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[crowbird]

I think Self Shippers need to kick it up a notch and have Fictional Enemies, make a self insert whose life goal is to beat the shit out of a canon character

[crowbird]

original thought/concept, pervious part

The cosmos is much like a forest. One seed, one idea can birth a world, and any alternate timelines branch off as the tree goes but it is still the same base concept. The rules are still the same and the statistical probability one exists on another branch of their tree is never zero. You do not however have that same probability should you look to another tree. A willow cannot grow acorns and a birch does not shed needles.

Worlds can branch on into the infinite levels of plausibility but each remains it's own even if the origin is one in the same. But the chance of someone slipping from their tree and falling into another is, well, not exactly typical. In fact it's so atypical that people often assume the multiverse and alternate timelines are the same thing. But the multiverse is the other timelines, it only becomes another universe entirely when the very rules that govern reality are different. Even the slightest difference of origin or technicality can prove effective but regardless it remains so.

There are entities who plant the trees and worlds who spring from the seeds dropped by others, but the forest is vast and does not end for neither does infinity and if it ever started is beyond even the oldest of gods.

One day, at the peak of a festival in a backwater capital in Europe a part of the world slipped and broke, the power coursing through the area of old gods and new, the birth of those ascended and descended shook the world so greatly that a contest of the festival was knocked from their branch. They did not fall into the void but rather managed to catch themselves on the branch of another tree.

For as much as a birch will not grow needles it can mutate, a new branch can be grafted onto another, one entity can plant multiple trees. And as such it is a gross oversimplification to simply say that you were from another world.

It would not be an oversimplification however to say that communicating such information is beyond your ability. After all the vastness of the forest is beyond human comprehension as are those entities that roam between it. As such the both of you decided it would be more believable to say you were from another world if pressed further.

"That just begs the question then why do you believe me?"

An excellent question, one Jason was still unsure of himself. The thought haunting the back of his mind for the better part of a week now. You'd think that he'd have other things on his mind—you know like patrolling the building that as of late everyone in the narrows had avoided like the plague. As if some festering illness was rooted in the walls, yet black mold it was not. Old floorboards and peeling paint may expose insulation old enough to ensure the presence of asbestos.

You would think he'd be more concerned about potentially falling through the rotten floorboards or getting snagged on a rusty nail. Nope, none of that was present in his mind. Rather the one that lingered was your words as a a pain beyond any other in his left leg shot through his left leg, the source only partially unclear. It was only the influence of the Lazuras that kept him standing long enough to put a bullet through the man's outstretched arm.

The hand once outstretched dropped to his side, limp and bloody not from the bullet but rather the brutal mutilation of a sigil cut into skin. One he recognized even as back at your shop, in between a discussion of intentions, you had drawn out several sigils, explaining their origin with the various old gods of your world. A request that if he comes across the symbols in his to let them know. After all you had said it yourself, who were you to know if you were the only thing that fell through.

He was fairly sure it wasn't the symbol you wore on your flesh but he was a little busy dodging to check the fine details.

The man's smile grew wider, the desert dry skin of his face cracking more with the expression, eyes vacant and bloodshot all at once. The garb was something like a priest but even with the crimes done in the name of religion Jason did not want to believe this thing was a priest.

Raising his other hand the priest let out a laugh, Jason in turn let out a rather embarrassing yelp has his jacket caught fire. Throwing the red leather off, he once again launched himself across the room to put distance between them. This man would kill him. He knew that, instinctively, the fear settling in the depths of his bones as it settled there to fester under his skin.

Call it innate, call it instinctual, call it learned, call it observed, call it a thousand different things but regardless of how he simply knew. Knew that if he did not kill this man this man would kill him, and Jason Todd had no desire to die twice, least of all by whatever this was. So it was with little shame that a bullet found itself in the man's head. Body crumbling to the ground, old floorboards groaning with the sudden weight. The walls sighed a gasp of dust at the effort and Jason lets his shoulders drop.

The body doesn't move. Which is good. It would be very bad if the body moved. Jason let out a sigh, he had barely finished the book he bought a few days ago and looks like he'd be going back for another one within the hour.

crow's note: once i set up the like barebones plot i promise I'll write something silly and fun, alternatively you could drop something in my inbox and i will write something silly and fun as well

series navigation

[crowbird]

Alright - as big of a fan as I am of all the pining the past couple days - might I request some fluff? However you want, with anyone you want. Just teeth-rotting, makes me smile and have to put my phone down for a couple seconds, fluff :)

"Hey buddy," Jason said, reaching down to stroke Cola's ears. The dog was, if he wasn't mistaken. depressed.

He missed you. You were still recovering. Stuck on your back in a hospital bed laying on your back while your spine healed. A desperate bid to keep you able to walk- even if only for a little while.

"I know," he said, drumming against his side, "The hospital said she's doing okay. Still a little groggy. They're keeping her pretty doped up to keep her from moving. But- they said she's doing better."

The dog yawned, pacing back and forth- waiting for you and Jason felt his heart twist. "Aren't you technically a service dog?" he mused.

He picked up a harness and a leash, clipping it to the dog, going to find Bruce.

"Jason what-"

"I either need you to pay them or help me sneak Cola into the hospital."

Bruce frowned, "Why?"

"Because Cola is depressed and Y/n is worried about him."

Bruce nodded after a long moment, less worried about the dog than about Jason. And you. Having Cola near you would probably help you, and you being relaxed would keep Jason from behaving poorly. So he picked up the phone- before he started paying people off or smuggling the dog in, he'd see if he could just ask.

________

Cola whined, pulling on his lead and Jason stroked him gently, "Easy, dude," he soothed. "We're going. I know. She's excited to see you too."

He eased the door open and held Cola back, glad that the Dog knew to be gentle with you as he helped him to crawl up onto the bed next to you.

"Cola?" you sound groggy. Disoriented. But when he snuffles at your face, licking at you happily, you giggle. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling him against you, the massive dog flopping happily against your side, basking in the attention. And Jason watches, his heart fluttering.

He promised to take care of Cola. To take care of you. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after surgery, he felt like he was doing the right thing. For the first time in weeks, the stress and tension was melted off your face and when you crashed back into sleep, holding your dog, Jason felt himself relax. And he leaned over to kiss your forehead.

[crowbird]

Part three of the silly little fic I've got going on for Jason Todd will be up tomorrow! Sorry for the wait school is a bitch.

[crowbird]

my love has no direction (and my anger is a vice)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst (happy ending)

warnings: reader is physically injured but it doesn't specify the cause, jason is big protective and tries so so hard to be gentle

a/n: alright alright y'all know the drill there's more written lemme know if you want it

You're staring at your reflection in the mirror, gnawing your bottom lip as you wonder how you'll explain the bruises across your cheekbone and around your eye. You hope, somewhere in the back of your mind, that Jason doesn't get back when he says he will - that whatever work he's away doing as Redhood will take just a few extra days and you'll heal enough to be able to hide it.

Your thoughts screech to a halt, though, when the man himself steps into the doorway of the bathroom and lets his duffle bag drop to the floor when he sees you.

"Who the fuck did this to you?" Jason questions immediately as he stares at you, his eyes trailing over your form, scanning for more injuries. Instinctively, you go to cover your wrist and forearm, cursing internally when you realize that the only thing that did was bring his attention to the hand-shaped bruises littering your skin.

"Hi," you say quietly. "...how was your trip?" Jason all but snarls and stalks toward you, bringing his hand to your face so that he can gently, gently, hold your chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilt your head, examining the bruises. You can tell he's noticed the small cuts from rings making contact with your skin when his jaw clenches even more and his eyes focus on yours.

"Baby," he starts, and the edge in his voice makes you still. He's angry, you realize, in a way you've never seen before. It's right there, under the surface, straining to get out, and the only thing stopping it is the fact that you haven't given him a direction to shoot in yet. "You are not going to pretend this is fine. We are not ignoring this. You need to tell me what happened."

"I know, Jase," you respond, shoulders slumping. You're tired, he realizes, and it's most likely that the adrenaline of whatever happened is wearing off. He slides an arm around you and lets you lean into him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "I just… I'm not just deflecting, you know. You're okay? Everything went okay?"

"Nothing worse than some scrapes" he soothes, going to wrap his other arm around your waist. You flinch, though, small enough that he wouldn't notice if he wasn't so attuned to you. But you're you, his person, and every fibre of his being is trained on you right now. So, of course, he notices. He notices the way you ever so slightly suck in a breath and tense in his arms.

"Baby…" he begins. You drop your gaze away from his. "Let me see, yea? We can wait to talk about what happened until you're ready, but I gotta make sure you're okay."

"I am okay," you mumble, still determinedly keeping your eyes away from his as you fiddle with the front of his Redhood armour.

"Can I check?" he prompts, and he's so gentle about it, so soft and caring and loving that it makes your bottom lip tremble. You nod in response and he presses a kiss against your forehead, murmuring thanks into your skin.

You step away from him so that you can begin to lift yourself onto the counter, but Jason makes a strained sort of noise and stops you, instead lifting you gently up onto it, keeping a careful eye on you to ensure he's not hurting you at all. Once you're sat on the counter, you spread your legs so that he can slot his hips between them and he places his hands on either side of your hips.

"Can I lift your shirt, sweetheart?" he asks softly and the whole thing, how kind and considerate he's being, chips away at you a little too much. Your breath hitches and your hands tighten their grip on the counter and you rip your gaze away from his.

"You just got home, Jase. You gotta be tired - why don't you shower, get out of your armour and stuff. We can do this later."

"Baby," Jason sighs as he cups your unbruised cheek in his palm and brings your face back to his. When you realize you can't avoid his gaze anymore you simply close your eyes, refusing to see the way he looks at you. "Can you look at me, sweetheart? Come on, hey, I'm here to keep you safe, yea? I'm gonna help you. I'm gotta make sure you're alright."

And that's all it takes for a sob to make its way out of your throat. You move to hide your face in your hands as you begin to cry, but Jason stops you gently, using a hand on the back of your head to guide you into his chest, letting you bury your face there and weep.

"Shh, shh, baby. It's okay. You go ahead and cry, get it all out. You're safe now, yea? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." Jason soothes as your hands grab at the jacket that serves as the outer layer of his armour. Truth be told, he is tired. He was away for a week dealing with this job and he can feel the way his body is aching and his head is swimming with exhaustion. But none of that, nothing else in the world matters when he has you, bruised and bloody and weeping into his chest.

Truthfully, there's not much that scares him more than this, and seeing you in this state has him rattled, forcing his own tiredness to the back of his mind. You, his baby, who is always so brave and stoic, who he remembers as a teenager getting into street fights and laughing through a mouthful of blood on several occasions, is trembling in his arms from fear and exhaustion and he's not even sure what else because he doesn't know what happened and you're in no state to tell him. So all he can do is stand there, keeping you in his arms and whispering any sort of reassurance he can think of into your hair. His aching legs be damned, there is nothing, nothing, that is going to make him move an inch until you are good and ready.

[crowbird]

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

[crowbird]

could I request randomly shouting “floor is lava!” In front of the batboys? I’m in the mood for a crack fic

It was a dreary day within the Wayne manor and everyone was bored out of their minds. Nothing they did was enough to cure the boredom they were subjected to that day.

However a day of hope appeared before them in the form of you bursting through the door, holding a unbothered Alfred the cat in one hand and a confused Jerry the Turkey in the other, screaming: ‘THE FLOOR IS LAVA!’

Dick is pushed to the floor and stepped on by a mysterious assailant but manages to get up and use his acrobatic skills -cheat skills as Jason would like to call them- to project himself upwards to the expensive chandelier and clung on for dear life.

He was 100% safe.

Smug bastard and his cheat codes -Jason Tood, certified older brother hater aka the younger sibling.

Jason pushed dick onto the floor and step onto his back, somehow trips and lands flat on his face against the carpeted flooring. However he quickly recovers by picking himself back up and bolts towards the curtains instead, where he tries to cling onto them for dear life as the sound of fabric slowly ripping could be heard by everyone.

Jason was on a time limit before he was sent plummeting back to the floor and towards his second death. 39% survival rate.

Damian is the first of the bunch to move into action as he -somehow- managed to grab Titus in a feet of hidden strength fueld by adrenaline, throwing the Great Dane over his shoulder, and still found it within himself to then clamber up the book shelves in the library where he stayed to watch the chaos below him like he was god.

The bookshelves are wooden, it was only a matter of time before he and Titus would have to change to a different location. 50% survival rate. Titus is a good puppy.

Tim shuts the computer, sets it aside and follows Jason’s example by lying down on the floor and awaits his fate with a blank expression. ‘My time has come.’

0% survival rate, instant death but Tim don’t give two shits, he’s lived long enough.

Duke: poor lad is freaking out trying to find a good spot and settles with standing on the table with the janky leg as he was forced to continuously fight for his balance atop of it.

He’s lost too many times just to loose again. He hates floor is lava with a vengeance. 50% survival rate if he doesn’t fall off and looses his fight with the table.

Stephane: the mastermind behind the whole ordeal, cackles as she stays lounging on the plush sofa, sipping her drink unbothered by the consequences to come through the door.

50% survival rate, may drop lower if she tries to reach for her phone that she had left on the table where Duke was. She hadn’t thought this whole thing through admittedly.

Bruce Wayne: heard the chaos and went to see what was happening and sighs upon seeing his children, plus you, practically having destroyed the library over a stupid game.

He’s too old for this shit but ends up showing all of you up either way by standing atop of the stone mantle piece of the fireplace, menacingly.

10000% survival rate bc it’s Bruce Wayne.

[crowbird]

New friend on head <3

[crowbird]

Jason Todd.Also Megumi Fushiguro.Also Percy Jackson but by P*rcicos and gods fuckers specifically.Also Todoroki Shouto.Also Sasuke Uchiha.Also Ichigo Kurosaki.Also Hobie Brown.Also Marshall Lee Abadeer.Also Prince Zuko.Also Nicholas D. Wolfwood-Y'know you guys get it

[crowbird]

continuation of this post

Jason was not there for books. He was there for answers and you seemed suspiciously willing to answer. Or maybe that was the paranoia. You hadn't invited him in with eager arms but rather stepped aside and offered to chat over tea.

The bookshop is remarkably ordinary and yet mildly unnerving. Perhaps that's just Jason though, he finds himself, against all reason and judgement sitting across from you. The back of the shop is piled high with boxes and old furniture, a space in the centre cleared for a tea table and accompanying chairs. He stared at the tea in front of him mildly flabbergasted.

"Do you need sugar?"

"No." He croaked.

You nodded sagely, "honey then," and a jar of the stuff was placed on the table before him. He was fairly certain he had never seen honey of that nature before, even if he couldn't explain why. There was no brand label on the mason jar and the honey was rich and golden and yet all the same there was something just a little wrong about it.

Yet he found himself adding it to the tea, a choice that turned out to be a good one.

"What are you doing here?" He finally managed to say, "and how come I couldn't enter before?" The words tumbled out in an embarrassing manner.

"Drinking tea and I have wards up." You shrugged gesturing to your scars, "some use sigils to enhance and in turn others use sigils to guard. I removed them so you could enter."

"Oh, uh, right." Jason took another sip of tea, the honey soothed the frog caught in his throat and he found his voice easier this time. "I didn't mean like right now it's just this isn't exactly the location for a bookshop, I meant what are you doing here as in Gotham. You have to understand how suspicious it is to just appear like this here of all places right?"

You stared at him blankly. Before speaking, "Gotham?"

"Gotham City?" Jason tried, feeling a tad foolish and hoping he didn't come off as mocking.

You paused, contemplated, drank some tea and then shrugged. "Is that the name of this place then?"

Jason looked at you, trying to keep his focus on your eyes and not the curved scars of what he was sure now was some sort of sigil. "Okay, let's try this a different way, where are you from?" He tried again, the absurdity of this situation knocking around his brain as it seemed to eat away at any of his competence.

"Europa, if you want specifics my family is from Bohemia but I've lived in Rondon for the past few years until semi recently due to well... circumstance." You did not elaborate on circumstance but rather said it in a manner that made Jason sure he should know what you were referring to. It was common sense, everyone knew by now, and yet the knowledge eluded him entirely. You had said words and they had meanings he was sure of that much, he just had no idea what those meanings were.

It was Jason's turn to stare. "You mean Europe?"

"No? I mean Europa." There was a confusion then in your tone, the sort found over mispronunciation or a poorly spelled text. "I should assume then this is not said continent but—"

"It's not." Jason said, blunt and a little rude but he was nearing the point of frustration. Frustrated at the state of conversation and how it seemed to be halted so soon after speaking, at the lack of answers, at just, the everything about it all. And despite that he took a deep breath and drank some more tea, and waited for you to speak again.

"Then which is it?"

"America." He said, genuinely and utterly flabbergasted. He knew full well that answer was only partially correct but the technicalities seemed to be lagging in the back of his brain in his attempt to comprehend the conversation at hand. There was a part of him that was positive this was a very very elaborate prank. Or perhaps a scheme to get him unmasked. Even if he didn't particularly hold his secret identity in the sanctity as he once did it was still the principle of the matter.

Yet you were staring at him as if he had suddenly burst into song. Something genuine and serious in your expression.

"What the fuck is America."

crow's note: this is a series now, or a mini series? when I've finished I'll probably compile it into one thing on ao3. also i've decided to refer to the reader in this series as "sigils" so if asked about them in the third person I will address them like such however within the actual story they will remain nameless and exclusively referred to with gender neutral pronouns.

series navigation

[crowbird]

I have part two of this written and ready just trying to come up with a title to tag the series with before I draft it into tumblr formatting. In the mean time if anyone has any questions of queries or specific wonders my inbox is very open.

[crowbird]

Thinking about Jason Todd and the happenstance of the pay what you want bookstore that opens only a block away from the infamous crime alley of Gotham. The store is so very out of place, it looks clean for starters and well kept. He can't seem to enter it either, every time he tries he fails. Both as red hood and Jason Todd. At least the kids are getting something to read now, he's noticed that some of the street kids would use the books for kindling but within a week they would be given coats and mittens and a wood along with the book to avoid such. It is odd and strange.

It isn't until a month or so of trying and failing to get in into the store is he confronted by you, strange is his first thought. Accented tone he thinks he could maybe place but fails to; he stares as your words barely register in his mind.

"I thought it was a ghoul trying to enter my shop, but you seem to alive for that." The words are almost soft and delicate in a way, curious as to what stands before them. Jason finds himself immobile as they step further out into the light. The scaring on their face is so patterned and precise it must have been carved on purpose, the sigil one he cannot name. "Well? Are you here for books or what?"

continuation here

[crowbird]

I have a little request. Idk if it could be a lil one off or maybe mini series or just ignore it lol

But maybe Jason decided to retire and he’s just living his best lil domestic life with his partner when Dick or someone breaks into their house in the middle of the night and has a full “Dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t come home in a few days”

The house was dark. Quiet. And it was Jason's favorite time of day. You were procrastinating going to bed with old episodes of Maury playing. Your head on his stomach.

And he was debating just carrying you to bed. Like he would one of the kids when they fell asleep where they dropped. But. Honestly- he was invested. He wanted to know if the baby daddy was the crusty old redneck or his slightly less crusty son.

And that's when all hell broke loose. The door bell rang and the dogs started barking. "Huh-"

"Stay here," Jason said, shifting you over. And wishing for the hundredth time there was a better place to keep guns handy. But- Kaylie's skateboard would have to do. Especially since Lee kept taking the baseball bat he tried to keep by the door.

"Move," He hissed at the dogs, hucking the yorkie mix into the closet and nudging the aging wolfhound and the Boxer mix out of the way- what they thought they would do Jason had no Idea. The boxer mix would lick them to death and the Wolfhound, well. He'd try but frankly he'd probably keel over. And the Yorkie would just get stomped on.

He peered through the peephole only to see Dick standing on the porch, hands in his pockets. And he exhaled. Even if he didn't relax.

He still unlocked the door, "It's one in the morning-"

"B went on a trip and no one's been able to get a hold of him," Dick said, pushing his way inside. "Have you heard anything?"

"Jay? What's going on?"

"Baby, it's fine," he said, turning from glaring at his brother who was trying to fend off the affections of the Boxer and trying not to agitate the now irritated wolfhound. "Take- take these demons and go check on the kids?"

"But what's-"

"I'll explain everything in a minute," he said kissing your cheek before snatching the yorkie back out of the closet and shoving her into your arms, Knowing you'll put her in with Kylie. And that the Boxer will settle down with Lee. And your beloved Wolfhound will happily take his spot on the bed.

"Kids and dogs, huh?" Dick asked watching you go.

"They were here before I was," Jason said shrugging. Not bothering to mention the one on the way. The less Dick knew the better. He was retired. Bruce told him to leave and he did. Bruce disowned him and he found a new family. "But no. I haven't heard from Bruce. Or anyone."

[crowbird]

ngl i see jason as a cat dad. like mf has this big FAT ginger and white cat and his name is gus

LMAO I LOVE THIS. Cats FLOCK to him. He has this reputation as the the Red Hood, the man who clawed his way out of his own grave. Went mad for revenge. Killed countless people.

But you’re watching him hold the cat he named Gus. And he’s showing Gus the tops of the tables and counters, telling him, “This is what you would be able to jump on and see if you weren’t such a fat fuck. Your twenty-five pound ass is making my arms sore.” The cat meows at him. “No, you can’t have a treat. That’s what this entire conversation has been about.”

The next minute, he’s cradling Gus like a human baby. “You’re so glorious, Gus. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you. My sweet son.”

On more than one occasion Gus has smacked Jason, hissed, and then ran away to nap in your lap. You can hear Jason from the other room. “FUCKING TRAITOR. YEAH, GO RUN TO YOUR MOTHER. LET’S SEE IF SHE MIXES THE HARD FOOD AND SOFT FOOD THE WAY YOU LIKE IT.” Jason still ends up feeding Gus his special food even when Gus smacks him while he does it. “I AM FEEDING YOU. WHY DO YOU HATE ME?”

[crowbird]

Jason Todd loves casual intimacy, not that he’d really ask for it. You are always welcome in his space and it thrills him when you accept that like it’s always been yours. He likes it when you lean into his side, rest your head on his shoulder, press kisses to his temples. He likes it when you curl your fingers into his hair absentmindedly or seat yourself in his lap like you belong there. He likes how unapologetically you’ll drape yourself over him, sometimes just for the sake of touching and sometimes just to grab something he’s in the way of. Little touches to his neck, shoulders, back. He likes seeing you in his stolen clothes, and the extra toothbrush in his bathroom. The first time he hears you refer to him as ‘yours’ he has to consciously start breathing again. Mine, my boyfriend, my partner, my husband.

Jason likes to come up behind you, sling his arms around your waist and press a kiss to your hair before resting his chin on your head. He likes knowing which shampoo to buy for you for the apartment without having to think about it. He likes it when he curls an arm around your shoulder and your hand reflexively reaches up to link your fingers. He’ll reach for your hand first but you’ll always reach back. He likes carrying you when your heels hurt too much and telling you all the ways you look gorgeous in your going out clothes. He likes knowing what your sleepy face looks like and how it feels to kiss the sleep out of your eyelids. He likes knowing the weight of you in his arms and the warmth of your palm when it cups his cheek.

Jason Todd loves the casual intimacy of your two lives tangled together.

[crowbird]

Then Jason never kills again.

[crowbird]

jason todd died for this