#Jason Todd (‘s grave)

[deadsetobsessions]

Bruce didn’t come here often. Perhaps that was terrible of him but he couldn’t bear to visit his son’s resting place. It was difficult to equate his high-spirited son, bright as the sun itself and endlessly brilliant despite the more he grew up in, to the cold and lifeless stone engraved with his name and words that did not encompass everything his son was to him.

His hands were full of flowers, Jason’s favorite books, a round rock, and his son’s favorite foods.

Bruce didn’t come here often, because it broke his heart even more when he did, but today was a day that love and grief triumphed over his need to avoid.

He walked down the winding pathway, Alfred a silent sentinel behind him. He hated it, but he understood. Today was the only day Alfred allowed himself to be emotionally closed off. He’d lost a grandson.

Bruce didn’t come here often, but his son’s birthday was a day Bruce would remember how to love and live again, just for Jason.

“I will be over here, Master Bruce.” Alfred stopped at his designated spot, where Bruce had added a bench and a draping tree to shade Alfred as he stood vigil.

The first time they’d- it was April, and the sun- after the funeral, Bruce was lost in the throes of grief and had kneeled over the freshly tilled dirt for hours. Alfred had stood there, in that same spot, in the city’s rare blazing sun until Bruce came back to himself.

Bruce had almost lost his second father that day, and what good was wealth if it could not prevent that? And so, water, shade, a bench, and a space heater was added.

Bruce knows better than anyone how stubborn Alfred can be, when it comes to matters of the heart. After all, he didn’t have to raise Bruce after Martha and Thomas died.

“Alright, Alfred.”

Bruce splits from the haggard butler with pointed looks at the water bottles he’d prepared for today for Alfred (who manages, this time, a faint but amused raise of an eyebrow) and walks towards Jason Todd’s grave.

Here where his son is buried, the grass is kept green. In April, Forget-Me-Nots bloomed and dotted the place where Bruce’s world collapsed with bright colors. In August, it is still green, but the tin engraved with the names of the deceased stood out without the flowers.

Bruce kneeled and quietly arranged the flowers before placing them in the tin. He set the platters of food down and uncovered them. The scent of chili dogs made his heart stutter, flashes of a bright smile and book references blinding Bruce with their nostalgia.

He swallowed, grief building, and placed the stone he’d brought atop the gravestone. He sat back, gripping Jason’s book with white knuckles.

Bruce didn’t turn around when clothing rustled behind him. Alfred would have verbally cut down anyone that dared to approach them today, especially here. That he didn’t do so was telling of who it would be.

“I’m still mad at you, for not telling me as soon as you knew.” Dick Grayson sat down, hand over one of Jason’s school bag pins he had carefully attached to the front of his jacket.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He deserved better. I should have been there.” Dick whispered, placing another bundle of flowers into the tin. It fit, but barely. “I would have dropped everything to come find him. Even if it wasn’t on time, even if it wasn’t enough, I deserved to be there when he was buried. We were family.”

“I know.” Bruce repeated, no less regretful. In his grief, he had wronged his loved ones. “I’m sorry.”

Dick casted a quiet, assessing eye at him. Bruce stayed quiet.

“It’s too dreary,” Dick said. He took out paints, little statutes of robins, bright birds, and bits and bobs Bruce knew Jason would have loved had he been alive out of his pockets.

“It should be more colorful,” Dick murmured as he placed them artfully against the headstone.

They sat there, for a while. Dick glanced at… at Bruce’s hand, and settled down.

It’d been a while since they’ve spoken, but he knew what the man intentioned to do today. This will be the most Dick will have heard Bruce speak outside of his civilian obligations.

Bruce took the cue and gently opened Jason’s book. He’d bought it for Jason- the first gift- and he’d read it to Jason every night. Dick had a similar book.

“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse…”

——

A boy with black hair and blue eyes wandered amongst the graveyard. They’ve been here for a while, and the man’s low rumble was soothing to listen to. The shades that hung about the graveyard settled as he read out loud from the book as his son sat quietly beside him.

As the boy, invisible and intangible, brushed his hand against the gravestone, he wondered why they were reading to an empty grave.

——

Dick had left long before Bruce did.

And when it was time to go, as stars began to climb and as the cold began to nip at his fingers, Bruce heard a quiet voice.

“Do not stand at his grave and weep,” and Bruce turned, recognizing the poem. “He is not there. He does not sleep.”

But there was no-one.

[outtamynoggin]

Love your dick incorrect quotes 😭💞💞I feel so happy reading them btw how doo u think the batfam would react to seeing alot of pictures of dick in the Wayne mannor (b had this big ass painting of dick in the middle in the hq show and in an old comic there was a wall sized portrait of those two XD

Thank you so much!!

Batman #13

This one right? There's a few others too!

Is this the one about the HQ? From the Harley Quinn show. oh wait hq stands for Harley Quinn 🤣🤣🔫

Either way, I love how Bruce's obsession with Dick is just so constant across media and across decades. DC is literally honing in on him being favorite.

The show is literally unhinged:

Bruce, what? Can you say it in any other words???

Actually in the show, Damian sees the one when they're all dining because he's gaming on the couch and he's so chill about it. Like he just expects it.

Damian: Of course, there's a photo of Richard on the wall. He is the favorite. It is only right that father commissioned a Renaissance-scale shrine for him.

Meanwhile Jason is like: What am I, chopped liver?

While Tim's like: You're actually more like burnt liver.

Tim: *ducks as a whole friggin couch goes sailing over his head. Stands up smirking only to get tackled by a hulking mass of undead muscle*

Damian: At least Todd has a picture on the wall.

Tim: *Pool noodling his way out of Jason's grasp* That's cause he thought both of them were dead which is why he has the pictures up. Only Dick's is the size of a cathedral alter like Bruce commissioned it from the Vatican which he then framed in solid gold. You don’t hang something like that unless you expect people to pray to it. Jason's got shoved into a tiny corner at the bottom.

Jason: *throwing his hands up* CAN I WIN JUST ONCE IN THIS HOUSE?!

Tim: Are you Dick?

Damian: *smirking* No.

Tim: Then no.

Jason: You little twerps. I'm gonna string you two up and throw you out the batplane.

Stephanie: *walking in* Who's throwing who out of a batplane?

Tim: *scoffing* Jason's throwing me and batbrat out of the batplane.

Stephanie: Oooh! Sounds fun, can I join?! I'll bring the ropes!

Tim: You're not even going to ask why???!

Stephanie: *deadpan* Tim. I don't need a reason to throw you out of the batplane.

Tim: *Offended*

Jason: *Laughing and high-fiving her* God you get me.

Stephanie: But for curiosity's sake-

Damian: For the sake of curiosity-

Stephanie: -Why?

Damian: Todd is emotionally compromised over Father's unrelenting favoritism toward Richard.

Stephanie: Oh. Well, duh. Everyone likes Dick more.

Tim: Facts.

Stephanie: That's Batfam Lore™. What brought it on this time though?

Tim: We were talking about the massive picture Bruce has in the dining room. 

Stephanie: Oh my fudge cake gods. That Picture! Do you know how hard it is to eat even a cheese stick while being stared down by a thirty-foot tall Dick Grayson?! Like, what is wrong with Bruce! I’m pretty sure the reason Dick doesn’t visit the manor anymore is because he’s too weirded out by a bigger version own self staring at him. 

Jason: THANK YOU. Someone with a decent sense of propriety. And why the hell is it life-sized?

Stephanie: Barbara loves it, though. She thinks it's hot. Calls it "Big Dick Energy: Collector’s Edition." But she and Bruce are weird about him.

Tim: *muttering* I think it’s nice.

*Silence.*

Stephanie, Jason, and Damian: *Collectively side-eyeing him*

Stephanie: Right.... You were always weird about him too.

Tim: Wha- I was perfectly normal!

Damian: Drake. You once stood in front of the living room one for six hours straight.

Jason: Ye- six hours? Really?

Damian: He did not eat. He did not move. Father thought he was stuck in a time loop.

Jason: *Turning a disbelieving gaze on Tim* Dude....

Tim: *Flushing* I was just… observing! Deep observation! For art appreciation!

Stephanie: It’s not the fucking Louvre, Tim. That picture has been there through 7 kids and it's going to be there for at least 7 kids. But really, does Bruce have to have so many pictures of Dick?

Jason: *Rolling his eyes* Tell me about it. Don't forget the life-sized one in the library. I went in to read and accidentally ended up having a staring contest with a 2D Dick. Lost both my dignity and the will to finish my book.

Jason: *Gesturing wildly* You can’t eat in peace, can’t read in peace—hell, I tried to take a nap on the couch once and woke up face-to-face with a mantlepiece-sized Dick smile. I thought I died and went to Grayson Heaven.

Damian: Also the framed photos of him littering Father's study so he can stare at them while he works. I'm inundated with his visage every few rooms.

Stephanie: I bet even Alfred’s like, "Sir, perhaps a fourth room of paintings is excessive."

Tim: He’d never say that. Alfred’s part of the cult.

Damian: *Nodding* Pennyworth once wiped dust off the frame and whispered, "Good as new, Master Richard."

Jason: *voice cracking* Okay, you know what? I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving to Crime Alley. At least there, there’s no Dick—

Stephanie: There’s literally a Nightwing mural spray-painted across an entire wall with the word "Hope" like Gotham’s Beyoncé.

Jason: *crying* Fuck. Exactly. EVEN THERE I CAN'T ESCAPE HIM.

Damian: *judging him* This is a personal failing.

Jason: *frothing at the mouth* No, you would think that, wouldn't you? You’re the last person who should talk! You get all misty-eyed and say "We were the best, Grayson" every time Dick breathes near you!

Damian: *smirking* That is because it’s true.

Jason: *Collapsing on the coach and trying to avoid looking at the framed picture Dick on the side table* ....I can't believe I'm saying this... but thank you for being the normal one, Steph.

Stephanie: *Laughing nervously* Uh, yeah. Sure! No problem!

Tim: *Rolling his eyes* You're thanking the wrong girl. She-

Stephanie: *Wacking him unconscious hurriedly* SO! Who wants waffles!!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Grave Circumstances

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: After killing a “maker”, Jason is bound by monster law to care for the (now mortal) children it left behind.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Mention, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Monsters AU, Fantasy AU, Found Family, Reluctant Parent Jason Todd, Angst, Half-Ghost Jason Todd

Chapter Three: Cauldron

Jason entered through the back entrance of the cauldron and clocked in. He washed his hands and stepped behind the bar. An orc sat down, and he and Jason’s eyes met. “I didn’t plan on partaking in some flesh tonight, but—.” He trailed off, and Jason smiled. Smooth grey skin, green eyes, snow white, short-cropped hair, and medium-length tusks. Rounded gut, soft body, beautiful hands. “Too much?” 

“Not enough,” Jason grinned, “What are you having tonight?” 

“Surprise me,” the orc replied.Jason nodded and picked a scalding hot batch of bright reddish orange berries, dropping them into a viscous red liquid before a lemon over his open hand above the cup, causing the quickly-darkening reddish drink to sparkle. 

Jason liked the monster community, and he enjoyed working at the cauldrons. It was the first-ever place he felt truly at home in. Jason poured the now-sparkling crimson elixir into a highball glass and watched as the orc downed a drink. “Umug Gunnug,” the orc introduced himself, “You can call me Umug… And by the way, I love fireberry sours.” 

“An orc after my own heart,” Jason teased, “I’m Jason.”

“What’s your type?” Umug asked. “And if the flirting is weird, I can stop.” 

Jason chewed his bottom lip before running his tongue against the bottom of his front teeth. “It’s not weird… And I like guys,” Jason paused, “Like you.” Umug smirked.

Umug took another drink, and Jason’s hand phased through the counter. Out of embarrassment, he turned his back to Umug. “You’re a ghost,” Umug mumbled. Jason nodded, still facing away. “Can you look at me?” 

Jason took a breath and turned back towards Umug. Being a ghost in the monster district was one of the lowest things most people could be next to being a human. Jason usually kept that part of his life a secret, choosing to pose as a doppelganger with his strange eyes and off-color demeanor. “Sorry,” Jason whispered. 

“Don’t be sorry… You’re cute… I just didn’t know—. No, that’s not right,” Umug whispered, “Listen, I don’t—.”

Someone called for the bartender, and Jason excused himself. He served drinks for a few hours and took his break. Jason made himself some fries, and his boss sat across from him. “Jason, what’s this that I hear about a murder in the borderlands?” he asked. Jason bowed his head in shame. “A child, Jason?” his boss questioned. 

“I didn’t know he was a kid. He flew at me, and I killed him before I saw who it was,” Jason whispered, “And now I’m bound to the children by law—.”

“Son of a bitch, Jay. Other children?” he asked. Jason nodded. 

“I’m doing what I can to take care of them,” Jason whispered, “You have to understand that I never would’ve killed a kid on purpose, vampire or not.” 

His boss took some of his fries and sighed. “I like you, Kid. I do, but you’re bound by law to these kids now. It isn’t like you’re human, and you can just walk away from—.”

“I wouldn’t have walked away even if I was still human. That’s not who I am, and you know it, George,” Jason whispered. 

George nodded as he poured more water into the bag for his gill packs. “I know, and I should not have made that comparison,” George whispered. Jason shrugged it off. “Maybe you should leave them with your human dad?” 

“Bad idea. He doesn’t even know where I am,” Jason explained, “As far as he knows, his son is buried and gone.” 

“Jason? How are you holding up?” George asked.

“If I don’t think about it too hard, I’m fine,” Jason answered, “It’s funny… I almost forgot I was human once.”

“That orc out there, he’s wondering why you ran off like that,” George nudged him. He smiled at Jason, his gills filtering the saltwater in his pack. 

“I don’t like to mix business and pleasure,” Jason lied. He picked over his fries and took a sip of water. “Besides, I’m obligated to take care of these children.”

“How many?” George questioned. 

“Five. One is like me, and the others are a little different—.” A ghost walked right through him, and he gagged involuntarily as his soul separated from his body. 

“Everything okay, Kid?” George grabbed Jason’s wrist, yanking him back into his body. “What’s with you tonight? Are you still taking care of yourself?” 

“I gave my pendant to one of the kids,” Jason confessed. George opened his mouth to chastise Jason. “Wait, hold on. What else was I supposed to do?” 

“You’re only bound by law to the children whose maker you killed. You’re not bound—.” 

“I think the least I could do is care for one of my own kind,” Jason interrupted, “Besides, where would I be if no one helped me?” Jason pushed away from the table and returned to work. Umug caught him on the way back to his place at the bar by tapping his fingers on the counter. “You don’t owe me any kind of—.” 

“Can I leave my number with you?” Umug interrupted. Jason went slack-jawed and tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure he heard Umug correctly. “Oh, I’m sorry… I’m being too forward… Aren’t I?” 

“No, you’re not being forward at all. I just—. I guess I thought you weren’t interested after—. Well, you know,” Jason whispered. 

“I don’t judge anybody… And between you and me, I’m half-human,” Umug whispered. Jason grinned. It was rare for humans and orcs to mingle romantically due to the common misconception that orcs were filthy and violent creatures. In Jason’s experience, humans were everything they thought orcs were. “Is that an issue?” 

“No,” Jason whispered as he took Umug’s card, never breaking eye contact. “You swear you don’t mind me being kinda dead?” 

“Cross my heart,” Umug whispered, crossing his chest on the right side. “Besides, I think I have something that might help you… I mean, if you need a grounding pendant…” 

Grounding pendants weren’t easy to come by. Jason gave his stone to Ira, and without it, he had very little control over how dead he seemed. The pendant came from the witch woman who took him in. It was the only thing he had left from his time with the witch woman and her coven. “You don’t have to go through all that trouble—.” Umug placed one giant, soft hand over Jason’s, rendering him speechless.

“I’d like to… Look at my card,” Umug interrupted. His enthusiasm put Jason at ease as he realized the lettering on the card was magical. “I come from a long line of shamans and physicians on both sides. I graduated at the top of my class in human medicine and orc healing techniques.”

Someone called Jason away at the end of the bar, but before he excused himself, he thanked Umug. “I’m willing to pay if you can help me out. I’ll call you… I promise,” Jason smiled. The person at the end of the bar banged his mug against the counter. “I’m comin’! Keep your fur on! Sorry, I gotta go see about this jerk.”

Umug smiled and took Jason’s hand in his. Jason’s hand seemed so small in Umug’s grasp. That’s part of what Jason liked about orcs. They made him feel tiny but not insignificant. Even when he was a child, a human child, orcs understood what it was like to be an outcast. They understood his loneliness.

[dollishmehrayan]

# TAKE EVERYTHING AS IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU ── .✦ ( batboys x writer!reader who writes ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: hey so I’m back from the dead apparently, anywaysss omgg I missed you guys Hii and I will posting more content from now on and taking this seriously and these past days I was super stressed out over moving but hey my lovess anyways I decided to base this writer s/o over like anyone, like whether you write fan fic like me or write actual books, it matters to this hcs !! Tags: (batboys x writer!s/o)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

# DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He loves that you're a writer ( listen he just LOVESSS creative women like hello !? God forbid a guy likes creative people 🫠) he's your #1 fan and biggest hype man.

Tries to read your work over your shoulder while you're typing, even if you hate it “Babe, I need to know what happens next!” Like constantly over your shoulder seeing what you’re drafting and etc.

Occasionally offers cheesy plot ideas like “what if the love interest also knows parkour?” (His ideas suck)

Will 100% brag to everyone: “Yeah, my partner’s a genius novelist. Ever heard of them? You will.” OOOOO

Falls asleep listening to you ramble about story arcs and character development. It's his favorite sound.

Writes you little encouraging notes like, “You got this, Hemingway 💪” and sticks them on your laptop / tablet or wtv you have bbg.

# JASON TODD ── .✦

Loves your dark, gritty writing especially if there's violence, angst, or moral grayness involved since a lot of people don’t write angst that casually.

Offers surprisingly insightful edits or plot ideas: “This villain's motivation is weak. Give them a tragic backstory and don’t make them redeemable.”

Low-key wants you to base a character on him but will pretend he doesn’t care.

Has a soft spot for reading your fluff pieces though and will be quietly emotional about them.

Will threaten anyone who leaves bad reviews on your work. "Just say the word. Username 'Booktoklover93'? I got 'em."

He buys you fancy notebooks and pens and acts like it's no big deal, but he's proud of himself.

# TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Absolute king of writing dates you'll both sit in a café typing furiously and sipping terrible coffee.

Helps you fact-check obscure things at 3am without complaint (okay, maybe some complaint).

If you write mystery or thrillers, he treats it like solving a real case. “Wait… that clue in chapter 5…”

He totally has a secret folder on his computer labeled “[Your Name]’s Writing – Favorite Stuff” with all your pieces saved.

You’ve accidentally inspired him to write fanfic once and he WILL take that secret to the grave.

Sends you prompts or memes like “this is so your OC.” (Sorry I just keep cringing at oc 🥲)

# DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he might not get why you write fictional stories… but then he reads them.

He's completely blown away and demands to know what happens next immediately.

Occasionally critiques your logic but ends up emotionally invested in your characters.

“Why did you kill him off?” Because it served the story—” “You’re a monster.”

Will sit next to you while you write, drawing or sketching your characters in his own style.

Has probably told Alfred he thinks you’re a genius at least once when he thought no one was listening.

# BONUS WHICH MR WAYNE! ── .✦

Loves that you're creative and has the patience of a saint when listening to you rant about plot holes.

He doesn’t read everything you write, but when he does, he’ll quote it back to you at random times like a proud husband.

“Chapter 7 really showed growth. I was impressed.”

Offers to fund your writing career or self-publishing venture without blinking. “You’ll need an editor and marketing team.” SIGN ME UP !!

He also gently reminds you to eat and sleep when you’re on a deadline: “You’ve been writing for 16 hours. Come to bed and go to sleep.”

[jason-todd-week]

Jason Todd Week 2025 - January

Rules | Playlist | Playlist Guide | AO3 Collection | Discord

Jason Todd Week 2025 will run January 6th - 12th this January!

There will be two aspects to this event:

The main part is the prompt challenges. There are three prompts per day. The first is a word prompt, the second is a general trope, and the last is a fandom-specific prompt. You can use one, two, or three of them—it's up to you! Each prompt also has a song corresponding to it in the playlist. A playlist guide will be out shortly so that you can know what songs there are if you don't use Spotify.

If you post on Tumblr, you can use the tag #jasontoddweek2025. There's also an AO3 collection (Jason_Todd_Week_2025).

For your filtering, this blog will tag reblogs with #reblogs, the day, the prompt(s), media type, any non-Jason characters, any romantic or sexual ships (with full character name/full character name), and any warnings. Anything explicit will be tagged #explicit. Example: #reblogs #day 6 #scars #enemy to caretaker #fic #tim drake #gun violence. Please filter out tags you don’t want to see.

Because I am not able to read/see every work posted (due to time constraints and personal boundaries), some warnings or characters may be untagged if they are not in the original post’s tags.

The secondary aspect is another opportunity to participate if you don't feel comfortable creating art, writing, or other media. Each day of the week, there will be a be an open-ended question about your opinions/ideas related to Jason Todd that you can respond to. For example, "What is your favorite Jason Todd headcanon?"

Feel free to join the Discord!

Prompts Day 1: Drive | Time Travel | The Batmobile Tires Day 2: Joker | Chronic Pain | Fear Toxin Day 3: Monster | Supernatural AU | League of Assassins Day 4: Grave | Buried Alive | Immortal Jason Todd Day 5: Family | No Capes AU | Jason is a Literature Nerd Day 6: Scars | Enemy to Caretaker | Red Hood and the Outlaws Day 7: Return | Outsider POV | Crime Alley Substitute Prompts: Lifeline, Royalty AU, Reverse Robins

[wonderjanga]

Marilyn Gets Revived

In this AU, the time bubble was formed in 62, Billy got his powers in 59, and the twin’s parents died in 58. There was also the fact that her body was found, but C.C.’s never was. So, as for how this works, I don’t particularly know. Maybe, since Fawcett is weird, the magic of the city revived her? You decide.

The point is, Marilyn Batson crawls out of her grave, Jason Todd style, and wanders the streets in the funeral dress she was buried in.

Marvel: *patrolling when he sees a woman, dirtied with bloodied hands* (from both crawling out of the grave and breaking the coffin)

Marilyn: *walking down the street, trying to get to get to Ebenezer’s house to ask what the hell is going on*

Marvel: *flies down* “Miss? Are you alright?”

Marilyn: “Oh uhm… Yes, I’m fine.” *looks up to Marvel and literally freezes when she sees her husband*

Marvel: “Are you sure? I can take you to the hospital. Your hands are bleeding heavily.” *doesn’t recognize her*

Marilyn: “C.C.?”

Marvel: “Huh?” *confused as to if she either said his dad’s name, or if she said ‘see see’*

Marilyn: “C.C. it’s me. What’s going on? Why’re you dressed like that?” *happy to see her husband even though she doesn’t know he’s not her husband*

Marvel: *computing* “Mo-” *looks around before leaning in to whisper* “You’re Marilyn Batson??” *sounds completely baffled* “Are you real?”

Marilyn: “Wha- Clarence Charles Batson, of course I’m real!”

Being called by his dad’s name made Billy’s mind blank. He didn’t really know what to do except take her to the Watchtower’s medbay because he isn’t going to take his mom to just any hospital. His mom deserves the best. And so, the JL were graced with the image of the eight foot five Cap, with a seven foot ten woman who looks like she’s been through hell and back. And yes, Marilyn is 7’10 because if Captain Marvel is a copy of C.C. Batson, he would’ve been 8’5 so he needs an almost equally as tall wife.

Marilyn: *hands bandaged* “So… What happened to archeology?”

Marvel: *awkward* “Oh right, uh… I’m not da-” *slowly looks over to see Flash and GL spying from the doorway*

Marilyn: *also looks over to them*

GL: *clears throat and walks over* “Who’s this lovely lady, hmm?”

Marvel: “This is Marilyn. Marilyn, that’s Green Lantern. The guy over there still lurking and stalking is Flash.”

Marilyn: *bright ahh smile* “It’s lovely to meet you. When did you become friends with my husband?”

Flash: *zooms over* “Husband?” *jaw is on the floor*

Marvel: “Mari-”

GL: *summons a metal clamp to shut Billy’s mouth* “Sooooo how long have you two been married?”

Marilyn: “Since we were nineteen. So twenty years!”

Flash: “Twenty years…?” *looks between Marilyn and Marvel* “Dude. How do you just forget to tell us that?!”

Marvel: “Uh…” *just grabs Marilyn, and dips out, dragging her to the zeta tubes*

Marilyn: “C.C. what’s wrong?”

Marvel: “Nothing at all. We just need to talk. Not here.”

Marilyn: “Okay…?”

So, Billy drags them to one of the buildings Billy and Mary live in. When Marilyn saw Mary she immediately hugged her baby.

Marilyn: “You’re so big, yet so tiny! You haven’t been eating enough have you?!” *hugging the life out of Mary*

Mary: *getting suffocated while crying*

Marilyn: “Has your father not been feeding you enough?” *glares over at Marvel*

Mary: “What? No, dad’s… dead.”

Marilyn: *slowly looks confused* “Then who…?”

Marvel: “Shazam.”

Billy: “Surprise…?”

Yeah, Marilyn spoiled your two with lots and lots and lots of motherly affection after this. The twins were just happy to have their mommy back.

Bonus:

Billy: “Shazam!”

Marilyn: *standing nearby, gets hit by stray lightning* “Huh…?”

Marilyn Batson now has a Marvel form and she gets to fight with her babies.

[lazy-ahh]

Haiii !! Me again lmao >:3 I dooo have a request I fear - idk how to explain it tho but I have songs that gave me the ideas, hopefully when you /if you listen to then you'll get what I mean !! I just think the way you write would be perfect for this

the songs =

Like real people do, from Eden, Nobody's soilder, cherry wine, it will come back

All by Hozier lol, if I find a proper way to explain it I will!

Thanks again!! ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ

IT WILL COME BACK

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

twenty five times jason todd warned you not to love him, and one time he begged you to stay.

this is the first of two! (i'm sorry, but i only have the time to write two of the songs and those two songs were the ones that clicked for me and i just NEED to write about them) i listened to this song first and immediately searched up the meaning of this song. and then i read someone's interpretation of the song and I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE ABOUT IT, especially with emotionally repressed jason who worships reader, who doesn't think that he deserves them but with the way reader teases and encourages him and showers him with love, to let him not be afraid of showing his true feelings, then how could he ever say no? hopefully you enjoyed this one!

taglist @kasarian , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

jason knows you know. he’s a mess of scar tissue and bad decisions, a boy who clawed his way out of his own grave only to keep dragging the dirt behind him—so why do you look at him like he’s something worth loving? like he’s not just a ghost wearing a man’s skin? you shouldn’t. you know better.

but then you grin at him, all sharp edges and softness, and say, "what’s that face for, jay? thinking too hard again?" like it’s that simple. like he’s not a loaded gun and you’re not pressing your finger to the trigger just to feel the danger of it.

the way you look at him, all mischief and molten affection—you know what it does to him. he’s not stupid. you’re not subtle. (he’s memorized the exact shade of your smile when you tease him, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at his scowling.) but god, he loves it anyway. loves you anyway. even when he doesn’t think he deserves to.

than to look at it, look at it like that

your eyes drag over him like you’re starving, like he’s something worth devouring—and fuck, maybe he is, the way you touch him like you can’t get enough. fingers tracing the ridges of his abs, nails scraping just to hear his breath hitch. teeth sinking into the curve of his bicep, just hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to make him groan. lips pressing hot and open-mouthed against the back of his neck while your hands slip under his shirt, greedy, needy, like you want to memorize every scar, every shudder you pull from him.

"jason," you sigh, voice dripping with something sweet and sinful, "you’re so tense, baby. let me help."

he should scowl. should shove you away before this goes too far, before he loses what little control he has left. but then your tongue flicks over his pulse point, and his head falls back against your shoulder with a ragged fuck.

he never does push you away. never could.

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

he’s warned you before—voice rough like gravel under tires, that low growl he gets when you’re pushing all his buttons just to watch him unravel. "don’t," he mutters, fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but won’t let himself. "you shouldn’t poke the beast, sweetheart."

but you just tilt your head, all faux innocence, lips quirking into that grin that makes his pulse stutter. "beast?" you echo, stepping closer until your breath ghosts over his jaw. "where? all i see is you, jason." and god, the way you say his name—like it’s something sacred, something yours—it wrecks him.

his hands find your hips on instinct, grip tight enough to bruise, but you don’t flinch. you never do. instead, you press closer, all warm skin and teasing fingers tracing the scars on his knuckles. "see?" you murmur, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "just you."

he should argue. should remind you he’s not something to play with, not something gentle. but the way you look at him—like he’s yours, like you’d fight the whole damn world to keep him—steals the words right from his throat.

than to talk to it, talk to it like that

your voice drops to something slow and syrupy, honey-thick with teasing—the kind of tone that curls under his skin and lingers there, sticky-sweet. "jason," you sigh, dragging out each syllable like you're savoring the taste, and fuck, it's not even his name anymore. it's a blade between his ribs, a match to gasoline, and you wield it with devastating precision.

he tenses, jaw clenching as he pointedly stares at the ceiling instead of you. "don't," he grits out, but there's no heat behind it—just that rough, frayed edge that means he's already losing.

"don't what?" you hum, all false innocence, fingers walking up his chest like you own every inch of him (you do). "i'm just saying your name."

"yeah, like that," he mutters, finally snapping—one hand catching yours mid-taunt, pinning it against his heartbeat. it's racing. you can feel it. "like you fucking mean it."

don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul

he doesn’t want half-measures, doesn’t want the tentative brush of your fingers like you’re afraid he’ll break. if you’re going to touch him, he wants all of you—your laughter tangled in his sheets, your stubborn mouth biting back moans, the way you dig your nails into his shoulders when he fucks you just right. he wants the way you press your cold feet against his calves just to hear him yelp, the way you gasp his name like a prayer when he pins you down.

"jason—" you pant, arching under him as his teeth graze your throat.

"tell me," he growls, hands mapping your skin like he’s memorizing every beauty mark, every scar. "tell me you’re mine."

you laugh, breathless and bright, even as he steals the sound with a kiss. "always," you murmur against his lips, fingers twisting in his hair. "you know you’ve got me."

and he does. he does. your soul is already his—has been since the first time you looked at him like he was worth something. but he’ll still take it again and again, greedy and desperate, until neither of you can remember where he ends and you begin.

honey, make this easy

it should be simple. he should be able to push you away, to stay in the shadows where he belongs—where he can't hurt you. but then he sees you on that rooftop, outnumbered and backed into a corner, and his body moves before his mind can catch up.

the takedown is brutal, efficient. he doesn't let himself linger, already turning to disappear into the night—until your hand catches his wrist.

"jason."

his name on your lips is a punch to the gut. he freezes, heart hammering against his ribs. you shouldn't know. you shouldn't see him.

"you're dead," you whisper, but your fingers tighten like you're afraid he'll vanish. "i watched them bury you."

he should lie. should shake you off and run. but the way you're looking at him—like he's your only salvation, something precious, something real—makes the words stick in his throat.

"make this easy," he rasps, voice rough from disuse. "pretend you didn't see me."

you laugh, sharp and wet, and suddenly your arms are around him, holding on like he's the only solid thing in the world. "never," you breathe against his neck. "you don't get to ask me that."

and god, he's so fucked. because he should pull away. should run. but your warmth, your scent, the way you cling to him like he's worth keeping—it ruins him.

leave it to the land, this is what it knows

he was made for violence—knuckles split on brick walls, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, the way pain sings through his veins like an old friend. survival is coded in his bones, written in every scar. but you—you with your stupid jokes and softer hands, with the way you trace his scars like they're something precious instead of proof of how broken he is—you make him want. want mornings tangled in sheets, want lazy kisses pressed to his shoulder blades, want things he has no right to ask for. it terrifies him.

"stop that," he grumbles when you catch his hand, turning it over to press your lips to his bruised knuckles.

"stop what?" you murmur, all innocence, but your eyes spark with mischief.

"this." he gestures vaguely between you, at the way your thumb rubs circles into his palm. "acting like i'm—"

"like you're what?" you interrupt, leaning in until your breath ghosts over his lips. "worth loving?"

he flinches like you've struck him. "that's not—"

"too bad," you whisper, and kiss him before he can protest further. and god help him, he kisses back, hands clutching at your waist like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.

(he was made for blood and brutality. but maybe—just maybe—he could learn to be made for this too.)

honey, that’s how it sleeps

the nightmares come less often when you’re there—when he can feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against his chest, when your warmth seeps into his bones like sunlight through cracked blinds. he’ll never say it out loud, but he sleeps deeper with your limbs tangled in his, with your head tucked under his chin like you belong there. (you do.)

one night, after a particularly bad mission, you catch him staring at you in the dim light, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

“what?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep, blinking up at him.

“nothing,” he mutters, but his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer.

you smirk against his collarbone. “you’re such a liar.”

he huffs, but doesn’t deny it, just presses his lips to your forehead in a silent confession.

don’t let it in with no intention to keep it

his hands are rough when they grab your wrists, pinning them to the mattress as he hovers over you, breath ragged. "this isn't a game," he grits out, eyes dark with something dangerous. "i'm not some fucking toy you can pick up when it's convenient and toss aside when you're bored."

you tilt your chin up, defiant even as your pulse jumps under his grip. "who said anything about tossing you aside?"

"don't," he warns, voice dropping to that low growl that makes your stomach flip. "don't act like you don't know what you do to me. like you haven't always known."

your smile is all sharp edges and sweetness. "maybe i like what i do to you."

he exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. "then you better be prepared to deal with the consequences, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. "because if you let me in, i'm not leaving. ever."

(he means it. he'll ruin anyone who tries to take him away from you—including himself.)

"who says i'd let you out?" you answer, voice just as raw, just as wrecked, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you loosen your grip. the look on his face mirrors yours—something desperate, something starving—and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves. "i lost you once before, i'm never losing you again."

jesus christ, don’t be kind to it

your kindness is worse than cruelty. the way you cup his face like he’s something precious, the way you press feather-light kisses to every scar—each one a silent i love you, i love you, i love you—it undoes him completely. he knows how to take a punch, how to bleed and keep fighting, but this? this tenderness? it terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.

"stop," he rasps when you trace the jagged line along his ribs—a souvenir from a fight he barely walked away from. his voice cracks, rough with something too close to vulnerability. "you don’t have to—"

"i know," you interrupt softly, lips brushing the raised skin before you look up at him, eyes warm as sunlight. "i want to."

and that’s the thing that wrecks him most of all—that you choose this, choose him, even when he’s all sharp edges and broken pieces. your fingers card through his hair, gentle as a summer breeze, and he leans into the touch before he can stop himself.

honey, don’t feed it, it will come back

he always comes back. no matter how many times he tells himself this is the last time, no matter how many miles he puts between you, his feet always find their way to your doorstep—bruised, breathless, and aching. tonight is no different. the second you open the door, he’s on you, hands rough as they pin you against the wall, his mouth hot and desperate against yours.

“told you not to let me in,” he growls between kisses, teeth scraping your bottom lip. “told you i’d come back.”

you laugh, breathless, arching into him as his fingers dig into your hips. “like you could stay away,” you taunt, dragging your nails down his back just to hear him groan.

he nips at your throat in retaliation, sucking a bruise into your skin as his hands roam, claiming, possessive. “fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “you ruin me.”

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

you smile at him, all sunshine and sharp edges, and he aches—not just with want, but with something terrifyingly tender that coils tight in his chest. he knows better than to reach for it, knows better than to let himself believe he could have this. but then your fingers brush against his, tentative and warm, and something in him cracks open.

"jason," you murmur, thumb tracing slow circles over his knuckles—the same hands that have done unspeakable things, now trembling under your touch. "you can hold my hand, you know. i won’t break."

he hesitates, breath catching, before his fingers finally—finally—intertwine with yours, clumsy and unsure. "...this okay?" he mutters, voice rough, like he’s bracing for you to pull away.

you squeeze his hand, grinning up at him like he’s just given you the world. "more than okay," you whisper, leaning in until your forehead rests against his. "perfect, actually."

than to smile at me, smile at me like that

like he's something precious. like he's something yours—a secret treasure you found buried in the wreckage and decided to keep. it makes his chest too tight, makes his hands shake with the effort of not reaching for you, not crushing you against him until you can't tell where he ends and you begin. he wants to bite that smile off your lips, wants to swallow it whole so it lives inside him forever.

"quit it," he grits out when you catch him staring, your grin widening like you've won something.

"stop what?" you tease, leaning in until your breath ghosts over his mouth. "smiling at my boyfriend?"

the word—boyfriend—sends a jolt through him. his fingers twitch toward you before he can stop them, catching in the fabric of your shirt. "you know what you're doing," he accuses, voice low.

you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, feather-light. "yeah," you admit, laughing when he finally snaps and drags you in. "and you love it."

you know better babe, you know better babe

he’s told you. he’s told you—with rough words and scowls and hands that push you away even when they tremble with the need to pull you closer. but you still curl into him like you belong there, still press your cold nose against the pulse point in his neck like you’re memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat. and the worst part? he’s starting to let you.

tonight, when you burrow under his arm with a sleepy sigh, he doesn’t stiffen. doesn’t grumble. his breath hitches, just once, before his arm settles around your shoulders, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for this all along.

"...comfortable?" he mutters, voice gruff but lacking its usual edge.

you hum, nuzzling closer. "mhm. you’re warm."

his fingers flex against your side, hesitant, before they start tracing idle patterns on your hip—his version of an apology, a confession, a please don’t let go.

than to hold me just, hold me just like that

your arms around him are a vice, a salvation, the only thing anchoring him to this world when the memories threaten to drag him under. he should pull away—shouldn’t let you cling to something so broken, shouldn’t let himself believe he deserves this. but then your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again, and something in him cracks open.

"...you’re gonna suffocate me," he mumbles, but there’s no bite to it, just a rough edge of something tender he’s still learning to name.

you laugh against his collarbone, warm and bright. "liar," you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "you love this."

he should deny it. should shove you off and retreat to the shadows where he belongs. but instead, his arms tighten around you—just a fraction, just enough to feel the way your breath hitches—and he ducks his head to press his lips to your hair.

"...shut up," he mutters, but it’s ruined by the way his voice cracks, by the way his hands tremble where they rest against your back.

i know who i am when i’m alone

alone, he’s sharp edges and old blood, the metallic taste of violence thick on his tongue. alone, he’s the red hood—a monster stitched together from Gotham’s rot, a ghost wearing a dead boy’s face. sometimes, in the quiet, he thinks maybe he should’ve stayed buried. maybe the world would’ve been kinder if he’d never clawed his way out of that grave.

but then you’re there, your warmth pressing against his back, your fingers threading through his like you’re trying to pull him out of his own head.

"jay," you murmur, soft but insistent, "come back to me."

his breath hitches. he should shrug you off, should snap that he’s not something you can fix. but instead, he turns his hand over, palm-up, an unspoken invitation. your fingers slot between his like they belong there, and he exhales shakily.

"...’m here," he mutters, rough but honest.

you press a kiss to his knuckles, gentle as dawn light. "good," you whisper. "stay."

(he will. for you, he’ll try.)

i’m something else when i see you

with you, he’s just jason—not the red hood, not the ghost, not the boy who should’ve stayed dead. just jason, who loves too hard with hands that have known too much blood, who wants too much when he deserves so little. it terrifies him, this fragile thing between you, like one wrong move could shatter it all. and you—god, you’re just as broken, just as scarred, always waiting for the day he doesn’t come back, always counting his breaths like each one might be the last.

tonight, he finds you curled into yourself, knees to your chest, staring blankly at the door like you’re already mourning him. his chest aches. he doesn’t know how to fix this—doesn’t know if he can. but he kneels in front of you anyway, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch.

"...hey," he murmurs, voice rough. "i’m here."

you look up, eyes red-rimmed, and your breath stutters. "for how long?" you whisper, the question hanging between you like a guillotine.

he doesn’t have an answer. doesn’t know how to promise something he might not be able to keep. so he does the only thing he can—he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin, holding you so tight it almost hurts. "long as i can," he breathes into your hair.

your fingers clutch at his shirt, desperate. "that’s not enough," you choke out.

he knows. god, he knows. but he presses a kiss to your temple anyway, slow and lingering, trying to pour every unspoken i love you into it. "i know," he admits, voice cracking. "but it’s all i got."

you don’t understand, you should never know

you don’t realize the power you have—how one touch from you could bring him to his knees, how he’d carve out his own ribs if it meant keeping you safe. (he hopes you never find out.) but that night, with your lips on his and your hands tugging at his belt, he’s not thinking about hiding. he’s not thinking at all.

"jason," you gasp as he pins you to the mattress, his body covering yours like a shield, like a prayer. "are you sure—?"

his answer is a growl against your throat, teeth scraping your pulse point as his hands map every inch of you, desperate and reverent. "shut up," he breathes, but there’s no heat in it, just a raw ache. "just—fuck, just let me have this."

you arch into him, nails dragging down his back, and he swears he sees stars. "you have me," you whisper, voice breaking as he finally, finally sinks into you. "all of me."

(and that’s the thing—he doesn’t have you. you have him, heart and soul, and he’s too far gone to even care.)

how easy you are to need

it’s pathetic, really. the way he craves you—not just in the heat of battle or the dark of night, but in the quiet moments too. the way you hum off-key while making coffee, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh, the way you sigh in your sleep like the world can’t touch you here. it’s too much. it’s not enough.

tonight, he watches you bathed in moonlight, fingers tracing the slope of your shoulder like he’s memorizing his favourite verse of a poem. you stir under his touch, blinking up at him with sleep-soft eyes.

"why’re you staring?" you murmur, voice thick with drowsiness.

his thumb brushes your cheekbone, reverent. "just thinking," he admits, quieter than the rustle of sheets.

you turn into his palm, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "about?"

he swallows. "how you’re like sunlight," he starts, haltingly, "even when you’re not trying to be." it’s clumsy, poetic in a way that makes his ears burn, but it’s true—you warm him from the inside out, melt the frost in his veins until he’s just a man, just jason, just yours.

your smile is slow, sweet. "say that again," you tease, but your eyes are shining.

"shut up," he grumbles, pulling you closer until your laughter vibrates against his chest.

(he’ll never tell you how easy it is to need you. but he’ll show you, every day, in every touch, for as long as you let him.)

don’t let me in with no intention to keep me

he’s not asking. he’s warning—voice rough like gravel, hands trembling where they frame your face. if you let him in, if you peel back his armor and see the broken thing beneath, he’s not leaving. he’ll carve a place between your ribs and make a home there, ruin you for anyone else, love you until it hurts.

"you sure about this?" he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaky. "i’m not—i don’t know how to do this right."

you kiss him anyway, slow and sweet, fingers carding through his hair like he’s something precious. "good thing i don’t need you to be perfect," you whisper against his lips. "just yours."

his breath hitches. he kisses you back like he’s drowning, like you’re air, hands sliding down to grip your waist—gentler now, but no less desperate. "...mine," he repeats, testing the word, and it sounds so right.

jesus christ, don’t be kind to me

your kindness is a knife, twisting deeper every time you look at him like he’s worth something. your love is a live wire, sparking through his veins until he’s breathless with it. he can’t take it—the way you reach for him first, fingers lacing through his without hesitation, the way you press kisses to his scars like they’re something holy. but god, he’ll take anything you give him.

tonight, it’s him who initiates, catching your wrist as you pass by and pulling you into his lap with a quiet grunt. you yelp, then melt against him instantly, laughter bubbling up as his arms tighten around you.

"missed me?" you tease, tilting your head to nuzzle against his jaw.

his nose brushes your temple, inhaling the scent of your shampoo like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. "shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no heat in it—just a rough tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you pull back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing the dark circles under his eyes. "you’re so pretty," you murmur, hopelessly, helplessly in love.

he flushes, scowling, but leans into your touch anyway. "you’re such a sap," he mutters, before kissing you—soft, slow, and so painfully sweet it steals your breath. as if he hasn't said cheesier things in his head about you.

honey, don’t feed me, i will come back

he always does. no matter how many times he grumbles about needing space, no matter how dramatically he flops onto the couch complaining about your terrible taste in movies, he always circles back—drawn to you like gravity, like his bones know they belong wherever you are. and now? now he doesn’t even pretend to resist.

today, he catches you mid-eyeroll as you reorganize his haphazard stack of books (alphabetized by color, what the hell—), and before you can protest, he’s lifting you clear off the ground, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"jason!" you shriek, kicking halfheartedly as he carries you toward the bedroom. "i was fixing your chaos!"

"ruining my system, you mean," he counters, giving your thigh a light smack just to hear you squawk. "besides, you’re way more fun when you’re not judging my life choices."

you pinch his side in retaliation, grinning when he yelps. "oh, so now you admit i’m fun?"

he dumps you onto the mattress, looming over you with a smirk. "shut up," he mutters, but he’s already leaning down to kiss you, swallowing your laughter like it’s his favorite flavor.

it can’t be unlearned

he’s tasted your mouth, your skin, your laughter—memorized the way you arch beneath him, the way your breath hitches when his teeth graze that spot just below your ear. he’s ruined for anything else, addicted to the way you fall apart in his hands, and now? now he doesn’t hesitate to take what he wants.

tonight, he pins you to the sheets with a hunger that borders on desperation, hands roaming like he’s mapping a religion he’ll never stop worshipping. “mine,” he growls against your throat, and the way you shudder—like the word alone is enough to undo you—sends a thrill down his spine.

afterward, when the air is thick with sweat and the scent of you, he surprises even himself by pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“...okay?” he murmurs, voice rough but softer now, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

you hum, nuzzling into his chest with a contented sigh. "more than okay," you mumble, already half-asleep. "you?"

he huffs a laugh, tucking the blanket around you both. "could go for a few more rounds," jason teases, voice thick with exhaustion but still grinning as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

you laugh—soft and breathless, the sound curling warm in his chest. "oh my god, jay."

"alright, fine," he concedes, already pulling you closer as his breathing evens out. "sleep it is." but the way his arms lock around you, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish by morning, says everything his voice won’t.

i’ve known the warmth of your doorways

your home is his—the creak of the floorboards, the way your sheets smell like that cheap lavender detergent you swear by, the half-empty coffee mugs left scattered on the counter because neither of you can be bothered to clean up properly. your bed is his, with its too-soft pillows and the way you always steal the blankets, leaving him to grumble and pull you closer just to steal your warmth instead. your heart is his, beating steady under his palm when he wakes from nightmares to find you already watching him, fingers carding through his hair before he even has to ask. (he’s not giving it back. he couldn’t if he tried.)

tonight, it’s him who reaches for you first once more, catching your wrist as you walk by and tugging you into his lap with a quiet "c’mere." you go willingly, laughing as he nuzzles into the curve of your neck, his arms locking around your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

"since when do you initiate cuddles?" you tease, but your hands are already sliding into his hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck the way he likes.

he hums, low and content, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "since you ruined me," he mumbles, like it’s a confession, like it’s the easiest truth he’s ever spoken.

(he has. you have. and neither of you would change a thing.)

through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you

no matter how far he goes, no matter how lost he gets in the blood and the noise and the weight of his own ghosts, he’ll always come back. you’re his north star, his fixed point—the only thing that makes sense in this godforsaken city. tonight, he watches you from the rooftops, silhouetted against the neon glow of gotham’s skyline as you move through the fight below. you’re beautiful like this, all sharp edges and fluid motion, but his stomach twists when he sees you take a hit, when blood blooms dark against your sleeve.

he’s there before you can stumble, his hands steady as he hauls you into the shadows of an alleyway. "hold still," he mutters, voice rough with worry as he presses a gloved hand to the wound. you hiss but don’t pull away, your breath warm against his jaw as he works.

"since when do you play medic?" you tease, though your voice is tight with pain.

he doesn’t answer, just peels back the fabric of your suit with careful fingers, his touch reverent as he cleans the cut. when he’s done, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth—soft, clumsy, lingering—before lifting your hand to his mouth and brushing his lips over your bruised knuckles. "don’t do that again," he murmurs, but it’s not an order. it’s a plea.

you smile, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw. "make me," you whisper, and the way he leans into your touch says everything he won’t.

(he’ll always come back. and you’ll always be there, waiting.)

oh, please, give me mercy no more

"apologise, and maybe i'll think about going easy on you."

you laugh, bright and teasing, when he pins you to the mattress, his hips pressing yours deep into the sheets. "offering me mercy, jay?" you gasp, like the concept is foreign, back arching as he drags his teeth down your throat. "since when do you believe in mercy?"

he doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. instead, he sinks into you in one slow, deliberate thrust, the stretch so perfect it punches the air from your lungs. he groans, forehead dropping to yours as he bottoms out, the heat of you clenching around him like you were made to take him. "fuck," he grits out, voice wrecked already. "you feel—" but he can’t finish, too lost in the way your nails dig into his shoulders, the way your thighs tremble around his waist.

he sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips dragging a broken sound from your lips. "jason—" you whimper, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"look at me," he demands, voice rough, and when you do—when your eyes meet his, hazy with pleasure—something in his chest cracks open. suddenly, he’s imagining more than just this: lazy mornings tangled in your limbs, a house with too many windows, maybe even a tiny human with your sense of humour and his temper. the thought is so terrifyingly sweet it makes him falter, his rhythm stuttering.

you notice, of course. "where’d you go?" you pant, hips rolling to meet his.

he shakes his head, thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping. "nowhere," he lies, but the way his hands cradle your face, the way his lips brush yours like a promise, says otherwise.

(he wants it all. and one day, he’ll tell you.)

that’s a kindness you can’t afford

he’s not kind—not in the way that matters, not when his hands are stained and his heart’s been carved out too many times to count. but you, with your stupid, stubborn hope, keep offering it anyway. tonight, it’s in the way you press a kiss to his scarred knuckles, like he’s something fragile, something worth gentleness. it makes his chest ache.

“stop,” he rasps, fingers twitching in your grip. “i told you this before, you don’t gotta—”

“i know,” you interrupt, lips quirking. “i want to.”

your thumb traces the ridge of his knuckles, slow and deliberate, and he should pull away. should remind you he’s not built for softness. but then you lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his jaw, and whisper, “guess you’re just stuck with me being nice.”

he huffs, but his hand turns under yours, palm-up, fingers curling to catch yours before you can retreat. “...reckless,” he mutters, but the way his thumb brushes your wrist is tender, almost apologetic.

(you are. and he’s not sorry at all.)

i warn you, babe, each night, as sure as you’re born

he tells you. every time. don’t start what you can’t finish. you never listen.

(like that first night he came back—really came back—when he appeared outside your window like some half-feral ghost, all sharp edges and haunted eyes. the fire escape creaked under his weight, the cold metal biting through his gloves as he hesitated, knuckles hovering just shy of the glass. he shouldn’t be here. shouldn’t let you see him like this, still smelling of blood and gotham’s rot. but god, he missed you.)

then the curtain twitched, and there you were—sleep-rumpled and wide-eyed, your breath fogging the pane as you stared at him like he was the answer to a prayer you’d never said out loud.

“...jason?” your voice was barely a whisper, cracked open with something like hope.

he swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists. “go back to bed,” he muttered, rough as gravel. “this ain’t—you don’t want this.”

but you were already unlatching the window, already reaching for him with hands that didn’t shake. “shut up,” you breathed, and then you were pulling him inside, your arms wrapping around him so tight he couldn’t tell where his trembling ended and yours began.

“i told you—” he started, but his voice broke, his face buried in your hair like he could memorize the scent of you.

“i know,” you interrupted, fingers gripping the back of his jacket like you were afraid he’d vanish. “i don’t care.”

you’ll hear me howling outside your door

you always let him in.

(like today, when the two of you are walking along the beach, barefoot and carefree, the golden hour sun painting everything in warm hues. the sand is soft under your toes, the waves lapping at your ankles as you laugh over some stupid childhood memory—that time he tried to bake cookies and nearly set the kitchen on fire, or when you tripped over your own feet trying to impress him with a skateboard trick. his laughter is rough but bright, unfiltered in a way it rarely is, and it makes your chest ache with how much you love him.)

then, because you’ve never been able to resist, you shove him playfully, sending him stumbling into the surf with a yelp. “oh, you’re dead,” he growls, but there’s no real threat in it, just that fond exasperation he reserves only for you. he lunges, catching you around the waist, and the two of you go down in a tangle of limbs and saltwater, the waves swallowing your shrieks of laughter.

you come up sputtering, coughing as you accidentally swallow a mouthful of the ocean. “tastes like shit,” you wheeze, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

he’s no better, blinking furiously as the water stings his eyes. “serves you right,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for you, his hands gentle as they brush the wet hair from your face.

“worth it,” you grin, leaning into his touch.

he rolls his eyes, but the way his thumb traces your cheekbone is achingly tender. “idiot,” he murmurs, and it sounds like i love you.

don’t you hear me howling, babe?

you always will.

bullets ping off the metal crates you’re crouched behind, the sharp scent of gunpowder thick in the air. jason’s pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with you, his breath warm against your ear as he grins, wild and bright. "told you this was a bad idea," he says, like he’s not having the time of his life.

"you love my bad ideas," you shoot back, peeking over the crate just long enough to return fire. a man yelps as your shot grazes his arm, and jason barks out a laugh, loud enough to startle the goons into hesitating.

"showoff," he mutters, but there’s pride in his voice as he leans around the corner and takes down two men with precise shots. you cover him without missing a beat, your movements synced like you share the same pulse.

when the last thug hits the ground, the warehouse falls silent except for your shared, ragged breathing. jason turns to you, blood smeared across his cheekbone, and you reach out, thumb brushing it away. "messy," you tease.

"you love it," he counters, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm, right over the bruise forming from where you’d punched someone too hard.

the walk back to his bike is slow, the adrenaline fading into something softer. you bump his shoulder, grinning. "can’t wait to deal with this bullshit every day when we’re married."

his heart stutters in his chest, so loud he's half-afraid you'll hear it. his right hand curls instinctively in his pocket, thumb brushing against gold—the same way it has every day for weeks, checking, reassuring. the weight of what he's about to do tightens his throat, makes your casual words echo like church bells in his skull. when we're married. like it's inevitable. like he hasn't been lying awake rehearsing this moment for months. "yeah?" he manages, voice rougher than the gunfight warranted. the smile that tugs at his lips is helpless, unbearably soft. "...me neither."

(he looks at you then—really looks. the way the streetlights halo your hair, the way your smile cuts through the grime and exhaustion like sunlight. he wants to memorize this, wants to carve it into his ribs so he never forgets the way you love him, reckless and relentless.

"c’mon," he murmurs, nodding toward a quieter street. "let’s go somewhere else first."

you raise a brow but follow, because you always do.

and tonight, he’ll kneel on the rooftop where you first kissed—where the city lights painted your face in gold and he realized he’d never love anything as much as he loves you—ring in hand, voice trembling just once as he asks you to keep following. forever.)

WOAH this one was a long one—6.5k words??? i'm literally crying right now as i wrote this last part cause like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it took me 4 hours... 4 FUCKING HOURS TO WRITE THIS AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE IT I NEED MORE I NEED MORE OF JASON (as if i don't have the ability to write more of this.......)

[spiritsglade]

so, about that death certificate

OR: Revek is a hater for too many words straight. Sorry about the negativity. This is technically a continuation post from the two I made [1] [2] about Jason's death.

This is Jason Todd's death certificate. We've all seen it. As far as I can tell it's from The Batman Files, a book of sorts that compiles in-universe documents--"Bruce Wayne's secret journal."

This fucking thing sucks. And I HATE it and it's WRONG. The information in it blatantly contradicts canon, and on occasion even blatantly contradicts the cover-ups in canon. Let's break it down:

Dying "in Bristol County and the City of Gotham"

No he didn't

No, he didn't, not even in the cover-up version of events

As we all know Jason died in Ethiopia (or Qurac, or Bosnia, depending on adaption or comic continuity). He does not die in Gotham unless we're digging into deeply removed elseworlds like the HBO's Titans (2018).

Within post-crisis (which is where we're living, given that the publication date for The Batman Files) Bruce literally tells Ethiopian authorities that the kid who died in the rubble was Jason Todd.

Bruce is basically pretending Jason died in an accident here. An accident in Ethiopia, not Gotham. Getting Jason a death certificate from Gotham in general is just??? Wrong??????

Aside: Bruce should probably be concerned about the Joker potentially making the connection between the Robin he beat and blew up in a warehouse in Ethiopia with the Famous Gotham Billionaire Bruce Wayne's adopted son Jason Todd blowing up in a warehouse in Ethiopia. But Batman also later beats up the Joker while screaming Jason's full name at him, so... secret identities who?

Jason Todd's height and weight

The numbers (4'6" and 87 lbs) are pulled directly from one of his character info pages from the 80's. Namely, one written when he was still alive. When he was... you know, still growing. Yes he was 4'6" at some point in his life, which most of us were!! That doesn't mean he's that small when he died.

On the other info sheets, he's 5'2" and 105 lbs (pre-crisis) and 5'0" and 110 lbs (post-death). In The New Titans #55, his height is listed as 5'4".

Yes, other sources about Jason's height are inconsistent! There isn't a right answer but 4'6" is pretty clearly a wrong one.

Tangent about I, MORTIMER GUNT, City Coroner

Mortimer Gunt is apparently an actual guy in the DC universe. His job is listed as mortician. MORTICIANS ARE NOT CORONERS. Why is he listed as City Coroner!!! Coroners are elected officials who determine cause of death, morticians are the ones that prepare funerary arrangements.

(Coroners also do not need to have a degree, are distinct from medical examiners/forensic pathologists, and there's many an anecdote out there of coroners fueling conspiracy theories and helping cops by providing inaccurate information about cause of death, but that's a discussion for another time.)

"Asphyxiation due to smoke"

Death of the Family (Batman #428) has Bruce stating that Jason's corpse is already "cold to touch" by the time Bruce reached him

Deadman: Dead Again (Issue #2) has Jason immediately appear as a ghost after the explosion

Red Hood: Lost Days (Issue #2) has Jason's vision go black as the rubble falls on him from the explosion, and then the darkness lifts upon him crawling out of the grave

While the first is clearly incorrect (corpses take like 24 hours to cool, not minutes) all of these imply that Jason died in the explosion, not afterwards due to the smoke from it.

Sheila also died from, presumably, explosion-related injuries, since there's no visible smoke on panel when Bruce is talking to her, nor is Bruce wearing a respirator or rebreather of any kind (though he probably should, tbh). Sheila was less injured, further from, and also shielded from the explosion by Jason. The explosion killed Jason.

We can argue that "asphyxiation due to smoke" was part of a cover-up--after all, it's a lot easier to explain that Jason died in an accidental house fire or something, instead of the getting beaten and murdered thing.

I am okay with this. This would, however, still make it not how Jason actually died.

(If you want cigarette smoking angst with Jason please please please use the fact Sheila was smoking as she when Joker was beating Jason with the crowbar. Pleaseeee. On my hands and knees. You should use that you should use Jason getting betrayed by Sheila and still calling her mom anyway and smoking the same brand of cigarettes as she was when she lead him into a death trap and looked away pleaseeeeeee)

Miscellaneous complaints: I am extremely pedantic about things that don't matter

Hair color-

The Batman Files were published in Oct 2011, which is after the entire Batman and Robin run that retcons Jason into a redhead. The death certificate still lists Jason's hair as black. Pre-crisis Jason was also ginger (NOT blond. I will fight you on this.)

When the death certificate was filed-

Ethiopia is 7 hours ahead of New Jersey. A flight between Ethiopia and New Jersey takes... somewhere around 13 hours, based on quick searching I didn't bother properly verifying. So that means whatever time Bruce leaves Ethiopia, he's landing in New Jersey six hours later in local time.

(Batman #428) Bruce is still in Ethiopia at this point. If he means the night of April 28th, by the time he gets back to the East Coast on any flight, it's already going to be the 29th, so there's no world where Gunt files the death certificate on the 28th.

If he somehow means the night of the 27th, well. I guess there's time.

Age-

Given that Tim's 16th birthday was in July 19 in Robin #116 and Jason's 18th birthday was in August 16 in Detective Comics #790, their age gap is hard-coded as 1 year and 11 months.

Given that Jason died in April, which we're all running with, and Tim is thirteen in LPoD, this means that Tim staged his Robin intervention less than 3 months after Jason died. Presumably the timeline is even tighter than that because Tim says that he's thirteen instead of almost fourteen. Not a lot of room to breathe! I like to solve this by making it so Jason died at 14 and 8 months, so Tim comes into Bruce's life a few months later, when he's had more time to wallow in the suicidal self-destructive grief that makes him punch people too hard. Which would mean the death certificate is wrong about yet another thing, but I know I'm reaching at this point.

In conclusion

Even if we pretend this is an in-universe document and thus will be unreliable and lie to you in that sense, it still gets basic information wrong. If we do pretend this is an in-universe document that is unreliable and lies to you, then we should not be trusting anything it says, because billionaire Bruce Wayne has shown he'd love to obscure the truth of what happened to Jason Todd, in universe.

Death certificate bad and wrong. The end.

[sunnie-angel]

ahhh this my first time sending an ask! So pumpkin carving + Jason's s/o reader who got murdered somehow (it could be targeted or not) what do you think he'd rage like Achilles? Maybe try bring them back?

i'm so honoured to be your first ask 🥹 fingers crossed that i'll see you in my inbox again in the future. i hope this was what you wanted!

jason todd has always known his capacity for violence could be devastating. apocalyptic. has had that knowledge thrumming in his veins since the day he woke from the dead. but that knowledge has always been tempered by you. you with your sunshine smiles and hands so tender. you hold him back from the abyss, a chain around the snarling beast's muzzle, and he loves you for it.

a bullet, wrong place wrong time wrong target, blots you out. takes all that sunshine and sweetness away. even as you're gasping out your last breaths, you beg him not to lose sight of himself, of the peace that he's earned. but those are promises he cannot keep, not while he's keening and cradling a body that has betrayed him by not housing you anymore.

sing oh muse of rage, but its not the rage of achilles they should be worried about. it's the blood that runs like water through the streets, that decorate the walls of shady warehouses and gang hideouts. it's the man that's rending flesh from bone with his bare hands like its nothing. nothing matters to him anymore. nothing but the promise that even though his killer is still living, yours won't be.

terror grips the city, the kind of noxious toxic fume that not even the bats can put out. there's a new kind of monster out there and he won't rest until the debt's been paid. cronies and henchman all scrambling like rats from sinking ships turn up floating in the harbour. kingpins and commanders in pieces in the gutters. its the kind of chaos that consumes, that eclipses the heartache with the repetitive thunk of fists on flesh, the slick drag of blade against skin.

and then it's over. every last person even tangentially connected to your killer is dead. there's no one else to kill. and every day jason has to wake up to a bed with a cavernous void where you should be, drink from only one mug in a matching set, stumble around the pile of laundry you had been meaning to get to. it's no kind of living.

but there are whispers, whispers in the underground of a pit with special powers, hidden and guarded by a league of mercenaries, of assassins. it scratches at the doors to memories he'd thought long locked away. for good reason. but it's a chance, it's a choice, one he thought he would never have. jason leaves gotham behind, still echoing with his rage, one foot in the grave already and only your closed casket to keep him company.

you can request more head canons as part of sunnie's soft autumn

[ifyoucandaniel]

once again nobody asked, but here is a comprehensive list of my favorite shorter Batman fics. my other list was mostly fics 50k and up, so this will be under 50k and oneshots :) i feel like most people have probably read a majority of these but! i love them all so much so here they are

In Love With Justice and Battling in the Wings by Jedi_olympian, 9k, 10k, T. literally who would i be if i didn't include my day one, my bbg: the justice league recruits nightwing and meets the batfam <3

Two Against the World by carolinaa, 36k, T, completed. i reread this all the time :') this is a "tim joins the batfam a little differently" fic as well as a "tim gets an emotional support dog and dick grayson won't leave the lonely kid next door alone" fic <3

Museum Mishap by prettymisskitty, 38k, T, completed. I love smart little stalker tim joining the fam in fun ways! jason and tim get kidnapped after jason tries to figure out if this scrawny jumpy kid knows batman and robins secret identities. shenanigans ensue

Jason Todd's terrible, horrible, no-good very bad week by slenderboo, 18k, T, completed. this is another one im sure everyone has read but!! it's my bbg!! hurt jason with some big brother nightwing and concerned little brothers AND its a batfam meets the justice league fic? say less.

Say Uncle by megaerakles, 46k, T, complete. this is so fun and i actually laughed so hard at jason having legal custody of tim at 19 by accident. "teen dad(?)" this is basically tim's fake uncle AU but he hires jason to be his uncle until he can figure out how to get him to go home to the bats <3

Doc Harley by starknjarvis, 15k, G, completed. this!! i love harley being friends with the bats sooo much and her slowly therapy-ing them all is so very good and perfect. harley and dick deserve to be best friends

Dangerous and Noble Things by Destiny919, 45k, T, completed. this one reminds me of hand in unloveable hand by britishparty, and in this one tim is abducted by ra's and then years later the batfam finds out and they bring him home :) cass and tim are a package deal, do not separate!! so good and i love robin jason so very much

Savior(s) of the broken by epistemology, 13k, T. this is just some good ol' jason and dick becoming brothers again and jason slowly getting to know his siblings again <3 the end maybe made me cry just a little... right in the brother feels

Living Dead Boy by terranpheum, 22k, T, completed. im actually rereading this right now! this is where tim is there when jason digs his way out of his grave and takes him home to rehabilitate him by making him play scrabble and eat with him :) so cute and very good

Even if I'm Erased by Darkness, I Will Definitely Save You by Kirazalea, 7k, T. okay so i LOVE battison fics especially ones that include dick and this one is from selina's pov so this is my bread and butter. if anyone has more battison fics send them to me i feel like ive been through the whole tag.....

of crime lords and literature by adelfie, 23k, T, completed. everyone loves some jason begrudgingly becoming protective of tim and the two of them bonding over hamlet. whats not to like :p

Juneberries by michaberry, 68k, M, completed. tim gets kidnapped and psychologically tortured while damian wrestles with his own demons and tries to bring his brother home :’) tim and damian learning how to be brothers and realizing they would do anything for their family is just <33

Robin is Magic by flames_dance, 15k, T, completed. the way my heart actually dropped to my ass when jason found out who tim was, you had to be there... very good jason and tim bonding with a side of trauma from titans tower <3

Around Red Hood's Barn by Tori1116, 24k, T, completed. jayroy where roy doesn't realize his crush red hood and his hooligan neighbor jay are one and the same and keeps ranting to his buddy hood about how annoying his neighbor is. single dad roy x jason wanting his brothers to leave him alone and stop causing misunderstandings <3

the butlers neighbor by deargalileo, 16k, G, completed. okay i almost never see fics from alfreds pov and this is even better because its alfred adopting tim into the family while bruce and jason are just in the background accepting they have another kid. 10/10 very cute bonding between alfred and tim

lashed with riot-red and black by lux_et_astra, 16k, T. yet another tim and jason becoming brothers fic <3 they start writing notes through their windows and become friends :) i think i’ve read every fic under the tim drake joins the batfam early tag

Panic Room by envysparkler, 15k, T, completed. jason being locked in a room with his trigger while actively trying not to kill him and then getting locked in a room with TWO of his triggers is insane lmao. i love damian in this actually :’) that boy needs so much love

also i realized again that these are mostly tim & jason centric so i’m very sorry damian, dick, duke, cass, babs, and steph, i do have fics for them i promise i just have so many tim and jason ones…. pls send recs for other batfam member focused fics!! <3 i feel like that tiktok that’s like I GOT LOVE FOR YOU TOO KEVIN but for the entire batfam because i just have 900 jason and tim centric fics 😭

[llillilholillill]

i want to read about jason todd of the arrowverse. I want to read about him crawling out of his grave to the world where batman, bruce, his dad, is not going to be in soon.

i want him waking up after the dip in a lazarus pit, feeling bloodlust[in arrowverse it is canon, thank you very much], meeting ra’s and nyssa and then talia. still getting trained by terrible monsters, people, who enjoy sufferings of others too much.

i want him to finish his training with all-caste, only to realize league is in shambles, some al sah-him and then al sa-her calling themselves next ra’s al ghul, with talia being banished.

i want to read about jason todd finding out his dad at whom he was so so pissed is missing. have been missing for almost two years.

seasons: 1 and ongoing

and gotham.

gotham is in fucking ruins, because there's no batman, there's no robin. there’s no alfred.

now there’s only him and barely there rumours of nightwing, protecting new york.

jason takes up the mantle. he takes up the legacy. and he hates bruce for it. but gotham and her streets are his home. even if he has to fight bloodlust tooth and nail. because he can’t. he can’t simply make another bloodbath. gotham’s streets are already soaked in too much red. and there’s still a difference for him between killing joker and killing black mask.

he tries to look for bruce, managing one crazy case after another, almost drowning in the filth that flooded the streets when no one had been looking. he tries to look for dick. for brother that hated him at the beginning yet started looking out for him at the end. but he finds a teen instead. genius teen who has so much photos of him as robin, of bruce as batman, of dick as robin and nightwing. of him as red bat.

his name is tim drake, he’s skinny and has no self-preservation skills, his parents are neglectful jerks that still love their son somehow. he becomes jason’s robin. red robin. light in the dark alleyways. hope in the hearts of gothamites. thorn in rogues’ plans. safe haven in jason’s life that calms his bloodlust.

batman needs robin.

red bat, too, needs one.

even if stories about them are a hoax as far as everyone believes.

they hear from nightwing. or well more like jason gets jumped and almost electrocuted by him. thank fuck for red robin, his birdarangs and bright yellow cape. dick doesn’t trust him until he sees empty coffin and dna test. jason really can’t blame him.

year after kate kane finds the cave.

now there’s batwoman. more freaks. and more whispered rumours about existence of bats and birds.

then there’re arrow and flash in his city with flying alien in blue and red with ‘s’ on her chest.

and jason realises shit is going to go down, because it’s just a begining. there's no ending in sight, no bruce in sight.

only him, dick, tim, kate. and other vigilantes who know nothing about how gotham works so they really should get the fuck out of here right this second.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

That Time Again!

Harvest Moon: Wally West, Linda Park; No Powers AU, Murder Mystery AU, Serial Killer AU, Detective AU; WallyLinda; Flashfam

Wolf Tones: Laney Kent, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Conner Kent, Lex Luthor, Mercy Graves; Reunited AU, No Powers AU, Kidnapped AU; Clois; Superfam

Moon Rocks: Jason Todd, Natalia Knight, Catherine Todd, OC(s); Canon Divergent AU; Natalia Knight x Catherine Todd; Batfam

Pidge: Jason Todd, Artemis of Bana Mighdall, Kyle Rayner, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, OC(s); Canon Divergent AU, Dad Jason AU; JayKyle; Batfam

Bug Juice: Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Natalia Knight, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth; No Capes AU; Bruce Wayne x Natalia Knight; Batfam

[cocosparkel]

They're just (not) dreams

chapter 2

Summary -

Mary Anne Todd, didn't really have a safe childhood. While her life seemed hopeless, she at least she had her older brother Jason.

Until she didn't.

Getting caught up with the wrong crowd, she loses her memories and ends up in Paris. Will a Class trip to Gotham jog her memories, or will she forever forget what once was ?

<<Previous next>>

Chapter 2: The turning point

She met him again, a month later. This time, he was a civilian, and he didn't have to hide.

They caught up with how their lives had been for the past 1 and a half years.

Jason tried to convince Maria to come with him to the manor, but She refused. She had grown used to the freedom she had in the orphanage, and she didn't know what would happen to Tim. She had to protect him, for Tim had the survival instincts of a wet tissue.

Despite not being able to convince her to come and live with him at the wayne manor, Jason and Maria decided to meet once in a month.

Maria carefully kept Tim and Jason separately, the other not knowing of each other's connection with Maria.

Till that point in her life, everything was going smoothly.

But, trouble always found Maria.

Just 6 months after reuniting with Jason, and almost agreeing to stay at the manor, she was kidnapped.

It happened so suddenly, Maria barely had time to react.As she had been living at the orphanage for almost a year and a half, she had grown used to being.. safe. In a moment of vulnerability, coming back from visiting her mother’s grave, she had been snatched.

The kidnappers dosed her with way too much of sedatives, so when she regained consciousness, she couldn't remember anything.

The psychiatrist in front of her, who had introduced herself as Emma, told her how she had been kidnapped and how she was rescued, and she listened in a daze.

When Emma asked for her name, she went blank. Crying, she told Emma that she had no idea who she was, or where she was from.

“That's fine dear. Just rest a bit now, I'm sure everything will come back to you soon.”

But it didn't The only thing she remembered was that her name had been Maria, but she couldn't pinpoint how she knew that.

Eventually, the couple who had saved her, decided to adopt her.For the third time in her life, not that she knew it now, Maria was renamed as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the daughter of Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng.

______________________________________________________________

Ten years later

“Class, Marinette has some exciting news for us all !” Mdm. Bustier announced cheerfully at the end of her class, smiling at Marinette.

Marinette ignored the looks she got from Lila and her sheep, and cleared her throat, before saying,“Okay so um as I was preparing for our end-of-year trip to Metropolis, I stumbled upon an exciting opportunity for us - an internship program in Wayne enterprises. I signed up for it, and we were one of the 5 classes which were selected!”

At that, everyone in class cheered excitedly, surprisingly, including Lila.

“So, apart from our trip to Metropolis we will also be staying in Gotham, for a month before visiting Metropolis.” she continued, undettered by her classmates whispering.

The class seemed to get even more restless, completely ignoring Marinette, talking loudly to each other.

“So um.. if you want an internship you will have to get your parents to sign a consent form and give it by the end of the week.. also you will have to write a 700 word essay about what you would like to do in the internship. The internship is limited to 12 Students per entry.”

She said loudly, her voice floating over her classmates chaotic chatting.

"Well Marinette, thanks a lot for doing this for our class !” Mdme bustier said, beaming at her.

Saying a quiet ‘You’re welcome’, she made her way to her seat at the back next to Chloe, behind Alix and Max.

“So that is why you wanted us to write that essay !” Max exclaimed as Marinette took her seat, “I can't believe you kept such a thing from us !”

Laughing softly, Marinette replied, “ Well, I couldn't leave you guys out of the internship, of course I submitted our essays first.”

Max grinned at her, and Alix high-fived her. As they both turned front to talk to kim, and Chloe went back to doodling in her book - Chloe already knew about the internship, courtesy of being Marinette's best friend - Marinette closed her eyes, trying to catch some sleep, as Mdme bustier let the remaining of the period free as the class was way too restless to pay attention.

Lately, she had been having trouble sleeping.Every time she fell asleep, she would have strange dreams, of a boy called ‘jay’ and another called ‘detective’. She had talked to her parents about it, and they told her that they were just dreams, and that she really shouldn't worry much about them.

But Marinette couldn't shake off the feeling that it was much more than that.

______________________________________________________________

"Timmy !" She called, walking up a strangely familiar street.

A scrawny boy, with messy black hair, and striking blue eyes was standing there, at the entrance to an alleyway.

Looking at her, he grinned “Annie ! Ready for our adventure?”

“You bet,”she said. “Just wait till I get the best shot.”

The boy, Timmy, laughed, and suddenly, the scene faded away.

Jerking awake, Marinette couldn't help but feel a huge void in her, the kind that made you feel hopeless, the kind that made you desperate.

Shaking without knowing why, she pulled her blanket closer. There was a strange wetness on her cheeks, and when she touched it, she realised she had been crying.

Wiping away her tears, she tried to go back to sleep, ignoring the questions that were swirling in her head.

‘They're just dreams’ she repeated over and over in her mind, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her head, that it wasn't just a dream, but a memory, from her past.

______________________________________________________________

A.N. Want to know when the next chapter is posted ? Let me know and I'll tag you in the future chapters :)

Taglist - @radmusicstrawberry @depressed-bitchy-demon

(Is it nice ???? Did u like it ????)

[beingsuneone]

Part Two!!

Memories… or Delusions? PART TWO!!

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

SYNOPSIS: You know Jason is alive know, you aren’t sure how just yet and you aren’t how exactly you’re going to keep his cover and also still see him regularly. There’s still too many complications to deal with.

FANDOM: DC

PAIRING(S): Jason Todd x fem!reader

RATING: G

MENTIONED: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Joker, Ra’s Al Ghul

GENRE/AU: Uhhh a little bit of fluff I guess. It’s pretty subtle on the romance, mostly plot following I guess. Nothing overly angsty. Mentions of being committed to Arkham (just a joking conversation) and Jason is trying it get over the Lazarus pit.

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

WARNINGS: swearing, slightly graphic descriptions of Jason’s murder from him. Not proof read

A/N: jjjajsjakkskskshdhshjsjsis brain

DEDICATIONS: my dumb hyperfixating brain for coming up with this concept at least three years ago. And putting it into words only recently.

CREDITS:

“Why are you being so dodgy lately?” Dick asks skeptically, eyeing you up.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. Jason doesn’t want them to know yet so they won’t. “What do you mean?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Last week you were losing your mind and now you’re just… fine.”

You take a deep breath in and sigh. “I guess I realized that I was being delusional. I was just missing Jason.” Dick is about to say something else but you wave him off. “I have to go to meet my friend, so I’m heading out.”

Your ‘friend’ was Jason.

You stop to look at yourself in the mirror by the door, toying with your hair and smoothing out wrinkles on your clothes.

Somewhere behind you, Dick mutters: “See, Bruce, she’s being Dodgy.” And Bruce hums in agreement.

You’re apparently not as convincing as you’d like to be.

…..

“How do you plan on breaking the new to Bruce?” You ask, fidgeting with your fingers while he goes through some stuff on his computer. He shrugs in response. You continue. “Or is it that you don’t want to tell him at all?”

Jason's eye twitches subtly, something that you’re surprised you catch. He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Y/n.” He pauses, chuckling dryly. “It’s not like he’d care much to know.”

You recoil. Is that really how Jason thinks Bruce feels about him?

All you can recall is Bruce kneeling in front of his grave, sobbing like you’d never seen an adult sob; or the way he would walk into Jason’s room and stand in the doorway with a forlorn look mocking his features.

You remember the way he’d stare for several minutes before sighing deeply and walking away; he’d usually proceed to lock himself in the batcave and would snap when anyone disturbed him.

“Jason…” you say reluctantly. “You don’t think that Bruce would care if you were alive?” Jason remains silent, so you continue, missing the way his fists clench. “Bruce was… heartbroken for months after your death— we all were.”

Jason stands abruptly. “And yet, none of you were willing to kill the man who brutally murdered me!” He snaps, his voice raised. You flinch a little but try to retain composure; bite your tongue when you have the urge to remind him about your goals when he first died. He continues with a strange expression on his face. “Do you know what it was like to feel a crowbar splitting my skull open while I was still alive?”

The thought makes you sick. Makes you so utterly devastated for what he’s been through. “No, Jason, I—”

He cuts you off by holding his hand up. “If Bruce was ever going to kill someone, it should’ve been Joker; and if he’d really loved me so much it should have been for me.” His tone is much calmer but there is still a chilling effect in his voice that makes your spine straighten.

The look behind his eyes is flurried with an internal battle you can almost see. “Jason, I shouldn’t have—”

“Just go.” He says, finally sitting back. He doesn’t bother looking up at you.

“What?” You stammer, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Just get out, Y/n.” He snaps once more and that’s all it takes for you to turn on your heels and walk out the door.

…..

You’d been moody and upset for the past three days— you knew you were. You were upset at Jason, upset that he had so much sway or your emotion, and even upset at yourself for bringing something up that obviously triggered him in some way.

Jason was complexities locked inside other complexities, and you were beginning to learn that; what was once simple and easy with him, was now difficult and anxiety-inducing:

You weren’t sure where you laid in his eyes now.

Were you still the same teenage girl in his mind, or, were you the grown version of the girl he liked that had betrayed him.

Did he see you the same way he saw Bruce and Dick? Or even Tim? Was he just holding on the bond you used to have despite his bitter feelings for you now?

And, what made him this way? You know he must have gone through a devastating trauma, but, how far did that really go?

What were the details that Bruce never told you, and just how gruesome were they for him to lock the knowledge away and not let anyone else know the details.

He told everyone that Jason had died, and he had died by the Joker’s hands; when you or Dick had pressed for more information, Bruce had simply told you it was ‘Brutal’ and ‘Something you should never have to know’

But Jason's little outburst must’ve only told the smallest of details about his horrible, horrible death. If that was just the beginning, you couldn’t even imagine the depths of Joker’s cruelty.

You’re brain won’t stop trying though, even as you sit at the kitchen’s bar with a soggy bowl of cereal. You’ve been sitting there for an hour, pushing the stuff around in the bowl but you haven’t actually taken a bite.

“I think we need to send you to Arkham.” Tim says from the other side of the island, breaking you from your Jason-induced trance. You know he’s joking, but you’re pretty Bruce is genuinely considering committing you for your behavior these past few weeks.

You’re more hot and cold than faulty thermostat. Hysterical, and then Happy, and then violently depressed and introspective.

“I do not need to be locked up with a bunch of criminals, Tim. Rehabilitation is clearly not actually happening at Arkham.” You say back, appreciating his giving you something to banter about.

He’s the only one that didn’t know Jason, and that makes him refreshing to be around.

“They aren’t stupid, Y/n.” Tim says, completely unrelated to your response. “Bruce knows you’re still losing it over Jason, you can act fine all you want but Red Hood clearly got into your head.”

You shrug. “If anyone knew him as intimately as I do— uh, did, they’d lose their mind too.” Your eyes drop to the bowl in front of you and scrunch your nose in disgust. You push it away from yourself.

Gross.

Tim shrugs back, because, what else can he really respond with? “I didn’t know him at all.” He pauses, looking out the kitchen's open door. “Wouldn't Bruce have known him as well as you did?”

You shake your head. “No, Tim, me and Jason were… different, I guess. I had a crush on him when we were teens.” You shift in your seat and instinctively reach for the pendant around your neck. “And Dick was doing his whole Titans thing at the time, so they weren’t as close.”

Your sadness subsides and that familiar warmth runs through you as you imagine yourself and Jason laying on the roof, reading your favorite scenes from the book and enjoying the cool summer air.

In the winter, you would go out with a few blankets and huddle extra close; eventually, when your hands would get to cold to read, it would end in the two of you huddling close for warmth (something that Jason had always produced a lot of) and staying there until Bruce would start calling for you.

Your lips twist into a soft smile.

Tim stares at you. “You need help.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Force Batman To Have Another Robin.”

….

A tapping at your bedroom window stirs you from the near-sleep state you had been in; your heart pounds as you shoot up and look towards the window. Your heart slows only a few beats per minute when you see a familiar red helmet through the window.

You stand up and unlock your window, letting Jason climb through one side of the double doors.

He sighs through his helmet as he goes to remove it; you hear the familiar series of click and whirs and then he places the helmet on a chair in your room.

“Nice Pajamas.” He says, in a playful sort of way. There’s a healthy dose of something else though, that you can’t quite place.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing a very thin tank top and some comfy PJ shorts. Not exactly appropriate in front of other people.

“Uh, thanks?” You say as you grab a hoodie from beside your bed and throw it on.

Once you’ve covered up a bit more, you turn back to Jason. “Why are you here?”

He stares at you, his eyes traveling your body for a few moments before they meet yours. “I just wanted to apologize. For the other day.” He takes a step closer.

You cross your arms. “I want to know why.”

Jason cringes. “I snapped yesterday because I’m just not right in the head yet. I still lose control and say things I shouldn’t. My perception of things is so fucked up sometimes I can’t tell what’s real.”

You nod slowly. “But why, Jason? How are you alive, why is your brain messed up?”

He sighs deeply. “I did die.” He says simply, like that really explains anything. You wait for him continue. “I died, and Ra’s Al Ghul threw me in the Lazarus Pit because he owed a favour to Bruce.” The words are spoken so plainly but you understand the pain behind them. “I’m only alive because of a favour.” His tone is so downtrodden, devastated.

You’ve heard about the Lazarus Pit, how it could drive someone to madness— you guess that must’ve happened with Jason.

It was the theorized reason for Gotham’s problem, after all; or rather, theorized by Barbara Gorden.

You supposed that made sense. “My God, Jason, you’ve been through so much.”

Your heart aches for him, for all the things you should have prevented.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s okay.”

…..

The morning light shines brightly through your window, usually your curtains are drawn but there are quite a few unusual things about this morning.

First and most importantly, you have a suited up Jason, sleeping at your side; his arm is wrapped protectively around you.

He looks so beautiful when he’s sleeping; you’re not sure if he ever has restless sleep, but he seems so peaceful and at ease— relaxed, even. It’s nice to see his face unplagued by any of his troubles.

However, according to your clock, it’s almost the time when Alfred would come to wake you for breakfast, meaning Jason had to leave— and fast.

“Jason.” You say his name softly, nudging him awake. He stirs, and his eyes shoot open.

He looks panicked for a moment before your face processes in his mind, then he visibly calms down.

“I fell asleep.” He states, disentangling from you and laying into his back.

You hum, still looking at him. “Yes, you did.” The air is thick with some sort of easy tension, a fading smile, a far-off laugh— a general sense of mundanity that you want to keep forever. “But you have to leave now, if you don’t want anyone else to know your identity.”

“Right.” Jason gets up from the bed and stretches slowly, causing you to do the same.

He turns to grab his helmet— or rather, you see him stop, stare at it for a moment, and then spin back around.

Before you can process it, he’s caging you on your bed. Your eyes close as he closes the gap between the two of you, a swift movement that leaves you barely anytime to think.

When he pulls back, off the bed, and flashes you an easy smile, you think you very well might swoon like you were right out of a 60s television show.

Jason slips his helmet back on and closes it before unlatching the window and stepping out. “Bye, Y/n.”

“Bye.” You stare at the spot where he was standing for a while longer before laying back down in your bed.

…..

“Hey.” You say nonchalantly, coming up behind Bruce.

He’s working on the Batcomputer right now. “Hello.”

“What’cha Doing?” You scan the contents of the screen, and it just looks like feed from the Manor’s many cameras. You aren’t too worried about Jason being seen on them, because he always hacks the cameras and scrubs himself from the data.

“I’m just doing the weekly camera check, Y/n.” Bruce looks back at you momentarily, and then returns to the feeds.

You screw around behind him for a while before you hear a small hum. You look up at the camera, trying to see what has caught Bruce’s attention. The timestamp says it’s from a few nights ago.

You watch as he replays a specific moment.

He replays it a few more times before you finally see it. A familiar flash of red, and then a motorcycle driving away from the manor.

Worse, the flash of red comes from right outside your window.

Bruce enhances the footage and zooms in on what you’re sure is Jason.

“Red Hood was at the Manor three days ago.” He states, looking back at you. “He appears to be leaving your bedroom, did you know about this?”

You pause for a second but shake your head. “No, of course not, I was sleeping.” You pretend to shudder. “That’s creepy to think that he was in there while I was sleeping.”

Bruce eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t protest or question any further. “We’ll have to heighten security in your room. Red Hood obviously chose it for a reason.”

You freeze. “That’s not necessary, Bruce, he didn’t screw with anything, obviously.”

“Even if he isn’t intending to hurt any of us, Y/n, there are several very bad things that could happen as a result of his being able to get into our house. Not to mention, I’ve noticed several discrepancies in our camera feeds over the past month or so.” He gestures to another frame, showing what looks like normal footage, but it’s the same five minutes replaying, according to the timestamps. “If you watch carefully, every minute, on the dot, a bug flies in front of the camera. It’s the same bug and the same flight pattern. If that’s Red Hood’s patch job, he’s not very good at this.”

Your lips purse, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. “That is weird.” You can’t really say anything else without making yourself look suspicious. You’ll have to let Jason know before he thinks about coming around here again.

He goes back to the previous footage, of Jason at your door, and enhances it even more— your window is clear now, and the floor behind it. Bruce rewinds it to the moment that Jason reaches the window. He presses play again, and lets the video play slowly, analyzing Jason’s every movement.

You cringe when you see Jason knock on the window a few times, and you’re terrified for Bruce to see what you know is coming next.

“Bruce!” You blurt, just before you’re about to come into view. “Tim just texted me and said he needed you to come upstairs right now.”

Bruce turns to you, confused. “Did he say what about?”

You shake your head. “No, he just said it was urgent.”

Bruce nods and leaves you alone in the batcave. You have maybe ten minutes until he comes back, knowing that you lied.

You try to fiddle with footage and delete that part that incriminates you, but without Bruce’s password you can’t do that.

Fuck. You don’t know it.

You panic for a minute and then abandon your mission to delete the footage, instead you race upstairs and into your bedroom, throwing together a bag of clothes and other essentials, as well as some sentimental items.

You’re about to sneak out the window when you see the old worn book. You snatch it quickly, along with your phone and car keys.

Bruce’s voice comes from down the hallway, calling your name; it doesn’t matter, you don’t stop until you’re outside and in your car.

You know he’s watching as you speed off, tears welling as you disable the tracking devices in your phones and car. When Bruce finally watches that footage, he’s going to think you betrayed him and you’re going to lose the one place that you’d ever felt at home in.

You’ve never felt so low before.

…..

Tears fall pitifully from your cheeks; you really shouldn’t be this upset.

Jason watches uncomfortably from his chair in his office; you knew he never liked you crying, and he was never great at dealing with it.

All he ever needed to do was be there, though.

“Please stop crying.” He says gently, as he walks over to you. “What happened?”

You shrug, which makes no sense because you know exactly what happened. “I can’t go back to the manor.”

Jason scrunches in confusion and a hint of anger at the conclusions you know he’s jumping to. “What did he do?”

“Bruce didn’t do anything.” Wiping the tears from your eyes, you pull back from him. “He was going over security camera footage and found a camera you forgot to wipe… he hadn’t watched the full thing when I ran out of there but he’s watched it by now, I’m sure.”

“And that matters…why?” Jason obviously doesn’t understand what you’re implying.

You absentmindedly drum your fingers against your wrist. “I very clearly let you in the window in the footage. You didn’t break in, I let you in. Bruce knows that now too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Jason looks around the office, like there’s something that would help on the walls. There isn’t. His eyes settle back into you, but you’re not looking at his face. “You can stay with me.”

He says it so easily, like it’s only natural— you suppose it is. Nothing had ever been more natural than being with him.

You also think you’d probably like that. “Do you live in this building or…?”

He laughs and then shakes his head. “No, I hijacked one of Bruce’s warehouses a long time ago and have been living there. We can go now, I’m done for today anyway.”

You step out into the hallway and he takes your hand in his; you think that he feels protective around his lackeys, because he doesn’t really like them. He would rather they all fell off the face of the earth, but he knows that won’t happen so he’d rather control where their product is being pushed.

Or that’s what he told you, anyways,

You go down a different set of corridors than you’re used to, and it leads to a garage.

The unsettlingly beautiful woman is standing at the door, she says nothing when Jason pushes the door open and leads you through.

It’s not her job to ask questions, you suppose.

“Do you want to take your car? You can follow me in mine so you know where we’re going?” He suggests, raising his eyebrows at you. “Or I can drive it over for you later and we can just use my car for now.”

“I don’t really feel like driving right now.”

He nods. “Okay.”

…..

“When you said warehouse, I was not expecting this.” You gape, looking around at his ‘apartment.’ “It looks more like a pent-house.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well, that's kind of what it is.” Jason runs his finger along the surface of his counter. “I believe it was catalogued as a safe house and a warehouse.”

You shrug. “You wiped it from the system, so I wouldn’t know.”

There’s a sort of awkward reluctance dancing around the two of you, like you aren’t sure what to do with yourselves now that it’s just the two of you alone. You haven’t been truly alone with him in such a long time.

“I guess there’s not a whole lot to do here.” He starts again, looking around. “I’m not here much. I usually just end up passing out on the couch in my office.”

You laugh dryly and look around; the whole apartment looks clean and modernist— you personally can’t stand this type of decorating but you don’t think Jason cared much to change how the place had looked when he found it.

There’s a TV, which you’re pretty sure works but it’s gone unused. There is a short hallway with three doors down it right off the living area. It’s mostly open concept besides that small hallway. You lift your gaze upwards, following the tall in-wall bookshelves; you find that there’s a small loft above the two of you and a ladder that leads there.

“What’s up there?” You ask, walking over to the ladder.

Jason gestures up the ladder. “I’ll show you.”

The two do you climb the ladder and you pull yourself onto the loft, feeling a little unsteady.

You notice immediately that the roof looks a little strange just above the platform.

Jason clears his throat and walks over to one of the walls. He hovers in front of a small silver panel. “You know, there’s a reason I chose this one.” He presses a button on the panel while he looks over at you.

A few creaks sound and then some loud mechanical noises sound before the roof panels recede to reveal the setting sun. The sunset is so beautifully visible from the sunroof.

“Jason.” You breath, dumbfounded.

He picks a book off of the floor of the loft. “I used to try to recreate our moments on the roof, but it just wasn’t the same without you.” He flips the book a few times in hands. “And this wasn’t quite right either.”

“I couldn’t handle the rooftop without you.” You whisper, not sure if he even hears you; you try to speak a little louder. “The first time you showed up at the house was the first time I had done it in years.”

“Huh.” Jason responds, sounding nonchalant but you know it means something to him.

“Wait here.” You rush back down the ladder and grab your book, and then head back up. Jason stares at it for a while. You hold it up, and pass it to him. “For Old Times Sake?”

…..

You had sat there with him for hours that day, you watched as the day melted into night and felt as you slowly fell asleep. You and Jason were tangled together, cuddled so close it was like you had never really been apart in the first place.

At some point, you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. Your hands twitch gently and you adjust yourself a bit but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re pretty sureJason still thinks you're asleep because he presses a kiss to the top of your head and then quietly speaks. “I want to do this with you for the rest of our lives.” He pauses and sighs a loaded sigh. “Not just for Old Times Sake.”

You decide it’s probably better to just try to fall back asleep, despite the way your stomach churns. You wanted to respond, and tell him that you wanted to fall asleep like this every night.

Tell him that you wanted to spend every day with him too.

…..

“I just want to know where she is, Red Hood.” Bruce’s voice comes through a little speaker in Jason’s office— it’s a line that Jason had hacked into and clearly Bruce knew that.

Jason scowls and you can’t help but think about Bruce when he does.

When nobody responds to him, Bruce continues. “I want to talk to her.”

You gnaw your lips, wanting to pick it up and say you’ll talk to him but dreading confirming his suspicions.

Jason slips his helmet on and picks up the microphone. He presses the button and says, cooly, “Where would you want me to bring her, Batman?”

You can hear Bruce’s sigh of relief. “The abandoned warehouse near Arkham. You know which one I mean.”

Jason hums. “The one that Joker blew up last month.”

Bruce confirms and then Jason looks at me. “Anything you want to say?”

You shake your head, and Jason picks up the mic again. “Give us a time and we’ll be there.”

And just like that, you were going to see Bruce again.

Great.

…..

“I just don’t understand, Y/n.” Bruce says immediately when he lays eyes on you, despite the fact that he wraps you in a tight hug. “Why would you work with him?”

You pull back and look back to Jason, who’s all suited up, of course. “I—” you have no idea what to say in your defense. “I wasn’t working with him, Bruce.”

Bruce gives you a sort of ‘disappointed dad’ look. “I saw the footage, I know that you let him into the manor.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“So you were working with him.”

“No! It’s not like that!”

You’re starting to get irritated because you know Bruce has absolutely no reason to believe you.

“First, you lied about Tim needing me, and then you tried to delete the footage and then I saw you wildly speeding away from the manor. Do you understand how suspicious that looks? Obviously, you are working with him, Y/n. You don’t have to lie.” Bruce sounds sure of himself. It makes you want to tear your hair out.

“Fine. I was working with him, since you’re so sure.”

Bruce looks between you and Jason, and you can see realization dawn on his face. “Unless… don’t tell me you fell for him just because he reminds you of— Y/n, please tell me I'm wrong.”

Jason steps in this time. “Don’t worry, you’re wrong. Just not in the way you think you are.” Your head snaps back to look at him as clicks his helmet open and pulls it off.

This was the moment. He was finally showing Bruce.

You look frantically between the two of them, trying to decipher the moment.

Bruce stands frozen for a good long while, just staring at Jason’s face before he suddenly locks his arms around Jason's shoulder/neck and hugs him tighter than you’d ever seen Bruce hug anybody.

Jason looks thoroughly disturbed and taken aback. This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, and honestly, it wasn’t what you were expecting either.

“I didn’t fall for him because he reminds me of Jason.” You say quietly. “I fell for him because he is Jason.”

Bruce pulls back and nods slowly before turning back to Jason. “I’m so sorry, Jason.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

[lazycats-stuff]

i was wondering if you’d like to write a Jason Todd x male!reader(gender neautral is fine too)who’s also a vigilante magic user! Jason meets Y/N as red hood first on patrol and eventually meets them out of costume at a book store(doesn’t know Y/N is magic user vigilante yet). Jason is entranced by “both” of them. Is it magic or chemistry?

Hehe, more Jason Todd, I like it. Also, it's both.

Summary: Jason Todd meets (Y/N) as a vigilante. Then he meets him as a normal civilian. Jason falls in love.

Warnings: minor cursing, Jason feels attracted to (Y/N), but is it magic or no?, who knows, Albert Camus mentions,

Vigilantes on the Gotham scene were always an interesting thing. You had those who were with Batman for a long time and were the OGs so to speak. And then there are the ones who aren't connected to Batman at all. Not on any level.

Jason was in the category of OGs and it wasn't a shock for him to see vigilantes on the scene. But what normally isn't the norm is a magic vigilante with actual magical powers. To say that Jason was in shock is an understatement of the year.

And Jason rarely get shocked by anything nowadays. He found (V/N) in the Crime Alley helping out kids and showing them some of his magic. The kids were very excited and (Y/N) seemed happy to show them the tricks he knew.

Once the showcasing was over, (Y/N) left and went on with his patrol. Jason decided to follow quietly, but (Y/N) wasn't born yesterday. He stopped after a while smirking at Jason.

" You caught me I see. " Jason said, raising his hands in the air to show (Y/N) that he meant no harm.

" Can I ask you what you are doing mister Hood? " (Y/N) asked, crossing his arms, levitating in the air. Jason had to admit, he was thoroughly impressed. It's about time for a change here on the Gotham scene.

" I'm just making sure that you aren't some sort of... Enemy to the city. Batman is rather unwelcoming if you don't work for him. " Jason said and (Y/N) just raised his brow.

" Is that so? " (Y/N) asked and Jason tilted his head.

" What do you think I'm doing? " Jason asked, taking a step closer to the vigilante who was still levitating. His hands went to his waist and (Y/N)'s eyes glanced at him and shook his head.

" I mean no harm mister Hood. " (Y/N) said and Jason chuckled.

" Well, I don't know that. I have to worry about myself. " Jason said, smirking to himself underneath his helmet.

" Well, you won't find trouble from me. I just protect people that Batman can't. " (Y/N) said and Jason was confused. Batman protected everyone and they protected everyone.

" Who are those that we don't protect? "

" That is something I can't tell you Hood. That is something that will go to the grave. " (Y/N) said, eyes down on the roof.

" It's not a bad thing to have Batman on your side. " Jason said, crossing his arms.

" But it's also a dangerous thing. Especially for the people that I protect. " (Y/N) said and Jason had to agree with the first part of that sentence.

" Can I ask you something? " Jason asked and (Y/N) nodded. What is he even going to ask him?

" What are you doing in this city? I mean, anybody with a brain would run from here. " Jason stated as a matter of fact and (Y/N) had to agree with it. But the rent was cheap and he had a very important group of people here that he needs to protect.

" Believe it or not, I like this city. I believe that it can be saved believe it or not. And my heart is just here. I don't think I can leave it. " (Y/N) said to Jason and he saw a small smile on (Y/N)'s face. It's an interesting thought.

Gotham City can be saved.

Jason wanted to retort, but couldn't find anything to say. He saw that (Y/N) is an optimist by heart, but he wasn't a naive person. He could see that he was realistic too. It's not good to be naive in this world.

And especially in this city.

" Don't say anything to Batman. I would like to stay a secret. " (Y/N) said and Jason nodded. He understood why. (Y/N) didn't know Bruce the way Jason knew and there was probably some sort of distrust.

Maybe something has happened to (Y/N) before coming here. Somebody hunted him maybe? Either way, he won't tell Bruce.

" Your secret is safe with me. But soon enough he will find out though. He knows when there is someone else operating in this city. " Jason warned and (Y/N) nodded.

" Thank you Red Hood. " (Y/N) said and just flew off. Jason watched him do, taking a deep breath. And he didn't even ask for his vigilante name.

Wow.

Something really messed with his mind. Was it (Y/N)'s magic? Either way, he needs to find those kids and find out the name, even if it's just a nickname. He is sure of one thing.

This man won't leave him mind for a long time. Not at least until he gets more information about him. Oh this is an interesting development.

Very interesting.

Jason shook his head as he walked down the sidewalk. He didn't see his mysterious vigilante, well, it's not a mystery vigilante anymore. He found out that it's (V/N). It fitted him in a way. For a couple of days and he was getting a bit antsy and a bit restless. He didn't know what pushed him to be this way, but (V/N) was in his mind 24/7.

That's not really good for him, so he went to the bookstore to get some more books. He likes buying books and then actually reading them. He loved some mysteries, but he was in the mood for something more philosophical.

He has heard that Albert Camus' Stranger is a very good book. Apparently it makes fun of human existing and Jason was all for it at this very moment. He felt like he was being made fun off by fate.

Maybe Albert Camus had some answers for him. He went to his bookstore and all though a small one, it has very good titles and some really great books.

Jason found it cozy and nice and he bought some of their books. He recently bought Charles Baudelaire's poetry and Jason was in love. He never thought that he would enjoy poetry, but Charles Baudelaire had a great way with words.

Jason walked in the bookstore, smiling at the smell of something sweet in the air. He closed the doors behind himself, slowly walking into the store, saying a quiet hello to the person working there.

He moved through the shelves, knowing that they hold the Stranger somewhere. Somewhere around here. He stopped when he noticed the name Albert Camus. He glanced around and his eyes stopped at another person. He was smaller than Jason and was struggling to reach the top shelf.

He had (H/C) hair and very beautiful (E/C). He wore casual clothes and he was struggling to reach. Jason swallowed as he walked over, just reaching for the book and handing it over to the cute stranger.

" Thank you. " The stranger said and Jason smiled at him.

" No problem. I'm Jason. " Jason introduced himself and the stranger smiled back too.

" (Y/N), nice to meet you. " (Y/N) said and Jason felt... Something warm in his stomach. Something that he felt when he saw (V/N) a few hours earlier. What the hell?

" What did you pick? " Jason asked and (Y/N) showed him Albert Camus' Stranger. Jason chuckled and showed him his own copy of the Stranger.

" Wow. " (Y/N) said and Jason nodded.

" I know, I heard great things about it. I need something about Camus' absurdism to help me out. I feel like fate is playing with me. " Jason explained and (Y/N) gave him a knowing look.

" I know, I feel you. I had a tough last night and I swore that I would buy the Stranger. I want to see how human existence has no sense. " (Y/N) explained and the two walked to the register.

" I know that feeling... When we buy these books, do you want to go out for a coffee? There is a nice coffee shop just around the corner. My treat. " Jason said, confused as to why he was so attracted (Y/N).

What was going on?

(Y/N) stopped, tilting his head for a moment.

" Why not? " (Y/N) said and Jason smiled. The two paid for their books and then (Y/N) followed Jason into a small coffee shop.

" It's nice. " (Y/N) commented as the two sat down.

" I know. Now, what do you want to drink? " Jason asked as he went to order.

" Anything but black coffee. " (Y/N) said and Jason nodded, going to the counter to order. (Y/N) sat back as he waited for Jason to come back. Why did he say yes to him?

He could have said no, but something attracted him to Jason. His magic sometimes did it to him. Sometimes it made other people attracted to him. And that's why he has decided to be alone for the rest of his life.

But there is something about Jason that sparked his interest. He didn't understand it either, but why should he be alone for the rest of his life? His magic is something that he loves, but sometimes it bothers him a lot.

Especially in the dating department. But sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. He smiled as Jason gave him what seemed like latte and for him a pure black coffee.

Maybe he should give this a shot. Just maybe.

Jason smiled as he sat down and started talking to (Y/N). There is something about (Y/N) that he couldn't pinpoint, but he is definitely interested in finding out.

[igotanidea]

Specter: Jason Todd x ghost!reader (pt 1)

Warnings: death of reader (duh!), death and resurrection of the other main character, angst

***

She was his best friend.

His only friend.

More than his friend.

Knowing each other since they were kids running loose on the streets of Gotham forced to tend to themselves.

He chuckled at the memory of their first meeting.

Fighting over few apples and a half loaf of bread she managed to rim from some man while batting her elalashes and making innocent face of a street-starving girl.

Well, she was a street starving girl, but as far away from innocent as they come, of which fact Jason was almost brutally made aware upon trying to steal some of it from her. Gaining a bruised eye and a scratch that left a tiny scar on his arm instead.

A well-deserved scar, cause even after all those years he was mentally cringing at the memory he was actually trying to rob a girl his age of food. Terrible thought. In his defence, he was starving himself.

Fortunately, they somehow came to an agreement and since then, there was always someone to care for and who could take care of them by their side.

Y/N and Jason.

Together even when not.

Inseparable even after that batmobil-tires accident, cause there was no way in hell Jason would start living with the Bruce Wayne and left his best only friend behind.

Nah.

So would anyone be surprised that after a while they actually started falling in love? Or maybe they were in love from the beggining since the apples but never noticed?

The point however stood, obvious to everyone but those two donkey level stubborn young adults.

So apart from a few stolen kisses, helluva blushing, talking through the nights, secret awkward hugs and one attempt at intimacy, nothing—

Ok, you know what scratch that last sentence. A LOT has happened in the span of a few weeks. And it brought them significantly closer. Hoping for more and actually trying to work towards more.

So when Jason, at the mature age of 16 went for another Batman-related mission, he pecked her lips and promised to have the real talk about their future when he gets back.

Spoiler alert: He never did.

And when Batman walked to the Batcave with no Robin to follow him and broke the news it was like Y/N’s heart was gone with Jason’s life.

Torn from her chest since at that moment it stopped beating and everything lost its meaning.

She refused to eat, drink, talk and get up in the morning. Spending her days in isolation or sitting by his symbolical grave since the body was never found.

Withering her young life away at the graveyard.

No one ever told her the truth.

***

Miraculously Jason came back five years later. Completely different than a scrawny kid everyone used to know him. Raging terror upon Gotham for a while before actualy forming some kind of allegiance with the Bats. And at some point, the question had to be asked. And the hard truth had to be revealed.

„Where is Y/N?” he whispered, getting shy, gulit, regret and remorse filling him to the brim as he was searching through the entire manor in search for her.

A few saddened looks were exchanged between his siblings as those words rung in the air.

Oh, no.

„Where the hell is she?!” Jason yelled, ready to punch a wall, hit Dick in the face and beat the shit out of Bruce for keeping something from him.

„Jaybrird—„

„Do not fucking call me that Grayson! Where is my Y/N?!”

„No one told you—„

„She;s dead.” Damian muttered, unaware of the consequences of dropping such a bomb on his brother. „We burried her a year—„

Jason roared like a wounded animal, nearly making the glass in the window shutter.

„DEAD?!!”

„Jason—„

„STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

„I think you should-„

„YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING DICKHEAD!”

The rage creeping inside Jason’s head and heart was suffocating. Beating the post-Pit madness multiple times and seeming neverending. He panted and wailed, wanting to destroy something. Kill someone. Anyone, but preferably the one responsible for Y/N;s premature departure from the world. Set a fire to the manor. Break into the League of Assasin’s headquarters and let them kill him. For good this time. Crawl into the deepest darkest pit and die.

„Jason—„

„WHO DID THIS?!”

„It was—„

„I WANT A NAME!”

„We don’t-„

„I WANT THAT PERSON;S HEAD ON A STICK!”

No matter how hard Dick, Tim, Cass, Steph and Barbara tried to get to him (cause obviously Damian was just watching with curiosity), nothign worked.

„It was an accident.” Bruce muttered, finally joining the family allured by the screams.

„AN ACCIDENT?!”

„A car crash. She was just a pedestian, did nothing wrong. The driver was DUI.”

„SO WHAT?! YOU’RE A FUCKING BILLIONAIRE, YO COULDN’T HAVE PROVIDED HER WITH A GOOD FUCKING DOCTOR!?”

„She died instantly.”

„SHE—„ Jason’s voice broke, all the anger finally subsiding replaced by the pain. „She what- ?”

„I am sorry jason…”

„SHE WAS YOUR RESPONSIBLITY!”

„No, she was your resposibilty Jason. You were the one who befrended her, fell for her, brought her into this life. Should have known better.”

„SHUT UP!”

„She stayed here after you died instead of moving forward, unable to forget you.”

„SHUT THE FUCK UP!” it was impossible to listen to Bruce only fueling up the guilt and pain iside Jason’s heart.

„She—„

„Master Bruce.” Now Alfred came into the scene, preventing another blood bath that were bound to happen between a father and a son. ‘Perhaps we should give master Jason some space now. Miss Y/N’s death took a heavy toll on all of us, didn;t it?”

”Hm.”

„Come Jay. Upstairs.” Cass smiled at him to the best of her abilities „You need rest.”

Hazily he took a few steps forward but didn;t miss Bruce’s pained whisper and haunted expression.

„You’re not the only one who lost her…”

***

It’s been five years since then.

But now, as Jason was standing by her grave it all felt surreal.

Y/N Y/L/N, daughter, friend, prankster.

That last word was something she would laugh at.

But he was not.

Five years. The same amount he was gone, same amount for which she believed him to be dead, visiting his grave.

Did she feel all those feels he was dealing with right now?

Emptiness.

Numbness.

Anger.

And that pressuring what if-.

They could have been happy together. Working though their difficulties and becoming real. Maybe starting a family. Escaping all this shitty vigilantism life pushed them both into.

Destroying both of their lifes.

One cold six feet under, the other cold six feet inside.

„I miss you.” He whispered in the space, putting a buquet of flowers on the ground next to the ledger „You will forever be the one to haunt me.”

With that he turned around, walking away with head hung low and hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Getting back to his apartment.

In which she could have been with him if things were to work out differently.

part 2 : phantom