvez truther. i feel like morgan has fucked a man at least once and he didn’t hate it. he’s straight but is he really? we’ll never know

aaron: i am a raging hossi truther so you can guess the answer here. that is a closeted gay man. if you wish to make the same comment about my hotchniss edit refer to the brackets in the emily section again. dare i say hotchniss as a lavender/beards relationship? sometimes i write hcs where he’s trans too. i warned you this was a queer list. i just be transing these guys at my will

david: says he’s too old for labels. he likes fucking hotch. he’s fucked women in the past. experimented in college and realised that actually he enjoyed it. simply enjoys who he enjoys

jason: the relationship between gideon and rossi in their youth was beautifully undefinable. “are they lovers? worse.” core. gideon has been in love with one man in his lifetime and that was rossi, but they never labelled that love. he spent the rest of his life looking back and missing what they had.

[stephforl1fe]

Sexuality headcannons for pride month!!!🏳️‍🌈

Bruce: bisexual but in that old gay person way that they’re kinda confused about all the new different types of sexualities but supportive nonetheless

Dick: pansexual disaster. Girl, guy, alien, dick grays does NOT gaf as long as your a redhead your a target in his books.

Jason Todd: either aroace or asexual demiromantic- I feel like he just wouldn’t be into relationships but if he was it’d be with someone he would know forever like Roy

Tim: I feel like it’s obvious but yeah he’s bisexual, and if his canon track record says anything he’s got a thing for blondes

Cass: lesbian or undefined queer, Cassandra doesn’t care about labels that much she just knows that she loves who she loves and she goes to the ends of the earth to protect them

Duke: this one might be controversial but I think he’d be straight ally/demisexual, no further explanation I just feel it in my Batman tingles

Stephanie: Steph would be pansexual with preference for women, she leans towards women and they’re majestic beauty, but she’s always down bad for loser men with a humor

Damian: either bisexual or aroace, half of me leans for bi because him and flatline are so Damn cute but I also get the feeling that in at least one universe he’s against any kind of relationship. Idk maybe a good in between would be bisexual/gray-aroace

[kamyru]

Return the like (Thomas Rheault x Candy & Jason Mendal x Another Candy) (Shorts)

Author's note: This is inspired by the scene in episode 4 in which Thomas tells everyone that he "stalks" Jason online. And is a reinterpretation of the whole scene, but after an undefined timeskip.

Word counting: 569

"He's married now," the woman told her boyfriend while drying her face with a small towel. She took out a small jar of face cream and applied it in front of the mirror. Now that the water wasn't running, she could hear Thomas' answer.

"There's no way. He is the biggest womanizer I have known. When you told me you knew him, I was sure it was because you used to be one of his girls. He slept with more than half of the city," Thomas commented and came from behind to plant a kiss on the top of the head of his girlfriend. She smiled softly and looked at him through the mirror.

"I saw a wedding band on his ring finger."

"He has always been wearing rings on nearly all the fingers. The man is filthy rich and a poser."

The woman put her hands on the edge of the sink and turned to her boyfriend. She wasn't smiling this time, looking deadly serious in the man's eyes.

"Do you think I can't recognize a wedding band when I see it?"

Thomas laughed and shrugged. He kissed the temple of his girlfriend and left. When the woman finally emerged from the bathroom, he tapped the place on the bed near him, as if they weren't sharing it for a few years already.

"Let's search. I'll show you that I'm right. You are still following his account under that fake nail salon account, right?"

The man didn't answer. It was obvious to everyone in the room that the woman was right. Even after years of leaving Devenementiel and starting work in another field, his stalking habits didn't die. He wasn't using that account as much anymore. If he was more precise, the last time he logged in was when his girlfriend saw it. That's how she found out about his nail salon.

Thomas didn't expect a lot from the Jason-Goldreamz Instagram page. If he remembered right, for a lot of time the guy didn't post any womanizer photos, but it didn't mean anything. It took him some time to find the page through his followers until his girlfriend stopped him at one and pressed it.

"Here it is! You see, I was right."

And sure she was. Jason-Goldreamz's profile picture was a photo from his wedding. Moreover, his last photo was a candid of himself looking lovingly at his wife: the woman who used to work at Devenementiel before his girlfriend took her place. Thomas was so shocked, he didn't understand when he accidentally liked the last photo.

****

"Guess what?" a husky voice reverberated through the room to the bathroom. A faint "What?" made the man continue talking. "Your former co-worker liked our last photo together."

At this, the woman stepped out of the bathroom just enough to look at her husband. "Who?"

"The one with a fake nail salon account."

The woman laughed shortly. She went back to the bathroom to rinse her face. When the water stopped running, she took her rightful place near her husband and let her head fall on his chest.

"Like him back. I heard he has a girlfriend now."

Mr. Mendal laughed. Mrs. Mendal laughed too. The light closed, and they cuddled to sleep.

The next morning, Thomas woke up to a notification.

"Love, do you remember ever collaborating with a hair removal salon? They liked our last photo together."

[sebstanaddict]

The Debuggers Assemble

Sebastian Stan x Reader Unhinged One Shot (Feat. The Avengers)

Summary : Behold! The 2nd version of this chaotic and unhinged story of Seb as a wannabe coder and this one features the Avengers!

A/N: This is just another stress induced story I came up with as I try to debug actual code on my project XD Hope you guys like it.

Warning: none at all, just an all out funny, unhinged and ridiculous story, somewhat like a sitcom XD

Word count: 1.7k words

Read more Sebastian and Bucky one shots here

---

It started as a normal Tuesday. Y/n was working on a client's website, surrounded by empty soda cans, a half-eaten granola bar, a cup of coffee that had been refilled countless times, and the dim hope that this web application project wouldn't kill her. She was almost done when she hit a wall—an infuriating wall in the form of a bug so elusive it might as well have been a mythological creature.

"What in the name of Jeff Bezos is wrong with you?!" she yelled at her laptop, slamming her hands on the desk.

"BOOM, BABY!"

She jumped, nearly knocking over her coffee as Sebastian burst into the room like Kramer from Seinfeld. He was wearing an Avengers bathrobe, a Viking helmet, and inexplicably wielding a hockey stick.

"Seb," she said, already exhausted by his mere presence. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he said, dramatically tossing the hockey stick aside. It hit a lamp, causing it to crash to the floor.

"You're not helping. You're breaking my furniture."

"Pfft. Material possessions are temporary. But debugging is eternal."

"No," she said firmly. "Not this time. You're not touching my laptop. The last time you helped, the TV turned on by itself, showed me a cooking tutorial in Portuguese, and called me by name."

Sebastian gasped, clutching his chest like she'd insulted his honor. "You loved that tutorial. You said the flan recipe looked great."

"That's not the POINT!"

"Come on," he said, sitting next to her and grinning like a kid who just found a pack of fireworks. "I'm serious. Let me help."

She gave him a withering look. "Do you even know what CSS stands for?"

"D'uh. It's..." He paused, clearly making something up on the spot. "Cool, uh... Code... Stuff."

Y/N smirked. "What about HTML? Know what it is?"

"Of course I do," he said confidently. "It's... um... Hot Tacos Make Life better?"

She stared at him, deadpan. "Seb, I bet you don't even know what Javascript is."

"No, but I know about.. scripts?" He answered innocently and she rolled her eyes.

"Seb, just leave me alone and do whatever it was you were going to do with this.. outfit." She said, gesturing towards his Viking helmet.

But Sebastian ignored her, dragging his chair closer to her. "No way. I can help. I've acted as a hacker in movies. I know all about... coding stuff."

"Seb, no you haven't, and do NOT touch my laptop." She warned.

"Relax, babe. Let me at least look at it."

She reluctantly slid the laptop toward him. "Fine. But if you break something, you're sleeping on the couch."

Sebastian cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Alright, let's see what we've got here."

He squinted at the code for a solid thirty seconds like it was written in ancient Greek. "So, what's the problem?"

She sighed. "The JSON data isn't parsing correctly."

"JASON? Who's Jason?"

She groaned. "JSON. JavaScript Object Notation. It's a way to structure data."

Sebastian's face lit up. "Got it. So, it's like... Legos?"

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night." she rolled her eyes.

Sebastian cracked his knuckles and typed furiously.

—

<script>

let data = {

name: "Sebastian",

talent: "Acting",

debuggingSkill: "undefined"

};

console.log("Fixing everything like a boss"); // Motivational

data += "magic sauce"; // This'll work, right?

alert("IT WORKS... probably.");

</script>

—

He hit "Save" and refreshed the page. The screen went completely white, then flashed red like it was possessed.

"What did you do?!" she screamed.

"Magic sauce!" Sebastian said, pointing at the code.

"Magic sauce?! That's not a thing!"

"Not with that attitude," he muttered.

"Just give it back." She said, trying to grab the laptop back but he held it tight.

"No, no, babe. Let me try something else." He insisted, holding the laptop hostage.

She sighed, "Fine, just one more thing and if it doesn't work, give it back to me."

"Okay, okay, hold on. This will work. I can feel it!" He said enthusiastically, his fingers typing furiously.

—

<script>

let data =[ {

name: "Y/n",

character: "beautiful",

debuggingSkill: "powerful"

},

name: "Sebastian",

character: "chaotic",

debuggingSkill: "questionable"

},];

let love = data["Y/n"] + data["Sebastian"];

console.log("Y/n, you're the light of my life, and this code is dedicated to you.");

alert("Success, just like us.");

</script>

—

"Seb, that's not how you call JSON data." She protested but she couldn't keep a smile from escaping from her lips.

"Sometimes you have to go outside the box. Besides, love fixes everything." He said, winking at her and she rolled her eyes. He then pressed enter with a dramatic flourish.

The website blinked. The error message was gone, the navigation bar worked, the grid was perfect, the contact form sparkled like it had been kissed by the gods.

Sebastian turned to her with a smirk. "Told you. Love fixes everything."

Y/n's jaw dropped. "Wait... did you just—"

Before she could finish, the screen exploded into chaos. Every element on the page multiplied, filling the screen with hundreds of buttons labeled "Love you, Y/n" and an animated gif of a dancing cat in a tuxedo.

Sebastian leaned back, hands behind his head. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

She buried her face in her hands. "This is a nightmare."

"Okay, okay," he said, "Time to bring in the big guns."

Before she could grab the laptop back, Sebastian's hand flew over it again.

—

function callTheAvengers() {

alert("Avengers, assemble. We have a coding emergency.");

}

callTheAvengers();

—

"Seb, that's not gonna work." She protested.

"Wait for it." Sebastian said, raising his index finger to silence her and he hit the refresh button dramatically.

"Just give me the laptop back before I hit you with the hockey stick." She threatened.

"Babe, please. Trust me. Wait for it." He insisted and sure enough, suddenly she could hear the sound of a jet overhead. She glanced out the window and nearly fell out of her chair. The actual Quinjet was descending in the middle of their suburban street.

The neighbors were peeking out their windows in confusion, one even snapping pictures. "Sebastian, what did you do?!"

He smirked, "You saw the code, I called the Avengers."

Before she could protest, there was a knock at the door. Sebastian jumped up and opened it with a flourish.

Standing there were Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Thor, Natasha Romanoff and Bruce Banner.

"We heard there was a coding emergency," Steve Rogers said seriously, stepping inside.

Y/n slapped her forehead. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening."

"What's the situation?" Tony asked, sunglasses on with a latte in hand.

Y/n sighed. "It's just a stupid JSON error."

"Ugh, JSON," Tony said, grimacing. "The silent killer of sanity. Move over."

Natasha Romanoff rolled her eyes. "Why am I even here? I don't code."

"Neither do I!" Thor announced, holding aloft his Mjolnir. "But I shall bring thunderous ideas!"

"Don't touch anything!" Y/n cried.

Bruce Banner set up his laptop. "Let's divide and conquer."

Sebastian handed everyone a keyboard which came out of nowhere and connected to nothing.. "Alright, team, let's do this."

Tony was the first to dive in.

"Alright, Y/n, let me show you how it's done." He typed on her laptop furiously:

—

<script>

function fixJSON() {

let billionDollars = true;

if (billionDollars) {

console.log("Hire someone else to fix it.");

} else {

console.log("Do it yourself, cheapskate.");

}

}

fixJSON();

</script>

—

"Tony," Y/n said, glaring, "that doesn't even make sense."

"It makes sense if you're a billionaire," he quipped. He hit refresh and the website turned all red and an iron man logo blinked in the middle.

Y/n slapped her forehead. "This is a nightmare."

"Here, let me try." Bruce Banner said. His approach was more... scientific.

"I think we need to test various inputs."

—

<script>

let gammaInput = [1, 2, "Hulk"];

let result = gammaInput.map(x => x + " smash");

console.log(result);

</script>

—

He hit refresh and the code ran. The screen displayed: '["1 smash", "2 smash", "Hulk smash"]'.

"Great, Bruce," Y/n said dryly. "Now my website is smashing things."

"You're welcome," he replied, adjusting his glasses.

Natasha sighed and leaned over. "Let me show you how to be efficient."

—

<script>

let secretSpyHack = () => {

console.log("Bug? What bug?");

};

secretSpyHack();

</script>

—

"That didn't do anything," Y/n pointed out.

Natasha shrugged. "Neither did I."

"Alright, alright, my turn." Steve said and he started typing with the enthusiasm of a soldier going in for battle.

—

function captainAmericaFix() {

let website = "running on freedom and justice";

let bugs = "punched out by the good ol' stars and stripes";

console.log("This code stands for something bigger.");

}

captainAmericaFix();

—

The website loaded. Patriotic music blared as an eagle soared across the screen, dragging the American flag behind it.

Y/n put her head on the desk. "I'm going to scream."

Thor stepped forward. "Stand aside, mortals! BEHOLD! I SHALL WRITE CODE AS MIGHTY AS MJOLNIR!"

He slammed Mjolnir onto the desk, causing the laptop to spark.

"Thor, no!" Y/n cried but Thor was already typing furiously.

—

<script>

let hammer = "Mjolnir";

function summonThunder() {

return hammer + " strikes!";

}

console.log(summonThunder());

</script>

—

He hit refresh and the website now displayed nothing but lightning bolts and the phrase "FOR ASGARD!" in Comic Sans.

Sebastian was laughing hysterically, tears streaming down his face. "This is the best debugging session ever!"

All of a sudden Peter Parker swung in through the window. "Hey, I heard there's a coding emergency?"

Tony groaned. "Of course the kid's here."

"Don't worry, I've got this!" Peter said, taking her laptop.

—

<script>

let webFix = bug => 'Spidey fixed ${bug}!';

console.log(webFix("JSON error"));

</script>

—

The website turned into a Spider-Man fan page.

Y/n buried her face in her hands. "I'm doomed."

"Enough!" Sebastian shouted, standing on a chair. "It's time for my genius to shine."

"Seb, NO!" she screamed.

"Seb, YES!" he yelled, typing with reckless abandon.

She glared at him as he continued to type nonsense but he suddenly stopped.

"Wait, I think you just missed a comma here." Sebastian said, deleting everything he typed before and adding the comma into her code.

He hit "Enter." The page refreshed. Miraculously, everything worked perfectly.

The room went silent. Even Tony looked impressed.

"How, how did you know?" She asked, her jaw dropped.

"Sometimes JSON is finicky like that." Sebastian shrugged.

Tony looked over his shoulder. "I was just about to say that."

As the Avengers packed up and left (after Tony insisted on taking credit for everything), Sebastian sat beside Y/n, who was still staring at her now-functioning website.

Sebastian leaned back on the chair, looking smug. "Told you I'd fix it."

"That was just beginner's luck." she shrugged.

"Oh come on, babe. What I did was genius." He insisted.

"I wouldn't say genius, but I think you know enough JSON now to be able to debug code."

"Yeah.. who's Jason again?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed and she threw a pillow at him.

"You're lucky I love you." She commented and he smiled as he pulled her by her waist and leaned in to kiss her.

For the rest of the day Sebastian strutted around the apartment, still wearing the Avengers bathrobe, Viking helmet and adding sunglasses while carrying a hockey stick and singing "We Are The Champions".

Y/n just stared at him and rolled her eyes, accepting her fate that she was dating a chaotic but somehow genius boyfriend and she wouldn't trade him for anything.

[laufire]

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling + JayTimMia

𓆩😈𓆪 𓆩😈𓆪 𓆩😈𓆪

—

There was no rush in their movements, but just after Jason walked out of the Nest, Red Hood gear carried inside a duffle bag over his shoulder, Mia and Tim started their walk towards his bedroom.

Theirs was a –yet undefined– odd relationship, in their line of work. Known each other for five years, set up on an utterly ordinary date by friends; a date neither aliens nor gangs nor any other type of miscreant had the decency of interrupting, and thus, the most absurdly normal, appropriate evening Mia had experienced with a man.

That was Tim, in every way, if you asked anyone in her life: appropriate, suitable. Acceptable. The kind of catch Mia should and would want to date. Age-appropriate, on his way of becoming college-educated, firmly on the side of the angels –never, ever one to stray.

read the rest in ao3.

[luvo27]

ok here is my personal interpretation of some of the batfam family and/or found family dynamic:

bruce & dick: found family. yes they are legal family but this is because they're weird and freaks about public facing personas it's only because adopted father son is the only thing they can say to other people and seem normal their strange mess of father son brother mentor student partners is the foundation of their relationship and they are found family

bruce & jason: family. father & son end of sentence. yeah they're freaks about it but they're family

dick & jason: family. so i havent read all that much where they interact but i think they're brothers in that they are very strange about it

dick & tim: family. brothers. they were weird about it and then got less weird about it and now are normal brothers. as normal as brothers can get you understand what i mean

bruce & tim: found family they've got that strange mentor student partners thing going on and the adoptiveness is also because of the being freaks about public facing personas

tim & jason: i also havent read all that much where they interact look im basing most of this on like the 90s and jason is dead ok. but tim being how he is about jason while hes robin and jason is dead is a kind of brothers to me. but i also think its worse than that so. i dont think i can say anything definitively but im going to go with family with negative connotations. legal family.

tim & steph: found family. they start out as weird friends and become weird significant others and they are too entwined in each others lives in a strange and inexplicable and undefinable way. more than friends and not siblings and not exes even though technically they're exes. found family.

does steph interact with dick. does she interact with jason. hm. this is where i make stuff up: found family in the sense of they have no idea why she's here and they're not that close with her but she is close with tim. found family in law. yes.

steph & bruce: found family with negative connotations. they are part of each other's lives and it's bad and no one likes this and it's worse because sometimes it is good sometimes it's truly good and that makes the worse parts worse

babs & dick: found family. started out as friends and became intertwined in each other's lives in a way that cannot be defined. sometimes they are dating and sometimes they are divorced and sometimes they are friends and all the time they are inescapable

babs & jason: im making stuff up. they are found family in laws who are also friends when jason is robin.

babs & bruce: coworker can be a type of found family. flavor of found family that is divorced coworkers

bruce & cass: family. father daughter. father daughter with negative connotations and also complicated about it. despite not being raised by him cass inherits his neuroses

cass & dick: i think i've only read where they interacted like twice? putting them as legal family. they are legally family and that's a tie that means something to them but not necessarily close like siblings like dick & tim are siblings you know what i mean. friendly legal family

cass & tim: hm. difficult. they are like. found family to me. their dynamic is not sibling but friends doesn't fit them either. intertwined in an inexplicable way.

cass & steph: found family found family found family. there is no label that can encompass their relationship. they mean so much to each other in a way that words will never be able to describe. they live in each others skin. they are not family they are not friends they are not lovers and they have been assumed to be all of these things but their bond is unable to be pinned underneath any type of word.

cass & babs: found family. mother daughter mentor mentee student teacher sisters in arms agent and handler. all of these things and none of them. undefinable and inextricable. found family

steph & babs: found family in laws who are also friends. not necessarily close enough to be found family but they are found family in laws and also friends

babs & tim: friends who are found family in laws. friends first found family in law second

cass & jason: ??????? making stuff up time for me. legal family derogatory maybe? legal family like the family when you have a big family gathering and you have no choice but to invite both of them because its a family gathering but everyone who cares about their sanity and physical health will do their best to prevent them from talking about politics with each other at the dinner table or something

[ao3sbatfamily]

Hi!

Some - preferably long - fics about Damian adapting to life in the Batfamily after the League stuff? Misunderstandings and angst with happy ending?

Good Dad Bruce and Good Sibling Dick, please!

Here's a short one and a long one.

(Restricted) 'Obsolete Tools and Tangible Miseries' by Corybantic

“Well, about that …” Damian’s blood runs cold, tongue too big in his mouth and entire body tingling. “You’re kind of benched.”

“Why?” Damian tries to make the words come out steady and even but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work. All of a sudden Drake’s behavior makes sense. Drake was watching him because he wanted to be able to rub it in Damian’s face when he woke up.

“Reckless endangerment.” Damian’s brow furrows, wishing now more than ever that he remembered what had happened.

“Who got hurt?” Thinking about it chokes him up a bit, it feeds the conflict that culminates in his mind. The idea that collateral damage was imminent and all it took was one bad day for him to get caught in the crosshairs. The idea that he’s supposed to cleanse all evil, no matter how small, clashes with his desire to do better.

The look on Tim’s face was undefinable, just outside the understanding of emotion that Damian had been carefully curating. Seemingly conflicted, or confused, or sad, Damian wasn’t sure.

“You. You got hurt.” Damian blinks, half relieved and half confused.

'Thera-Pet' by Jlynn105

“While Damian’s away I think we should send Titus to a service dog training facility,” Tim revealed and Jason gave him a raised eyebrow in response. 

“The brat’s already trained his dog.” The objection was true enough. Titus was seated exactly where Damian put him before walking out the door. However, Tim had planned for this argument and already prepared his closing thoughts. 

“Maybe, but if you would turn your attention to the main TV” Once he had pointed it out, it didn’t take long for Bruce and Dick to smile and sit by the couches. They had seen Tim’s grand presentations before and Jason didn’t need too many hints once the PowerPoint title slide came on.

“As we all know, Damian exhibits many signs of PTSD including social anxiety, separation anxiety, normal anxiety, depression, fidgeting with knives, panic attacks, insomnia, and the list could continue.”

[ditzyredrobin]

JayTim Week Day 2

Dawn / Space / Star

Just a snippet of of day two. And yes, chicken and stars is superior (take that Jason).

-

“Campbell’s chicken and stars, really? If you’re going to burn the house down, at least pick the good stuff.”

Tim closes his eyes and counts to ten. A deep breath in through his nose, a deep breath out through his mouth, hoping it’ll help a little with the mounting emotions.

It doesn’t.

Trapped in a blanket, burrito-style, and reinforced by Jason’s arms, everything in him is screaming for him to flee.

Jason is pissed. Not kick his ass pissed, but it’s a close thing. It maybe even closer if he weren’t sick. Or maybe he was closer than he thought because he was sick and didn’t tell anyone. But Dick had a day job in Blüdhaven, he was an EMT, and Jason was on Official Red Hood Business™️.

Plus, he was fine. He had been watching his temperature. If it had gotten about 101.5, he would have called someone—Bruce, or Alfie, maybe Dick if he was feeling bad enough. But it all should have been fine.

He was fine.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Jason, I wasn’t going to burn the house down. It was just a minor series of unfortunate events that lead to some minor smoke.” Tim snaps back for the nth time in as many minutes. “Plus the classic is gross.”

Jason stares at him for a long moment with a pinched expression, his eye twitching. “The building had to evacuate.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I was going to burn the apartment down.”

“There are scorch marks on the stove and you destroyed one of my favorite pans. Which you owe me for, by the way. I paid good money for those.”

“Dick has done worse. At least I didn’t set off the sprinklers.”

It’s true and on more than one occasion.

He doesn’t laugh, instead it only serves to make him angrier. “This time! You didn’t set off the sprinklers this time. You’re damn lucky you didn’t get hurt. Both of you are, frankly.”

Tim rolls his eyes and wiggles in his cocoon of Jason, and comforter, and Kevlar, testing the waters and how much could he move.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of being carried around like a helpless damsel but being in Jason’s arms usually made it bearable, he smelled of cigarettes, and chewing gum, and that unique, undefinable smell that could only be described as purely Gotham. He was safe and warm, like a cup of chai in the winter, warming him from the inside out.

But his hold on him now wasn’t comfortable. It was like being caught in an iron vice, or bear trap. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and every fiber in him screamed run. Red Hood was far too close to the surface and it frankly made Tim want to vomit. Everywhere.

If he hadn’t known any better, he would say the pit was starting to ooze up again. But Jason’s eyes were so blue it almost hurt.

[cologona]

Headcanon costume transitions

RHATO v1 starts with Jason on a mission for Talia instead of Batman, wearing robes similar to his Young Justice TV show look. Since they never slept together their relationship remained undefined, so he felt the need to repay her.

His clothes get torn when he drowns, so just as in canon, he borrows some of the clothes Dick left behind with Kori after she saves him. (Dick had the red costume at the time so it's visually similar.)

It isn't until Jason realizes Talia isn't herself anymore and begins working with Batman Inc to stop her, that he's given his own bat-duds. Bruce does this because at that point, he still had high hopes for a full reconciliation and redemption from Jason.

Jason's relative docility during this era is partly due to his guilt over her death, and insecurities about the implications of when Talia became compromised— if it happened while she was his benefactor and if so, at what point.

The Outlaws continue to have various adventures in space and international until Kori goes back to Tamaran and idk, Roy is needed by other people for some other mission.

RHATO v2 begins with an imposter Black Mask questioning why Jason still wears the Hood if he's a Bat now, correctly identifying that his beliefs aren’t as aligned with Batman as the symbol on his chest would suggest, though Black Mask fails to convince Jason to join him.

As in canon, Jason continues to wear the red bat outfit up until he discovers Willis' letters and Bruce gives him that rooftop beatdown for shooting Penguin. During his recovery he assembles his new gear, salvaging parts of his broken helmet to create his mask and stitching together his old LOA coat with the functional parts of his leather jacket to make his vest.

[lazaruspiss]

A Lesson On Sharing (JayDickTim, JayDick, DickTim, JayTim): Dick and Jason have been… something for a while now. A relationship that is undeniably important and yet remains undeniably undefined. Dick and Tim have been in a similar state of something-ness too, as of late. Whatever the three of them are has gone largely unspoken, but it was only a matter of time before that quiet stubbornness turned into something too loud to ignore.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit

Dick Grayson is a Mother Day, Day 5: Talon | Discipline | Underage

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Hallucination? Probably

by Minzblatt Tim Drake is holding it together. Barely. He’s an orphan (which, yeah, isn’t exactly rare around here), his guardian barely acknowledges him, his place in the Batfam is… undefined at best, one of his brothers definitely wants him dead, and being Robin is... not as fun as it sounds. The weight of Gotham is starting to feel a little heavier each night and sleep is a myth. Add schoolwork and the crushing loneliness of a 16-year-old who lives solo in a giant manor, and you’ve got a disaster cocktail with a cherry on top. So when a weird floating boy shows up out of nowhere, Tim’s totally sure it’s just his overworked, sleep-deprived brain staging an intervention. A welfare hallucination. Happens. ...Still, it’s kinda nice not being alone for a change. or: Tim Drake is having a no-good, very bad mental health spiral—until a glowing boy phases through his wall. Literally. Words: 1888, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Danny Phantom, DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Danny Fenton, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Relationships: Tim Drake (DCU)/Danny Fenton, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Danny Fenton & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Lonely Tim Drake, Grief/Mourning, Depressed Tim Drake (DCU), but he doesn't acknowledge it, Hallucinations, Delusions, Tim Drake is Robin (DCU), Soft Danny Fenton, Pining, Protective Danny Fenton, Tim Drake-centric (DCU), Tim Drake Needs a Hug (DCU), and gets it, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, But fails miserably, Tim Drake & Jason Todd Bonding, Not Canon Compliant, I just pick and choose from canon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, “this is fine”-Tim Drake, Danny Fenton is confused, but rolling with it, Jason is just a chill guy via https://ift.tt/t9CwSkZ