#Jason Todd is the original crash out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iydiamartinx · 1 month ago

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THIS MEANS WAR IV

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.5k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: Y'all do you know how hard it was to flirt using science and the topic of joker toxin?! I think I rewrote this chapter over ten times. I hope the subtext makes sense because I think my brain melted during this process. Also I'm still fairly new to posting on tumblr so I hope I'm doing the taglist correctly :) warnings: sexual innuendos, Jason being a low key stalker

BAT CAVE

Jason stepped deeper into the cave, the heavy echo of his boots bouncing off the stone walls. The cavern smelled faintly of earth, cleaning supplies, and the ever-present sting of coffee left too long to cool—unsurprising, given the miniature landfill of empty cups piled near Tim’s workstation.

“Jesus, Tim,” he muttered, eyeing the carnage. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

Tim didn’t look up. His voice was flat, gravel-edged with exhaustion. “I’ll sleep when I find our ghost.”

Jason arched a brow. “I’m pretty sure you said that yesterday.”

“And the day before that,” Tim murmured, squinting at lines of code bleeding across the massive screen. “I’m aware.”

Jason crossed his arms, stepping closer, gaze flicking over the data. “Any updates?”

Tim let out a hard sigh, slumping back in his chair. He dragged both hands down his face as if trying to wipe away the frustration before answering. “Just dead ends. No facial matches. No fingerprints. No aliases that last longer than a day. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. Really good.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” Jason said quietly. “No usual runner is this off the grid.”

“Exactly. And get this—Gordon pulled a small vial off Mancini and handed it off to B.” Tim’s brows furrowed. “Mancini was right. It’s a hybrid. Joker’s original strain—but there’s chemical coding in it that matches Scarecrow’s second-gen fear compound. It’s clean work. Scarily precise. Way beyond Joker’s usual brand of chaos. Even Crane’s compounds weren’t this sophisticated.”

Jason frowned, unease tightening in his gut. “So, what are you saying? That the bastard we’re chasing didn’t just steal the formula…”

Tim looked up, expression grim. “He probably helped make it.”

The words landed with a sickening weight.

Jason exhaled, low and sharp. “Shit.”

Tim turned back to the monitor, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “And Joker’s tearing through the underworld trying to find him. That’s why it’s gone quiet—people are either hiding… or dying. Fast.”

Jason exhaled slowly. “Then we need to move. Fast. If Joker gets his hands on the formula—”

“We’ll have a city-wide crisis on our hands,” Tim finished for him.

Jason’s jaw clenched. “Then we need an antidote. Even if it’s just a prototype.”

Tim shook his head. “We don’t have enough of the compound. No base, no ratios, no synthesis pattern. Without the exact formula, we’d be guessing in the dark.”

Jason slammed a fist lightly against the desk. “Then how the hell did a rat like Mancini get his hands on it?”

Tim shrugged. “Best guess? He stole it from Sionis. Would explain why he was looking over his shoulder every five seconds.”

“Idiot,” Jason muttered. His anger began to cool as he glanced over, noticing the dark circles etched beneath Tim’s eyes. The kid looked wired and worn thin. His voice softened. “You need sleep.”

“I can’t,” Tim’s fingers resumed their frantic pace across the keyboard. “What if I miss something? What if that formula shows up and we’re not ready?”

Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tim. You’ll miss something anyway if your brain crashes mid-keystroke. You’ve been staring at code for three days straight. You’re running on caffeine and spite.”

Tim didn’t stop typing. “It’s worked so far.”

Jason reached out pulled Tim away from the bat computer and forcing Tim to turn around and meet his eyes. “You’re not gonna outsmart this thing if you’re fried. You’ll be sharper after a break. Babs is still digging on her end. We’ve got the patrols. Get four hours. Hell, even two.”

Tim slumped in defeat, rubbing at his eyes as the tension finally bled from his shoulders. “Fine. A nap. But if I wake up and Gotham’s on fire—”

“Then it’s a normal day in this shit hole city,” Jason deadpanned.

A faint smile tugged at Tim’s lips, and he stood with a stretch that earned several cracks from his spine.

“I’ll keep digging until you’re up.” Jason promised, clapping a hand to Tim’s shoulder. “Go.”

Tim didn’t argue. He staggered toward the elevator, muttering about caffeine withdrawal and setting six alarms.

Jason waited until the lift closed behind him before turning back to the monitor. He should’ve jumped straight into the search—he’d been the loudest about stopping Joker’s next move— instead, his mind drifted. Not to Gotham. Not to toxins or their ghost. But to you.

It had been days since the bookstore, and he still couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“God, I can’t believe I’m actually becoming a stalker,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Seeing you at the bookstore had been pure coincidence. But now? he could feel his curiosity getting the better of him, he wanted to see you again and with that the thought there, it was too tempting to ignore the resources at his disposal.

A quick cross-reference of the store’s invoice system, and he’d found the record of your purchase. From there, it wasn’t hard to trace it to a name. A professional profile. A series of academic papers and lecture videos.

Doctor Y/N L/N. Neuroscientist. Lecturer and researcher at Gotham U.

He skimmed your credentials, the corner of his mouth twitching. You were sharp. Accomplished. Brilliant, even. Probably the kind of person who would’ve been Tim’s rival if he ever left the cave long enough to interact with actual humans.

“Damn,” Jason whistled low, scrolling through your faculty page. “You’re not just a pretty face.”

“Who is this?”

Jason nearly leapt out of the chair. “Jesus, Damian!”

Damian raised a brow, unimpressed, before glancing at the glowing monitor, gaze narrowing at the screen. “Who is she?”

Jason shifted awkwardly. “She’s, uh… potential lead. On the toxin thing.” Total lie. No way in hell he was confessing to stalking his own crush to demon spawn.

Damian frowned, clearly unconvinced. He glanced back at the screen. “She doesn’t look like an evil mastermind.”

Jason snorted. “Trust me. She’s smart enough to become one if she wanted.”

He clicked out of the window, not willing to risk further questions, and turned to face the youngest Wayne fully. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“I finished this week’s syllabus yesterday,” Damian said with a dismissive wave. “To make me attend that pit of idiocy is a waste of my time.”

Jason raised a brow. “Pretty sure Bruce expects you to show up regardless.”

“Father expects results, not attendance,” Damian replied coolly.

Jason leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “If I call him right now and tell him his little prodigy’s playing hooky and creeping around the Batcave instead of sitting through trig, how fast do you think he’d be down here?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would love to,” Jason said, smirking as he slowly pulled his comm from his belt. “And I’ll tell Alfred to lock up your katanas until your attendance record’s squeaky clean.”

Damian looked murderous. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re going to be late.”

With a muttered curse in Arabic, Damian spun on his heel and stormed toward the elevator like a tiny, furious emperor exiled from his marble court.

“This is why no one respects you,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Jason just smirked. “You’ll thank me one day.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Jason chuckled as the elevator doors closed. The cave was quiet again but this time, he left the file closed. He wasn’t risking another one of his siblings catching him mid-obsession.

But even as the lines of data loaded, he couldn’t stop the image of your smirk from flashing in his mind.

Damn it.

He was so screwed.

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY

The weekend had vanished in a blink—gone before you had the chance to properly catch some rest. And now it was Tuesday morning, and you were once again standing in front of your lecture hall with a marker in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other—woefully undersized for the hour.

You weren’t even sure how you’d survived Monday. And Tuesday? Tuesday was dragging its feet like a teenager being forced out of bed.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe the mounting stack of papers needed to be graded. Or maybe—just maybe—it had something to do with the fact that Dick hadn’t texted since the weekend.

Aside from one polite message—Had a great time, can’t wait to see you again—there had been radio silence.

Maybe he was busy.

Maybe he was being polite.

Maybe he decided that he wasn’t actually interested.

You bit back a sigh and turned back to the board, scrawling across the surface with just a touch more pressure than necessary. Whatever. Who needed a man when you had a lecture hall full of sleep deprived students a terminal caffeine addiction, and a job that kept your brain so busy it barely had time to spiral?

Still… you checked your phone. Just once. Just in case.

Nothing.

Figures.

You exhaled through your nose, smoothed down your blouse, and turned back toward your students with the kind of smile worn only by women who had absolutely chosen the strong, independent path at seven in the godforsaken morning.

Because, despite everything—despite the early hours, the endless grading, and the fact that your bloodstream was 80% espresso—you loved this.

You loved teaching.

You loved the subject. The research and chaos. The spark that came when something clicked in a student’s eyes.

Teaching neuroscience was more than a paycheck; it was a passion. You just wished passion came with later start times. And a universally accepted pyjama policy.

You took a long sip of coffee, rolled your shoulders back, and turned toward your students, who were only just starting to blink the sleep from their eyes.

“Alright,” you said, clicking the projector to life. “Let’s talk about chemical warfare. And clowns.”

That earned a few raised brows of interest and handful of tired chuckles.

“True to my word,” you went on, as the screen behind you flickered to life, “we’re diving into Joker venom today. Specifically, the various known strains, their molecular architecture, and the neurological impacts they cause upon exposure.”

The first image flickered onscreen: a chart showing the original base compound. Beside it was a grainy field photo of a bright green liquid. The photo looked like it had been pulled from the bottom of a GCPD evidence locker.

“This,” you said, pointing with your marker, “was the earliest recorded version—crude, volatile, and grotesquely effective. Victims experienced intense euphoria, followed by uncontrollable laughter, vivid hallucinations, progressive paralysis, and ultimately… cardiac arrest.”

You paused, letting the weight of that settle in.

“But here’s where it gets interesting,” you said, clicking to the next slide. “The formula has evolved. It’s gotten cleaner. More efficient. Some of the newer strains show a disturbing level of sophistication. Less residue. More targeted dopamine flooding. In a few cases—nearly undetectable until it’s too late.”

A hand went up from the front row.

“Is there any known antidote?” the student asked.

You hesitated—just for a beat. “There are a few neutralizing agents that can be effective if administered immediately,” you said. “But a true, universal antidote? Not yet. Especially not for the more recent iterations. Most of our current strategies are reactive, not preventative.”

You paused.

“In short?” Your lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t get exposed.”

A ripple of nervous laughter followed.

And then—

A new voice spoke up.

“Is it the toxin that kills them… or the effects it triggers first?”

You froze for half a second—not enough for anyone else to notice.

Your eyes scanned the lecture hall—and there he was. In the back row, half-slouched like the seat belonged to him. Leather jacket. Boots kicked up against the chair in front. Arms folded, expression far too smug for someone who had no damn business being here.

The last thing you’d expected was to see him here.

“Interesting point,” you replied, crisp and professional, like he was another one of your students. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “The toxin is the cause, yes—but it’s the chain reaction that actually kills. The laughter, the convulsions, the paralysis… the body shuts down before most people even realize what’s happening.”

Jason tilted his head slightly. “So the damage isn’t in the delivery. It’s in what it sets off.”

You clicked to the next slide. “Exactly. The moment it hits, your body stops being yours. It rewires everything—how you feel, how you think. You can’t reason your way out of it.”

He nodded slowly, like he already knew that and just wanted to hear you say it. “Some people get hit harder than others, though, right?”

You arched a brow. “Depends on the target.”

“Some look fine. At first,” he said. “They act normal. But the toxin’s already working underneath.”

The look he gave you made the implication clear.

You smiled tightly. “Some strains are less effective than they look. Easy to handle if caught early.”

“Wait—” a girl near the middle row piped up, frowning. “I thought there was no cure for Joker venom?”

You cleared your throat, ignoring the flush creeping along your neck. “For the newer variants, yes. They’re more chemically advanced and difficult to reverse. But with some of the older versions—If the symptoms are identified early enough—intervention is possible.”

Jason leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin on his hand, grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “But what if someone lets it run its course anyway?”

You didn’t look at him.

You just smiled for the class. “Then some people are clearly very stupid.”

A few students laughed in confusion, but no one actually picked up on the double meaning of the conversation. You turned back toward the board.

“Now then,” you said briskly, “back to the chemistry before anyone else gets the idea this is interactive.”

You didn’t even make it halfway through the next slide before his voice cut in again—calm, amused, and very much on purpose.

“So how much exposure does it take before the effects become permanent?”

You inhaled through your nose and closed your eyes for half a beat.

Some of the students nodded—taking the bait. A girl in the second row had already scribbled the question into her notes.

But you knew exactly what he was doing.

You turned, voice level, gaze sharper. “Depends on the dosage. And the subject. Repeated exposure can cause cumulative neurological damage, but again—some people are more susceptible than others.”

Jason stood. Hands in his jacket pockets, he walked down the aisle like he had all the time in the world. Like none of this was strange or inappropriate.

“Say someone’s exposed to a small dose,” he went on, “but it happens a few times. Do they build immunity? Or will the damage be done?”

He stopped just short of the first row—just shy of your space. Close enough that your skin prickled with heat. You were painfully aware of the eyes of your students on you now.

Your jaw clenched.

“Well,” you said, eyes narrowed, “whoever’s insane enough to try that should probably check themselves into Arkham.”

He stepped closer, just slightly. Just enough that only you could hear him when he murmured, low and maddening:

“Why do that… when there’s a cure standing right here?”

“Funny,” you said, lips curling into something that might’ve passed for a smile if not for the fire in your eyes. “Because the only thing I see right now is a recurring symptom.”

Behind him, someone cleared their throat—a student, probably wondering whether they were still attending a lecture or some avant-garde performance piece.

You exhaled sharply and stepped toward him, your expression still pleasant for the room, but your voice dropped to a hiss meant for his ears alone.

“What the hell are you doing? This is a lecture. You’re not cute.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Didn’t say I was. Just here to learn about toxins… and their reactions.”

You gritted your teeth. “You’re disrupting my job.”

“I’ll stop if you go out with me.”

“Not a damn chance.” You scoff.

Then, as if this was his stage now, he turned slightly toward the class, raising his voice with faux curiosity. “Actually, that reminds me. Has anyone considered how different outcomes might vary depending on emotional state during exposure? Say, for example, if someone was already—”

“I swear to God—”

“Look,” he said, still in that maddeningly calm tone as he turned back to her, “one hour. That’s all I’m asking. If it sucks, you can forget I exist.”

You narrowed your eyes. “If I still say no?”

Jason shrugged, entirely too relaxed. “I’ll keep showing up. Keep asking questions. Might even bring snacks next time. We’ll see how interactive this gets.”

You stared at him. He stared right back.

God, he was smug.

God, he was gorgeous.

God, you hated this.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “One hour,” you said through gritted teeth. “And if you speak once during the rest of this lecture, I will report you for harassment and ban you from this campus.”

His grin was shameless. “Understood, Professor.”

He backed up, hands raised, retreating like the smug menace he was—but this time with a victory in his step.

He turned and walked back up the aisle, dropping back into his seat like this was the plan all along.

You turned back to the board, face burning, students utterly unaware that their professor had just been emotionallystrong-armed into a date by a six-foot leather-wrapped problem with a smirk.

Jason, to his credit, didn’t speak again. Not once.

But he didn’t need to.

Because for the next forty-five minutes, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Surprisingly, Jason actually found himself listening as you spoke. He learned what actually happened inside someone exposed to Joker venom—what went wrong in their brain. He’d never thought to ask before. That was always Bruce’s domain, or Tim’s. The analysis. The endless case files with chemical structures and psych profiles and margin notes scribbled in too-small handwriting. Jason had always preferred the fighting portion of vigilantism.

But hearing it from you…

Maybe it was the way your voice shifted—calm but impassioned—or how you didn’t shy away from the brutality of it. You didn’t sensationalize it, either. You explained it like a surgeon would describe an autopsy—clinical, controlled, but with a quiet thread of empathy running through every word.

Jason had seen what Joker venom did to people.

He’d dealt the aftermath.

He’d watched the light go out in someone’s eyes while they laughed themselves into oblivion.

But he’d never truly understood it. Not like this.

The way you spoke about neurotransmitter chaos—how dopamine floods rewired fear into joy, how serotonin short-circuited pain into pleasure, how laughter wasn’t just a reaction, but a seizure disguised as euphoria. The complete collapse of inhibition, followed by motor control, then respiratory function—it was horrifying. And fascinating.

You made him want to know more.

And then, in a moment that startled him, he wondered what you’d make of him.

Of the Lazarus Pit. Of what it did to the brain when it brought someone back from the dead. Of the rage. The episodes. The memory gaps. Of the madness that still affected him.

Would you call it neurological trauma? A chemical imbalance? Would you look at him like a subject—or something broken to fix?

He leaned back in his chair, arms loose, fingers tapping idly against his knee. You were pacing now, marker in hand, drawing a new diagram with quick, practiced ease. Sharp lines, fluid motion. You were alive up there—animated and fierce in your element. And he couldn’t help but watch. Not just your words. But you.

The way your voice sharpened when a student asked a half-formed question. The gleam in your eye when someone got it. The small, unconscious smile when the pieces clicked.

You cared. Genuinely.

About the material. About the kids in this room. About what this information could mean outside of it.

“Alright,” you said finally, capping the marker with a soft snap and stepping back. “That’s it for today. You’re free to go—unless you’re dying to ask more questions about the joys of chemically induced insanity.”

Laughter stirred through the room. Chairs scraped back. A few students filtered out with lingering glances and whispered praise. Others loitered to gather notes or quietly debate the finer points of dopamine regulation.

Jason didn’t move.He waited—calm, steady—watching you sort your materials, stack your folders, and close your laptop shut.

When you finally turned toward him, arms crossing over your chest and one brow raised in challenge, he rose from his seat like a man who had all the time in the world and nothing to prove.

“Ready, Professor?” he asked, voice low, smug as ever.

You rolled your eyes, gathering your bag. “You’re lucky I’m a woman of my word.”

Jason smirked. “Some might say that’s an admirable quality.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Some might say it’s a flaw.”

THE GOLDEN CUP

Jason—as you’d recently learned his name was—took you to The Golden Cup, one of Gotham’s most aggressively popular coffee chains.

On the walk over, you’d checked your phone—more out of habit than hope—and found, unsurprisingly, that there was still no message from Dick.

And that was when you decided.

You weren’t going to wait up for him. You’d had one date. No promises. No exclusivity. Just a good night that clearly hadn’t meant the same thing to both of you.

So fine.

You were going to give Jason a chance.

No matter how infuriating, arrogant, or absolutely insufferable he was—he was persistent. And maybe, just maybe, that counted for something.

Even if he made you want to strangle him half the time.

Especially then.

You forced a polite smile as he held the door open for you. The place had a sleek, modern interior, all brushed steel and pale wood, the kind of aesthetic that screamed corporate chic. Chalkboards lined the walls, scrawled with endless customizable drink options in cheery handwriting, as if sugar and soy milk could compensate for the fact that the coffee tasted like watered-down burnt beans.

You bit back a grimace. The air buzzed with the frantic energy of sleep-deprived students and frazzled office workers.

“The Golden Cup?” you asked, more out of disbelief than curiosity.

Jason shrugged, as if the choice had been perfectly logical. “Figured this was your kind of place.”

You mirrored the gesture, masking your annoyance. After how hard he’d worked to get this hour with you, the last thing you wanted was to admit you actually despised it here. “The girls on my gymnastics team used to love this place,” you offered instead.

That made him pause. “Wait—you did gymnastics?”

You nodded. “Bars. Tumbling. The works.”

“Huh.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes skimming over you like he was trying to reconcile that image with the one in front of him.

Your eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

You stiffened. “And what type is that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled, the sound light but strained.

But the damage was done. The words echoed louder than they should have—because you wanted this to go well. You’d told yourself you were being open, trying not to let old scars taint something new. Like Milo kept encouraging. But there it was again—another man slotting you into a tidy box.

Jake used to do the same thing.

“So how did you mean it?” you asked, voice calm but tight.

Jason looked like he wished he’d said nothing at all. “I just meant… never mind, okay?”

The line moved forward. He stepped up to the counter, clearly flustered, and ordered without turning to you. Two hot coffees. Black.

You stared at the back of his head in disbelief. He didn’t even ask.

When he reached for his wallet, you turned on your heel and walked out.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the Gotham air, crisp and biting against your cheeks. You exhaled hard, realizing only then how tense your jaw had become.

You didn’t make it far before the door slammed open again. Footsteps pounded after you.

“Hey! Wait up!” Jason called.

You kept walking until his hand lightly caught your arm.

“Where are you going?”

You turned, met his eyes. “I just don’t think this is going to work.”

Confusion flashed across his face. “What? It’s barely been ten minutes.”

“And that’s all I needed.”

He stared at you, disbelief written in every line of his face. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“Ever since we met,” you said, keeping your tone level, “you’ve done nothing but make assumptions. You act as if you know me based on a glance and a guess.”

“That’s not true,” he snapped. “I—what assumptions?”

“The book recommendation, the coffee shop itself. You didn’t even ask what I wanted to drink,” you pointed out. “You just ordered hot coffee.”

“Everyone loves hot coffee!”

“I don’t.”

His mouth opened, then closed.

“And then there was the gymnastics thing.”

He winced. “Okay, maybe that came out wrong—”

“It’s not just that. It’s how you said it. Like I didn’t look the part. What—because I’m a doctor?”

“What? No!” he said quickly, like the idea shocked him. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

“You don’t know me, and you clearly don’t care to.” you said, stepping back. “You saw me in the bookstore and figured I looked easy. The kind of girl you could charm in five minutes with a smirk and some half-assed lines.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could try to spin it.

“I said no,” you reminded him. “So now I’m a challenge. That’s all this is to you—a game you don’t want to lose.”

His expression shifted. Defensive.

“But let’s get one thing straight,” you continued, voice like ice. “Whatever bad boy charm you think you’ve got going for you? It doesn’t work on me. I’ve seen it before. You’re not new.”

Jason scoffed, tension bleeding into sarcasm. “Guess I should’ve worn a suit and talked about Nietzsche.”

You shook your head, a hollow laugh escaping. “God, this is exactly why I’m walking away.”

“Oh, right,” he said, stepping forward. “Because you’re uptight and judgmental? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either.”

You stiffened, heat rising in your chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was sharp now, stripped of its earlier charm. “You walked in here with your mind already made up. You want to lecture me on assumptions? Take a good look in the mirror. You’re no better, Princess.”

The words hit like a slap— For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared at him, breathing hard, your pride wounded, your heart thudding against your ribs with something that felt too much like anger… and something else you didn’t want to name.

You were done. Whatever thread of tolerance you’d held onto had snapped clean through. “You know what? I’m not doing this. Let’s just call it a night.”

“Oh, can we?” he muttered, hands flung out to the side. “Please.”

“Good night,” you snapped, already turning.

“Sayonara.”

“Have fun with yourself.”

“Ciao, sweetheart. Tell the HOA at Pretentious Pointe I said hi.”

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fractualized · 1 year ago

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A while ago I got under someone's skin for referencing Joker's surprising delayed reaction to killing Jason Todd, and since then I've been thinking it's worth digging into as an interesting element of Joker's characterization.

Of course, first thing's first: Jason's murder in Batman (1940) #427, as originally presented in 1988.

Jason has just reconnected with his biological mother, Sheila Haywood, at a famine relief camp in Ethiopia— and he's discovered that Joker is blackmailing her with information about her criminal past. She gets him truckloads of medical supplies to sell on the black market, and Joker restocks the trucks with toxin. While Bruce races to stop a tampered truck, Jason decides to help his mother on his own. When he discloses he's Robin, however, Sheila betrays him to Joker, not only to stay on Joker's good side but because she's actually been embezzling money from the organization she works for this whole time. She's afraid an investigation prompted by Batman and Robin's appearance would expose this fact.

So Sheila stands by as Jason is felled by Joker and his goons, and then the crowbarring starts.

It's bad! When we return later, Jason is presumably dead.

While Joker isn't shocked that he's murdered a child, he does have an unexpected reaction to Sheila's point. He hadn't really been thinking about what he was doing, implying that he hadn't intended to kill Jason. He just got carried away, whoopsie! He didn't do this to get at Batman; he wasn't thinking about Batman at all. Now, however, he's concerned about how Batman will react.

Joker thinks Jason is already dead. The purpose of the bomb is to get rid of the evidence of his involvement, including Sheila. Joker is not broken up about what he did, but he does have a sense that he's gone a step too far and he doesn't want Batman to know about it. At least for now!

In the end, while Jason wakes and he and his mother try to save each other, they're trapped in the warehouse when the bomb goes off. Bruce makes it back only in time to find a dying Sheila, who tells him it was Joker. When Bruce finds Jason, Jason gets no last words. He's already dead, and Bruce is devastated.

A clue from Joker leads Bruce to the United Nations in New York, and there, infamously, Bruce learns that Joker has been made the ambassador from Iran. Joker is now protected from prosecution, and Batman going after him risks an international incident. Bruce still very much wants to, but Superman stops him.

Well, mostly Superman. I recommend reading Batman #429 to see Bruce's full thought process on this. He is furious and constantly thinking about finally ending Joker— but he also questions his mental state. He still wonders if he can hold Joker responsible if he believes Joker is insane. He uses phrases like "what happened to Jason" like it was a natural disaster, not murder. He even confronts Joker to give him one last chance to turn himself in to Arkham Asylum. Bruce is in a kind of denial, still grabbing at how things usually go.

But back to Joker. Evidently, he's no longer worried that Batman will find out he killed Robin. Joker admits to it immediately.

I assume Joker realized there was no point in denying it. Is Batman going to think it's a coincidence that Robin got blown up when Joker was around? Though Bruce does say it's Joker's taunts that 100% confirm for him that the clown was responsible, pointing again to Bruce still grasping for reasons to not break his rule in his grief.

By the end of the issue, Joker has naturally tried to kill the entire United Nations assembly, which instantly made him free game. So Bruce pursues him to a helicopter, and an in-air scuffle ensues in which Bruce explicitly prevents Joker from being killed by friendly fire, evidently so he can decide how Joker will die. Bruce jumps out of the helicopter, abandoning Joker to a fiery crash. However, despite Bruce's (supposed) intentions, Joker's body is nowhere to be found. The clown lives!

So that's it, right? Joker felt some unease about killing Jason initially, but in a short time, he was happy to gloat about it to Batman's face.

But when Joker reappears in Batman #450, in 1990, he is not triumphant. He's holed up in a dilapidated building, where he learns someone is impersonating him.

How often do we see Joker upset by murders? When the story returns to him, we learn more about his mental state.

With all of Joker's cackling glee at the things he's done, coming close to actual death in the helicopter crash has jarred him— and not just the crash, but the murder that led to it. He recoils from the memory of what he did to Jason. It's why he can't see the joke anymore. It's set apart from his previous crimes. It's too far.

Which is not at all to say that Joker is completely broken up about Jason. By the end of #450, he rallies and sets out to go after his copycat and restore his reputation to his liking.

In Batman #451, though, Joker is still plagued by doubts along the way.

Even when he overcomes those doubts, claiming the mantle as the one and only Joker when his copycat dies by falling into acid, Joker challenges Gordon to finally kill him. It's reminiscent of The Killing Joke, the first time Joker went too far. But like TKJ, Gordon and Batman decide to get Joker back to Arkham against their more vengeful instincts.

Joker's also decided Arkham is just what he needs. Outside, he's plagued by the reality of what he's done; in Arkham, he can settle back into his insanity and stop caring about it again.

So after that, Joker has no second thoughts about killing Jason, right? After all, he largely references the murder in callous terms. In-universe this makes sense as Joker revising history in his own head, particularly as more stories portray his effort to be more monster than man. Monsters don't have qualms about murder! But this is comics, so we can also presume that not all Joker writers know or remember #450/451, which I think is a shame. I find stories in which Joker expresses even just a degree of vulnerability to be more interesting than those where he's just mwahaha evil.

I have seen a few other bat stories bring some nuance into Joker's perception of Jason's death, though.

First up is the particularly nuanced "Fool's Errand" in Detective Comics (1937) #726, published in 1998. Bruce visits Joker in Arkham to get information on how to find a kidnapped girl who's running out of time. It just so happens Joker arranged this kidnapping for a particular day.

I strongly recommend this issue for batjokes fans, as it revolves around Joker talking the case through with Batman in his cell to help him figure out more clues to a crime Joker himself planned. Even with Bruce beating Joker up, the conversational tone feels almost friendly. They're just doing their usual thing.

Well, sort of. Bruce has already said he's not in the mood, and he interrupts their conversation to say so again.

Joker could insist that Batman stay and keep playing the game, and needle him for being unwilling to merely talk to Joker to rescue this child. Instead, Joker gives up her location.

And Bruce does come back as predicted.

So that was Joker's nefarious plan. He wanted to restore some hope to Bruce's cynical soul to be sure that his future failures would hurt even more. But it sure seems the middle didn't go the way Joker expected, when he recognized Batman just wasn't going to play the game as usual.

Joker doesn't jump into taunting. He doesn't answer Bruce at first. He's withdrawn and reflective. He's got something else on his mind on this anniversary of the second Robin's death, and he knows that Bruce does, too. Perhaps not forcing Batman to play was a small gesture, acknowledging the difficulty of the day, remembering how things changed. And what does that gesture cost Joker when he still gets the outcome he wants?

Second example is actually also called "Fool's Errand," this one from Robin (1993) #85, published in 2001. This is a fun one in which Joker discusses his interactions and frustrations with the Robins.

But while Joker indicates more than once that he wants to fight Batsy alone, after he talks about killing Jason, this is the next page:

Joker does not then say he was relieved when another Robin showed up, but still. He's acknowledged again that when he murdered Jason, things were not right. As angry as the birdies make him, they're a key component in the game.

Then we come back to "Once More, With Feeling!" in Harley Quinn (2000) #25, from 2002. Harley's been playing double-agent against Batman with Joker, and she and Joker have this exchange.

Joker typically makes light of murdering Robin, but it seems that when he's with just about his only confidante, he lets other feelings about it burst out.

There's also a flashback to DitF in Batman: Gotham Knights #44 in 2003. We get an exchange between Bruce and Joker before Bruce jumps out of the helicopter.

Joker laughs as the helicopter dives, ready to die, but before that, he seems resigned. He doesn't throw in a real dig about murdering Jason, and he doesn't gloat that he's finally gotten Batman to kill him. He acknowledges he crossed a line.

Lastly, there's a 2006 exchange between, well, Joker and Jason himself in "All They Do is Watch Us Kill, Part 2" as part of Under the Red Hood in Batman (1940) #649. Jason has kidnapped Joker as batbait, and when Joker needles him, Jason needles him back.

Joker regularly extolls his own crimes, but suddenly one of his victims mockingly accuses him of putting up a front, of not being as coldhearted and untouchable as he wants to seem. Maybe Joker does doubt what he's doing and retreats under the cover of madness so he doesn't have to think about it— just as he did in Batman #451.

I'm not sure if there are other examples of Joker expressing anything but mocking glee about Jason's death. I do know of times he's shown a sort of fondness for Jason (such as in The Man Who Stopped Laughing #4, Gotham War: Red Hood #2, Suicide Squad: Get Joker #3), but that's not really the same thing. Joker could've seen Red Hood as his and Batman's Frankenstein child without feeling any squeamishness about killing him in the first place.

But if anyone knows of any other moments where Joker does not act like killing Jason is absolutely his most favorite thing he ever did, do share!

#joker #jason todd #my jibber-jabber

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diariesofthelover · 1 year ago

Text

A New Regular

synopsis: After his favorite bookstore in Gotham went out of business, Jason had to find a new one that he’d actually like. He decided to check out one a couple blocks down from his apartment in hopes that it’ll be a decent replacement, when he goes in he finds something worth coming back for.

notes: Jason Todd x reader, 3rd person pov, reader works at a bookstore.

Of course Jason’s favorite bookstore went out of business. It was a small store tucked away in one of Gotham’s less populated neighborhoods meaning that they never got enough sales and it didn’t help that their star customer was “dead” for a couple years.

Now he had to go searching for a replacement, god he had a strong dislike for that word, something that’ll at least be adequate enough since he knew that nothing could ever replace his original bookshop. Not with all the memories, the owners who knew him so well, the atmosphere, and that certain smell that brought him back to the last time where he actually felt happy. The place meant more to him than just a bookstore, it was a piece of his childhood that wasn’t tainted by anything, and now it’s gone.

His search began with another small shop that was only a few blocks down from his apartment, convenient. He wasn’t excited about this, no, he didn’t want to be doing this in the first place. His place should’ve never closed, it should still be there running and waiting for him, but it wasn’t which upset him more than he thought it would.

With a slight scowl on his face he made the walk to the unfamiliar bookstore by his apartment. Jason’s hood was up as usual, trying to keep his face away from people on the street for numerous reasons.

After a few minutes he made it to the possible replacement. It was nuzzled in between a cafe and a record store, fitting. It was small, smaller than the rest of the businesses on the block. With uncertainty Jason walked in, a doorbell sounded signaling his entrance. There were only a few other customers in the store, quietly picking out books to escape to, and no workers in sight.

“At least I won’t be bothered,” he thought to himself.

He headed straight for the classics, hoping to stumble upon a work he hasn’t read yet, practically impossible. As he searched through the novels he heard footsteps coming to this section, being who he was Jason was able to pick up on them several seconds before they got to where he was. When the steps came to a stop Jason looked up from the books to see who was near him now, was it curiosity, paranoia, or both?

What he faced was someone who was either an employee or an extreme book enthusiast as she was holding a stack of books that went so far up that her face was hidden behind the literature.

His first thought was to help, that’s the kind of guy he was or at least used to be, but he didn’t do anything as he looked away and went back looking for books to read. He wasn’t interested in meeting new people and talking to strangers anymore, even if they shared the same love for reading as he did. In fact, the idea alone made his stomach churn which is why he minded his business and kept to himself. People were probably better off without him in their lives anyway.

All of a sudden there was a crash as each book fell to the floor, the noise startling him a little.

“Shit,” he heard the girl swear under her breath as she squatted down to pick up the books.

Jason glanced over to her, she had a name tag signaling that she worked there as well as a defeated expression on her face. The longer he stood there not helping, the faster the guilt began to seep in.

God fucking damn it, fine.

Before he could even register what he was doing, Jason squatted down across from her helping her retrieve the dropped books.

“Oh thank you, you really didn’t have to,” she said shyly.

Jason didn’t respond, instead he gave her a slight nod as his way of saying, “no worries”. He was trying his best to avoid any eye contact and keep his eyes locked on the books but he couldn’t help but take a look at her face.

She was beautiful, fuck, so beautiful actually she may as well of come out of one of the novels she dropped. He quickly looked back down again hoping a blush hadn’t formed on his face, he knew that if he spoke now he’d stutter and make a fool out of himself.

She couldn’t help but steal a couple of glances of him as well. Her gaze went from book to him then back to the books then to his perfect face again. Some may have found him to look incredibly intimidating, most actually, and she did but she also thought him to be incredibly handsome. Maybe she’d been reading too much but he looked like he’d be a character from any of those classic romance novels that she loved.

Jason rose as he gathered the remaining novels. She looked up at him from where she was kneeling below him and to her he looked like god. Forget Austen’s novels, he was from a greek myth. His shoulders muscular and broad even under his red hoodie and brown leather jacket, his thighs thick with muscles hidden under the denim, and his height…well he was certainly tall, much taller than she. She had to be mindful of her facial expressions as she gawked at him for far too long.

He tried to make himself look smaller, tried to relax his muscles and hunch over. He didn’t want to intimidate her or scare her off. After being resurrected, his body began to change rapidly. Yes puberty kicked in but the lazarus pit was like an intense steroid resulting in him being huge, an absolute unit.

Sure, he liked how he looked when he was suited up as Red Hood but when he was without his mask and armor, he left like a brute. His size made him feel like some sort of monster. He didn’t want to scare good people away, especially women, but he knew he appeared incredibly intimidating to them all regardless of what he wanted.

And the scars, god that was the worst part for him. His body is scattered with them from all the fighting he’s done and violence he’s endured, his face not left unmarked either. As a kid, he thought they were cool, that it meant that you were strong and a survivor, now it makes him feel weak and reminds him of what has happened to him and what he became as a result. Each scar held a story, not the kinds he wants to be reading about.

All of these thoughts were swirling in Jason’s head as the bookstore worker looked up at him in what he thought was horror and disgust.

To his surprise she stood up with half of the novels in her hands with a sweet smile on her face.

“Thank you again, that was very kind of you,” she softly said still with a smile on her perfect face.

Jason hadn’t been called kind in awhile, it caught him off guard for a moment as a small smile broke out on his face.

“No problem,” was all he chose to say as he handed her the rest of the books.

“Do you need help finding anything? I practically know where everything is, especially in this section,” she let out a small laugh.

“I,” he cleared his throat, “I’m just browsing, thank you,” his deep voice contradicted his shy tone as he turned his back to her before she could see the blush that threatened to paint his structured face.

“Okay, well just let me know you if need anything, I’ll be around,” she said a little awkwardly.

Disappointed, she went over to the shelf behind Jason to do her job.

The two couldn’t help but look over their shoulders to sneak glances at one another, never catching each other in the process.

She only had one more book left to put away, Frankenstein. Of course, it was on the same shelf that Jason was currently browsing through.

“Excuse me, sorry,” she came up behind him to slip the last novel on the shelf. Jason stepped to the side giving her space, his eyes caught on the book in her hand.

She noticed his possible interest and stopped herself from returning it to its place.

“Oh, did you want to see this one?” She had a hopeful expression on her face as she reached the book out for him to take.

Jason read Frankenstein when he was younger but he hadn’t gone back to it since his death, he feared that it would hit too close to home. He didn’t want to relate to the monster, especially as much as he did, he wanted things to be different. He’d oftentimes fantasize about a life where he didn’t get killed or at least a world where Batman avenged him, these fantasies only screwed with his head more. Maybe it was time for him to really look at reality through a fictional lens, maybe it could help him figure some shit out.

Jason accepted her offer, his calloused fingers brushing against hers when he grabbed the book.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he examined the new cover.

“I really enjoyed that one, it’s actually one of my favorites,” she beamed but got no response from Jason. She quickly grew embarrassed as she felt that he was bothered by her talking and overall presence. In reality, he wanted to hear more. After a couple of seconds of awkward silence, she turned away ready to leave him alone.

“Why’s that?” He suddenly asked causing her to turn back around again, his focus still on the book in his large hands.

Caught off guard she took awhile to respond, “The story, the character, well everything about it really I could go on and on.”

Jason finally looked at her, his cheeks heated but he didn’t care he wanted to talk to her.

“I’m listening.”

The pair went on to discuss the book that they both had a love for. Luckily, the store remained relatively dead and no one intruded on their conversation. Jason was mesmerized by the way she spoke and the way she thought. She was charmed by how good of a listener he was and his own takes.

For the next couple hours they had jumped from book to book, connecting pieces of their personal lives to literature, it was their way of getting to know each other.

He felt silly for ever worrying about finding a place that at least was decent. He ended up finding a treasure, one worth coming back for again and again.

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd fic #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x female!reader #red hood fic

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athenagc94 · 8 days ago

Text

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 28

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Blood (not overtly described) and smoking

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 28

The letters stopped immediately.

Jason expected that would happen, but it didn’t stop him from religiously checking the PO box for the next week. When it was clear he wouldn’t be hearing from you, he reached out to Tim to amend the scholarship. No more letters, no more contact. You would still get your money if you chose to accept it, but he had the sinking feeling that now that you knew where it was coming from, you’d decline the scholarship altogether. He would hate to see you put your dreams on hold to prove a point, but you were stubborn like that.

Crime Alley had snuffed another dream.

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t blame this on Crime Alley. It was his fault, and his alone.

Steph was right all along. He inserted himself where he ought not to be, and now he had to face the consequences of doing so. He had a bad habit of ruining good things, so why not taint what he had with you? His intentions were good, but good intentions had a way of coming back to bite him in the ass. It was easier to do dubious things and hope he stumbled into good along the way.

You asked for time, and he respected that. The execution of his confession was far from perfect. It wasn’t a confession at all. You found the truth yourself while he stood there like a gaping fish. Even when the opportunity to tell the truth presented itself on silver platter, he had to go and spit in it.

Jason had to trust that you’d reach out when you were ready. Or maybe that was the last time he’d ever hear from you.

He tried not to think about it.

He couldn’t.

Not unless he wanted to go to a very dark place.

So, instead of crashing out like every instinct told him to do, he settled on something more (barely) productive. He passed the Black Mask case to Tim, including full reign of his territory and all the evidence he gathered over the last few months. Tim might have had something snarky to say, but Jason wasn’t around to hear it.

He skipped town shortly after, leaving his phone behind so no one could bother him. The temptation to check his phone every five seconds for a message from you was too strong. There wouldn’t be one, so it was easier to leave it behind.

Artemis and Bizarro waited for him with a long list of clients seeking their expertise. It promised a hefty paycheck and a perfect distraction, so Jason jumped at the opportunity to drown himself in mercenary work.

It worked for the first week.

But as time wore on, the darkness found him. Work could only do so much. It couldn’t protect him from the quiet nights when he was left alone with his thoughts, with his regrets. He couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the mistakes he left behind in Gotham.

Running wasn’t working.

Again.

So, crash out it was.

That was how he found himself here, pinned to the ground by a harpy. At least, that’s what he was calling it. Artemis vehemently denied his claim. But he saw the body of a bird and the head of a beautiful woman. If not a harpy, then why harpy-shaped? He’d read the myth of Jason and the Argonauts, and yes, he did see the fucking irony now.

Their most recent venture led them to Crete, yet another check mark in the totally a harpy box, by the way, to find a relic for their client. He was a collector of rare pieces of Mediterranean origin, though he was painfully vague on the details save for a few amphoras that depicted a hidden temple of Zeus. A lot of people would cry myth, but ya know, Jason had dug himself out of the grave and he was currently wrestling with a harpy, so anything was possible.

Hooked feet pierced the leather of his jacket and dug into the meat of his shoulders as it dragged him across the remnants of a cobbled street. Where was it taking him? He wasn’t too keen to find out.

Jason twisted in its grasp, ignoring the way its talons shredded his skin as he wrenched himself free. Reaching for his gun, he only allowed himself a second to compose himself before he shot. His bullet clipped its wing, passing harmlessly through its feathers.

Damn it.

He tried again.

It dodged at the last second, impossibly fast as if it were made of the gales it rode on. Feathers flitted around him like petals in springtime. This is what he got for rushing headfirst into the ruins without the others. He, honestly, didn’t remember doing so. One second, he was with the others, doing some light surveillance of the area, and now he was here.

As the harpy doubled back to come at him again, he closed his eyes and braced himself for impact.

He deserved this.

If Jason hadn’t lied. If he told you the truth from the start. None of this would have—

Artemis lunged at the harpy, her sword arcing in a clean sweep that severed its wing at the joint. Brackish ichor sprayed from the wound, coating her blade like an oil slick. It fell heavily on its side, its dulcet birdsong shifting to a haunting wail. With a hard look on her face, Artemis drove her blade down on its throat, silencing it for good.

When it stopped twitching, she turned her glare on him. “Your masculine audacity astounds me sometimes.”

“Yeah, same. Where’s Biz?”

“Finishing off the others. Sirens travel in packs.”

Jason pressed his hand over the gash on his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. “Sirens? No way.”

“Modern mythos has warped their image to resemble that of a fish woman, but that was undoubtedly a siren. She lured you with her voice, not that you seemed to notice until she had you pinned. You are fortunate this one liked to play with her food.” She flicked the blood from her blade. “You would have known the dangers if you waited like we discussed. You are a mess, Todd.”

He smiled through the pain as Artemis yanked him to his feet. The strength behind it nearly pulled his arm clear from its socket. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “I am sending you home.”

Home. God, he hated that word. “You can’t bench me.”

“And yet, I just did,” she said with a knowing slant of her brow, “I refuse to sit back and watch you get killed because you have decided to lose all sense of self-preservation. Whatever happened in Gotham is no concern of mine until it effects business. I—”

“She no care for you.”

Her eye twitched as Bizarro touched down next to her. A siren had slashed through his shirt to reveal the unblemished pectorals beneath. Must be nice to have skin tougher than steel.

“It is unfortunate that I am put into a position to tell you that this is not the way to work through your feelings. As they say, it is the pot calling the kettle black. However, that would insinuate that pots and kettles are equal, and they are not. You are a flimsy kettle.”

If Jason wasn’t actively bleeding, he might have had a leg to stand on, but now wasn’t the time to argue with her. “Gee, thanks.”

“She says it to be mean,” Bizarro said sympathetically, “You are doing great. You no need to go back.”

He shook his head. “I can’t go back to Gotham.”

“Once, I would have loved to hear you say those words to me. I had wanted it more than you realized, but that is why I know you must. As much as I hate to admit it, you cannot quit that city. Nor can you quit its people.” Her gaze sharpened. “None of them.”

Not even you.

“So, what? You want me to fly back without a fight?”

“Unless you would rather swim home? I hear the Mediterranean is balmy this time of year.”

Jason grimaced. “I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Her tone suggested the opposite. “I do hope that you can return to us in peak form eventually, but it is clear to me that you are simply running.” She placed a hand tentatively on his arm. One would almost say comforting, but Artemis would never admit that. “And I would like to meet the one that has so thoroughly fucked with your head. It seems she does not put up with your shit. An admirable quality.”

Bizarro peeled back the strips of leather and Kevlar to study his wounds. “We no want to meet her. So, you fuck this up.”

Jason laughed despite himself. If only they knew the half of it. He hadn’t been the most forthcoming of what went down between you and him, but it seemed they’d filled in the blanks themselves.

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

***

Jason recalled the night he met you.

Your yellow hoodie, the strings chewed to pieces.

Your worn copy of Wuthering Heights.

The wariness in your gaze he’d grown fond of.

Your conversation made his return to Gotham feel a little warmer, but that wasn’t the case this time. He arrived outside his main safehouse without preamble. It looked the same as the day he left it, untouched and uninspired. It was moments like this that he missed the organized chaos of your studio.

He shrugged off his jacket and trudged across his living room, pointedly ignoring the phone he’d left on its charger in the kitchen—right next to Viola, the plastic succulent.

A warm front pushed in while he was gone, leaving the air thick. He shoved open the window that led out onto the fire escape. Time had long-since corroded the lower landing, but his remained sturdy despite the creak of the grate under his boots.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a carton of cigarettes he purchased from the bodega around the corner. A year had passed since he last smoked. It was a bad habit Jason returned to when life felt particularly bleak. It hung loose between his lips as he brought the lighter to the end.

The familiar burn of nicotine filled his lungs. It didn’t help, per se, but it felt productive. Thin strips of smoke seeped through his teeth as he flicked some ash over the railing.

Per Artemis’ demands, he came back.

Now, what?

Jason ran his fingers through his hair. He should have considered his next steps on the plane, but what he did next depended entirely on you. If you didn’t reach out, he wasn’t about to bully his way back into your life.

“That’s a nasty habit, ya know?”

He sputtered, choking on his next inhale.

That voice.

Babs said he was out of the country.

Dick hoisted himself over the edge of the railing, dressed in his street clothes. He made it look effortless as he twisted into a handstand that pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across the lean muscles on his back. Show off. With a soft grunt, he shoved off and stuck the landing beside him. The grate groaned under their combined weight, and Jason felt less certain about its structural integrity than before.

“So, I’ve been told.” He offered him the carton.

Dick pulled one out and pressed it between his lips. Jason lit the end and watched as he took a long drag with the grace of someone who’d done it before. Only Jason knew the truth. Dick had been the one to teach him how to blow smoke rings, not that any of the others would believe that little Dickie would ever smoke. It was a memory he held onto like precious gold.

“When did you get back?”

“About three weeks ago,” he said with a half-smile, “Tim told me you skipped town.”

And yet, he’d miraculously appeared the very night he got back. Jason could smell the bullshit from a mile away. “Who sent you to check in on me? Artemis?”

“Please, we both know she’d have sent Roy.”

“She still might.”

“Then it’s a good thing I got here first.” Dick knocked shoulders with him. “Between you and me, Roy gives shit advice.”

“Is that why you’re here? You give shit advice too.”

“Rude.” Dick leaned against the railing. Despite his grumbling, Jason shifted over to make room for him. “Here I am, trying to be a good big brother, and this is the welcome I get.”

Their relationship was complicated. Familiar, but complicated all the same. Case in point, this was the first time he’d seen Dick in almost a year because he couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes.

Jason couldn’t shake the hooks that Gotham used to drag him back, but Dick, he was desperate to spread his wings and fly.

He’d always been that way, even back before he died. He rarely came home, too busy being a hero and making a name for himself that was separate from Batman. Having him for a brother was like that sibling that was always away at school.

Some things didn’t change, but that had.

Dick tried to be more present for Tim, for Damian. With every new member that joined the Bat family, Dick went out of his way to make them feel welcome. Jason knew things had changed. His death may or may not have had something to do with it, but Dick never confirmed that it had, and he never asked.

“Alright, fine, if Artemis didn’t send you, who did?”

“Would you believe it if I said Bruce?”

Jason blotted out his cigarette. It wasn’t scratching the itch like he hoped it would. “No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

His laugh skittered across his bones as he took another drag. It had always been vaguely unsettling, but he’d toned it down around others. Not with him. When it was just the two of them, he dropped the pretense. Dick was far from the golden boy everyone claimed he was, and he allowed himself to relax around Jason who had seen the wrinkles in his facade long before he smoothed them out.

“Alfred asked me to check in.”

“Now, that’s more believable, but barely.”

Dick puffed his cheeks. “Alright, fine, he didn’t actively say those words either, but it was heavily implied. I’ve learned to read between the lines.”

And that was more believable still. Jason flicked and unflicked the lighter, watching as the flame danced on it wick. “Why doesn't anyone in this fucking family knows how to communicate?”

Dick shrugged. “No idea. Probably why you’re in this mess now, yeah?”

He shot him a narrow look. “What do you know?”

“Enough. You’ve taken a page from the Tim Drake school of using fake names with the girl you like. Bold move. Not what I would have done, but we can’t all be perf—” He couldn’t even finish that statement without bursting into another peel of laughter.

Jason flipped his lighter off. “Are you here to give advice or do you just want the credit for saying you did?”

His expression turned more serious. “I was waiting for you to ask for it. Something tells me that’s as close as I’ll get, so here it is. You made a bad call, but that doesn’t mean all is lost. She already knows you have a vigilante identity and that’s, honestly, half the battle in our line of work.”

“She seemed to like Red Hood a lot better than she liked the man under the mask.” That wasn’t true. Not even a little bit, but if he said it out loud, maybe he could convince himself it was. Your silence might hurt less if he believed Red Hood was the true object of your affection.

“It’s because you never gave her a chance to know Jason Todd.”

If anyone else in their family saw fit to appear suddenly outside his apartment, spouting the same bland ass advice, Jason would have started shooting, but Dick said it in earnest. He sat with his suggestion for a few moments as Dick finished off the rest of his cigarette.

There were no expectations beyond his thoughtful reflection.

He knew Jason well enough to know he couldn’t be forced to draw a conclusion before he was ready.

And he was right, of course.

You knew him, but not really. There were aspects of his past that fundamentally shaped who he is as a person, and you deserved to know about them. He never gave Jason Todd a chance.

When Jason finally nodded, Dick flicked his cigarette butt over the railing. “So, when do I get to meet her?”

“Never, if I can help it.”

“Prick.”

“Dick.”

They shared a conspiratorial smile. “I missed ya, man.”

“I’m right here.” For better or for worse, Jason was here. Gotham was his home, whether he liked it or not. But if it meant spending the rest of his life with you, maybe this city wasn’t all bad.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

***

In the serene quiet that followed Dick’s departure, Jason settled at his kitchen table, daunted by the blank sheet of paper laid out in front of him. Dick made it sound simple, but nothing about his life was simple.

You deserved to meet Jason Todd. Not just the bad parts, not just the parts that were vaguely bittersweet parts, but the good parts as well.

And there were good parts of his life.

He decided a letter was the best way to tell his story. It was more romantic, and Jason was nothing if not a bleeding poet at heart.

As he brought pen to paper, one thing became clear.

He was going to need a lot more paper.

--------------------

A/N: I overcame my fear of writing Dick Grayson. Anyway, we're on the homestretch, friends. Two chapters left.

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Tag List

Let me know if you want to be added!

@bungunz @emu-lumberjack @goldendistrict @qardasngan @rues-lovely-memoir @sawendel @banana-lol @anuttellaa @k-tblog @wujiscarrot @umiexe @4rachn3 @rheaphobic @flowery-fa @theendofthematerialgworl @overthebriarpatch

#writing #jason todd #fanfiction #jason todd x reader #dear daddy long legs fic #fanfic #red hood #red hood x reader #x reader

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punkeropercyjackson · 2 months ago

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Hear me out:Miles Morales,Percy Jackson and Jason Todd but they're the main trio in a 2000s/2010s-esque cartoon based around their canon origins and mix and matching the lore around and episode one opens with Miles and Percy being pushed out of their respective dimensions and literally crashing directly into Jason on his motorcycle as they shoot out of their portals

Also Percy has this and Miles gets a white streak in the season one finale

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yukiwhitetm · 4 months ago

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5 Tim Drake-centric Must Reads: Animals/Non-Humans Theme

Find all my Batman – All Media Types fic recs here.

Find post 5 Tim Drake-centric Must Reads here.

Find post 5 Bat Family Must Reads: Former Robins And Their Kids +1 Undercover Dick Grayson here.

two against the world by carolinaa

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, Complete Work

02 Jul 2022

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon

Accidental Dog Acquisition, Tim drake needs a dog idc. Idc, Child Neglect, Hurt/Comfort, Slowburn Found Family, Fluff and Angst, Summer Vacation, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Attempted Kidnapping, Tim Drake Needs a Hug

Summary:

“I’m Tim,” he says, though introducing himself to a puppy makes him flush in embarrassment. “Are you hungry?”

The dog blinks at him, all scared eyes.

“Where’s your family?” Tim asks. “Did they leave you?”

(Or: Tim Drake finds a friend.)

Language: English Words: 36,752 Chapters: 4/4

Yuki Note:

(My original note on this:) An expectedly brilliant story full of angst and drama but a very happy ending!

I read this quite a while ago but this still leaves such an impression on me. This is Tim getting the doggy love he’s always needed, which slowly leads him to the family he’s always deserved. As a ‘Tim Joins the BatFam Early’ story, this one is brilliant. Sweet, fluffy with just the right amount of angst but an excellent happy ending.

Tim The Dragon Tamer by CatSaucEe

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)

General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, Work in Progress

01 Aug 2023

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Duke Thomas,

Tim Drake, Tim Drake's Parents, Bruce Wayne, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Alfred Pennyworth

Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe – Fantasy, Alternate Universe – Dragons, Dragons, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Medieval, Tim Drake-centric, Canonical Character Death, Tim Drake Trains Dragons, More Like A Dragon Crash Lands Into His Life, Alternate Universe – Magic, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, BAMF Tim Drake, But Also Awkward Tim Drake, Human Disaster Tim Drake, Tim Drake Has Secrets, It's Dragons, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Good Sibling Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Worldbuilding, Inaccurate Descriptions Of Monsters, I basically made up shit, Not Canon Compliant, Digital Art, Damian Wayne Has a Heart

Summary:

Tim's never seen one before, usually cooped up in his house with a servant coming by his home once a week to drop off supplies that'll keep him well fed until the next week. But he has read books, and sometimes, he imagines himself encountering one and fighting them with blades, like brave knights do to earn their glory.

A dragon bleeds out on the floors of his home, and all he has is a book, and no sword.

The Kingdom Of Gotham is often riddled with creatures good and bad, mostly bad. The dragons that pass over Gotham, harass the Gothamites, and pollute the air with smoke and smog are no exception, and one knows better than to confront one unless you are a hunter.

Except one night, when a dragon crashes into the home of one Timothy Drake, everything changes.

Part 1 of Tim, The Dragon Tamer

Language: English Words: 47,678 Chapters: 10/11

Yuki Note:

(Although, this says it still has one chapter to go, this one feels pretty complete to me! It’s fully readable now!)

I cannot recommend this one highly enough! I truly believe this story is a hidden gem. I mean, it has dragons, Tim as a dragon rider, dragon hunters, the Bat Family as knights, grappling with right or wrong (are the dragons their enemies or not?), secrets and secret identities (if I remember correctly), and a big final battle. What more could you ask for? This is one is wild ride!

Honourable Mention

before we get into all the Mer AUs

Get Familiar With Me by JUBE514, SalParadiseLost

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types

General Audiences, Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gen, Complete Work

25 Apr 2024

Tags:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Magic AU, Witch & Familiar AU, Witches, Familiars, Alternate Universe – Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Soul Bond, Resurrected Jason Todd, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, magical systems, Witch Dick Grayson, Witch Jason Todd, Familiar Bruce Wayne, Familiar Tim Drake, I squished their ages a bit

Summary:

Every witch needs a familiar, but not every familiar needs a witch. Tim, recently orphaned and freshly adopted, is a familiar that doesn't need a witch, but he needs to be a witch. Because Bruce Wayne, America's most famous familiar, only keeps company with witches. Dick is a witch. Jason is a witch. Robin is a witch.

Tim *needs* to be a witch.

But when Tim's mistakes begin to stack up, his big lie starts to come crumbling down, and his place in the family goes with it.

Language: English Words: 12,665 Chapters: 1/1

Yuki Note:

Since we are about to have three Mer AUs in a row, I thought it best to include another story in a different universe. Witches and Familiars might only come under the category of Animals/Non-humans if you squint but I think it's nice to have one more story that's not a Mer AU just in case you're not into that.

In this universe of witches and familiars, Tim is a familiar pretending to be witch because the Bat Family already have a familiar in Bruce and certainly don’t need another in him. He’s always hidden this by pretending to just be bad at magic/not found his skill yet. Only, it starts to become a problem when Dick and Jason notice issues with their magic from Tim supplying them with too much on top of Bruce’s existing contribution so they suspect Bruce is ill – dying! Now, the angst is nigh as Tim has to decide, which is more important, his security in the family through keeping his little secret or relieving everyone’s worries about Bruce's health… but risk him being thrown out. Useless, unneeded, a hindrance not a help.

Honestly, this is such a fun read! A brilliant one-shot that I highly recommend! Check it out.

Redfish by Bionerd2Point0

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types

Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, Complete Work

20 Nov 2020

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas

Alternate Universe – Merpeople, Merpeople, Mer!Jason, mer specialist!Tim, Aquariums, Past Rape/Non-con, animal cruelty, Captivity, Mpreg, Pregnancy, non-graphic childbirth, implied depression, attempted drowning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Language Barrier, Sign Language, mersong, they sing, it's a thing, Happy Ending, intersex mers, Pods

Summary:

Strapping the goggles and mask on, he gave the all-clear and hopped into the water. It was practically frothing with bubbles, and if the situation were less serious he might have made a joke about Finding Nemo and a bubble volcano, but as it stood he could barely see a thing and his anxiety was sky high.

Studying mers for upwards of a decade had given him a healthy respect for how dangerous they were when humans threatened their territory, let alone when they were brooding with a grudge. He wanted what was best for Big Red, and he was absolutely certain that Red did not know that yet. He’d feel a lot better about all this if they could actually see the mer, but with how frothy the water was, Tim could barely see two feet in front of him.

He had a desperate, fleeting hope that he wasn't about to be murdered, but the shifting shadows around him weren't very promising.

Part 1 of Free Willy: The Mer Edition

Language: English Words: 22,355 Chapters: 5/5

Yuki Note:

This is a bit of an odd one. But it’s all in good fun. Jason is a pregnant mermaid/merman/merfolk/mer - yes, you read that right, he’s a pregnant cis male mer, but keep in mind he’s not human here so mer biology can work differently to human biology – and Tim is a mer specialist and, to a lesser extent Steph and Duke are humans helping him too. Throughout this story Tim and Jason bond as podmates (i.e. brothers of different species) even in the aftermath of Jason’s sexual assault by another mer as Tim fights for Jason to be released back into the ocean with his pod (in other words the other Bat Family members). If you are OK with pregnant Jason who has his baby in the actual story with allusions to his past sexual assault, then go ahead and try this one! Despite its odd details, it’s a good one and I do recommend it.

Loch & Key by jayburb (toothpasty) for periwinking, usogao, riiverton

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types

Not Rated, Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gen, Complete Work

29 May 2023

Tags:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth

Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd

MerMay, MerMay 2023, Alternate Universe – Fantasy, inspired by loch ness, Loch Ness Monster, No Slash, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Inspired by Music, Cryptid Bruce Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drowning, Near Death Experiences, Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake Angst, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Spooky, H2O: Just Add Water References, You'll know it when you see it

Summary:

The legend of Loch Gotham says that any child left on her shores will be taken by the guardian of the lake.

Tim Drake decides to test that theory.

Language: English Words: 12,514 Chapters: 3/3

Yuki Note:

This is a sweet story of how Loch Gotham monster or mermaid/merman/mer Bruce (with the help of the mysterious Alfred) takes young kid Tim away from his absent parents to become his youngest son. They don’t do it immediately, though – at times, I felt the pacing was a little slow but still enjoyable. They wait and watch and see if Tim is really in need and then they offer him the option to join them not just steal him away from his home. It’s told in three parts from Tim’s perspective as he slowly learns about the mystery of the Loch Gotham monster with his camera in hand. Highly recommend!

shallow water blackout by envysparkler

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types

Teen And Up Audiences, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gen, Complete Work

24 Feb 2021

Tags:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne

Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe – Merpeople, Human Tim Drake, Drowning, Exhaustion, Enemy to Caretaker, Mer Jason Todd, Selkie Dick Grayson, Selkie Bruce Wayne, Implied/Referenced Torture, Selkie Damian Wayne

Summary:

Tim is peacefully enjoying a lazy summer afternoon on the ocean, when something large and shark-like nudges the bottom of his boat.

It’s not a shark.

Language: English Words: 17,402 Chapters: 3/3

Yuki Note:

This is Titans Tower Mer Edition! Basically, human Tim joined the selkie Bat Family after mermaid/merman/mer Jason died. But now Jason is back and out for revenge on this selfish little human who took his family away from him! So, when Tim is out in the boat on a nice day, Jason torments and tortures him (by drowning him over and over). Things get pretty desperate on Tim’s end! If you want to see how this angsty story gets resolved then why not give this a read? It’s a three-shot so angsty you can taste it.

Enjoy! And feel free to explore my full AO3 rec list here.

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lovesickf-fics · 6 months ago

Note

Could I get a Jason Todd x GN reader think like angsty smut -🎪 (He/They)

The first since the last

Jason Todd x gn!reader

Reader pronouns : they/them

Tw : mentions of his (past) death, crying, choking, thigh slapping, light somno, scratching

Summary : Jason returns and the first person he finds is you, Whatever happens it certainly isn't talking

The Lazarus pit had done many things to jason, but he knew one thing even if no one else wanted to remember him as he was there would be one person, it'd be them.

He left the grave, his name tagged on it for the first time since the plot was originally chosen and he left, heading were his legs took him, rooftop to rooftop, alley to alley all to their apartment.

The door is easily bypassed for the open window, he laughs at the irony of his old warnings that fell on their deaf ears about getting broken into, as now it's him breaking in

Their apartment hasnt changed, the same decor, the same furniture and the same photos dotted around the place and there they were, fast asleep on their couch, the tv still on faintly lighting up their form

Jason almost laughs at how easy this was, it felt written in fate - not that he believed in any of that after everything he went through but still, he looks down at them and grins, tracing their face, the first real person he's seen since clawing himself out of his grave, the dirt stains their cheekbone and suddenly everything is real

He grabs them, not caring if their asleep at the moment because it's real and he's there and that's more important and with that train of thought he kisses them, their body not moving yet but he knows it will soon

They do wake of course, the lack of sleep written behind their eyes, and the look they give jason almost makes him doubt his existence, he eyes the dirt that's littered on their face and sides now from his hands and he let's out a smile

They look terrified and for a moment Jason relishes in it because its a feeling and he can see it, he can see the way the cogs turn in their head and he's almost obsessed with it, but it doesn't deter him, now that they're awake he can do so much more

That's how he ends up on top of them, grinding down, watching them squirm and almost fight him off and he thrives, if anything it makes him want it more because why shouldn't he, he's real and so are they and he wants them and that's perfect.

They do eventually catch up, but he can't blame their lack of awareness, they were asleep and he's meant to be dead and instead he was kissing them in their sleep.

They kiss him back, their hands grab him, nails digging in, scratching, proving he's real over and over again while their hips move and his hand hits their thigh, the sound and warmth to his palm makes him grin against their mouth

It's all too much, every sensation almost feels like it's his first time feeling anything and it makes him crave it, it's animilistic and its raw and when they both cum, the rooms silence makes both of their ears ring and it crashes down as they look at him again, a slow hand touching the scar that lingers on his cheek, the one of many they can see

The night after that is filled with talking, they never stop touching eachother, leaning together, connected at the arms, shoulders, hips and legs but it's something softer, more vulnerable and when jason leaves just before the sun rises, they don't question if he's coming back this time, and that's enough for them

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jasonsknight3 · 1 year ago

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Unwanted help

AK jason Todd x sweet waitress reader

Warning: Contains violence, slight gore, aaaaaaand weapons (figured I needed to start putting warnings.)

Gotham had always been a dark place with even darker shadows. A sweetheart like yourself would be swallowed whole, or at least, you should have been. Lucky for you, you’ve only been subjected to unwanted catcalling and unauthorized touches. Most of it happens at your diner job. However, most of the women there waitressing had been there a long time and came to your rescue. Tell them off if you will because unfortunately you are the shiny new toy. Originally you came to Gotham for a college education, and to get away from home. To your dismay you had to drop out. Not because you were dumb or anything it’s just, well, you didn’t have the money. It just didn’t work out. Your life has come to be what it is now. Being stuck in a waitressing job. At least you made good tips and enough money to still live in your apartment.

After a harsh shift you were instructed to lock up the dinner. Which wasn’t supposed to be your job tonight. It required more effort than people would think. Make sure dishes were done, the place was clean, turn off lights, make sure chairs were put up, all the other micro things that added up. As soon as you locked that final glass door you hastily made your way to your bus stop. “No. No, no, no, no!” You cry as you see the bus just pull away from your stop. “Wait!” You shouted running even faster only for your desperation to be ignored. “No.” You weezed as you came to a stop, your hands resting on the top of your knees as you fought to catch your breath. Sitting up you looked around, nothing but an eerily quiet street, dim streetlights, and trash. This could easily become a dangerous situation for you. You weighed your options. Taxi was out of the question, you learned from others not to carry cash on you, you couldn’t go back to the dinner, it was closed and it’s not like anyone could help you there and you boss would tanya Hyde if he saw you sleeping in a booth the next morning, no one you knew was awake at this hour, that left only one option. Walking. Taking a breath you prepare yourself for the journey home clutching your purse close.

Cautious was an understatement of your behavior. Looking around Constantly, jumping at tray cats and trash that crinkled in the light wind of the night. About six minutes into your 15 minute walk an extremely alarming sound of someone crashing on the pavement around an alleyway corner. Shortly after the sound of pained groans followed. Your heart hammered in your chest, should you help? What if it was a trick for kidnapping? Should I just leave? You wandered to yourself. Against better judgment peeking around the alley corner you see a man who was crumpled over on the dirty pavement. The man started to get up on his hands and knees, slightly shaking with a groan. His voice sounded odd. Upon closer inspection you notice this man was wearing a red mask that had a slight glow to it, armor, an interesting jacket, and boots. Along with the gray and black suit was red. Blood. An alarmingly large amount of blood stained his gear. Out of instinct you approach him “sir, I’m here to help. I’ll call-“ a soft clicking sound took your attention to his raised hand that had a gun in it. A small gasp escaped your lips. “Get lost.” The man said the mask does not allow any clear emotion to be heard or recognized. Freezing in place you take a breath and continue to talk to him. “You're hurt, bleeding. I’d hate to leave you like this.” You reasoned. “I don’t need nor want your help. Leave the ambulance out of it too.” An odd request but you didn’t worry too much about it at the moment. “Please, you’ll die if I don’t get you help somehow?” You argued. “Very unlikely.” He was certainly stubborn. “Well…” you thought for a moment. “At least let me take you somewhere safe so you can patch up.” The man didn’t reply this time but he lowered the gun and then put it in its holster.

Sticking your hand out to him you hoped to encourage him further to accept help. He looked at it for a moment before getting up himself with a small growl. His legs wobble a little, automatically you rush to his aid tryi go to ease his strain. In a split second she shoved you off hard enough you slammed to the brick wall. You couldn't help but cough and wheeze. Singly he knocked the wind out of you. You honestly would have fallen flat on your back had the wall not been there. “Don’t touch me!” He yelled falling in one knee from the entertainment it took to push you that hard. Still leaning on the wall you catch your breath and push through the itching pain you felt on your back from hitting the rough brick wall. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I promise.” You explained quietly. He mumbled something as he got back up and started to walk out of the alley. “Lead the way.” He demanded. Cautiously you walk up to him. “Okay, I’ll do that.” Glancing at him you ask. “Is it alright if I give you a hand? Just to make sure you don’t fall.” A moment of silence passed before he sighed and lifted his arm which you went under and had it around your shoulder and started taking him to your home.

A fifteen minute walk turned into a longer one but when you made it to your apartment and got inside you sat him down on the couch. “Go get a med kit if you have it.” He wasn’t very nice to be honest . No manners or since of please and thank you. In your bathroom you searched all the cabinets and finally found the med kit. How would he use it, you didn’t have anything in there besides bandaids- Neosporin, Peroxide, and some burn cream that was in a little rectangular bag. Well at least it’s something you reasoned. When you were in the living room there he was, helmet off, top gear off, and his compression shirt off. Nothing but skin. Skin that had scars, some flat, some slightly rose above the rest of the skin, heck, some of them even looked like the shape of barbed wire. As if sensing your presents he looked at you. A fairly masculine face, hooded iceberg blue eyes, his face has major scars. One that crossed from his cheek over the bridge of his nose and up, two on his lips, and a big J on his left cheek. “Well…” he said expectantly. When you got closer you noticed in his hand he had a needle and thread already working on sewing himself up. Setting the box down on the couch next to him you step back and watch. With tactical precision he was patched up within minutes. “Got any pain meds?” His voice was a little gravely and tired. “Yea, I have some.” Again you moved from your spot and headed for your medicine cabinet. Searching through it you found it, some ibuprofen. Turning around you yelp as your eyes are met with the stranger standing dangerously close to you. As soon as he had your attention his hand reached out and held your chin tight as he yanked you close. Eyes wide you stare into his own. “Listen well. You keep this to yourself. You never saw me. You never saw my face. If I ever…catch wind that you spouted out you saw me, I will not hesitate to kill you. I promise I’ll make it slow.” His grip tightened just to emphasize his point. “Got it?” In your lack of responding, he nodded your head for you. “Is that a yes?” You managed a yes through your squished cheeks. “Good.” Taking the medicine he let go and headed to the living room. After a moment you follow suit. He was putting his shirt back on, along with his gear. “Wait- you should rest.” You protest, you hate the thought of him not making it home safe. “I can handle myself, lady.” With that he put on his jacket and helmet. Opening a window he looked at you “don’t forget, you snitch, I’ll find you.” His voice modulated. As quick as he came he was gone. In the silence you just stared at the window questioning everything. There was something different about him. As scary as he was part of you hoped he’d come back.

You brought him to your home, your safe space, a place he would start to visit often and just maybe call it his own.

Got motivated to do a quick sketch, had to hide the hands by cropping the photo…😭

@eva-sparda20

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mysecret02 · 21 days ago

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Hello lovelies!

Jason choosing guns because he knows their weight.

TW: dark topics ahead, read with caution!!!

Jason Todd tried to commit suicide not long after he got adopted by Bruce. It wasn't because he was in a bad situation anymore, but he was more like tired, like bone-deep tiredness that only settles really in after the danger had passed.

He thought about his acceptance into Gotham Academy and thought back on Ma Gunn's and the public school in the city he used to attend.

He missed the libraries and the nice librarian with half-round glasses and the other blonde one with that weird skirt with the cross patterns.

He thought back of school fights and when he found a sandwich only taken one bite out of and yelled "Jackpot!" to noone, than cried not even liking the taste that much.

He thought about his dad, when he bought home take out when he got paid well and his mom smiling and asking him to bring his red race car patterned plastic plate to the big table where adults sat. And the times he was waiting for his dad to come home but knowing it was a bad night from the jiggles of the keys, then the yells and crashes from his parents' room.

He mused on how Dick would be like and if he will get friends Dick supposedly spends most of his time.

He barely hopped on the thought pattern of those who lost the chance of the chain of thought that would lead to believing in a future.

He thought of the blade he stole from an older boy at Ma Gunn's and how he collected a rope from the cave and he got a whole surgical knife and some bottles from the back of the infirmary.

He choose the gun. He had known how to use it, his dad thought it was neccessery knowledge , he taught him all his neccessery knowledge, it didn't matter if he wanted it or not, wanted to know about how every women was a sl@t and how he wasn't man enough for reading books.

He thought it was time. He had lived enough. He would be happy dying this way. He finally got happy. It's time to end it. The future is scary and the past is horrifying and the present sits like an island in the middle of the ocean, he doesn't wait to be washed away under the waves again.

Nobody would care if he died today because nobody got to know him fully because he can't ever be himself fully because that makes others sad and he must lie he is okay when he is not.

He got the gun ready and got it to his head and his hands were shaking and there was music because he wanted to listen to music and he just got the gun some time while walking around the huge house with walkman in hand, then the straps of the airgun in the other.

He was so ready. Then he couldn't breathe anymore, everything hurt and he couldn't breathe and nobody cared and nobody really liked him because nobody really knew him and he didn't know if he could even tell everything to someone, he couldn't, he couldn't, his old friends would be over it soon and probably Bruce and Willis too, Mr.Wayne can get another kid if he wants and he still had Dick and Willis, where's Willis now? He didn't know, he was shaking and oh God Alfred, he will die, he can't breathe and he took the gun to his head and clicked the safety and fired.

And the end of the gun was so cold, so so cold and his shoulder has hit the closet door and....he forgot to load it, he wanted to but then not then he just took the gun and run up.

It was caos, he could barely breathe and tried to focus on the beat and somehow got the gun back to it's original place. He was pacing the manor like a ghost, walking around, existing outside of time and place and thoughts.

Mr.Pennyworth came home from the monthly grocery shopping. They met, he went to sleep, he doesn't know what they had talked about or how long it lasted, he just helped bring in some stuff and disappeared just like he wanted before.

He remembers the date. Years had passed and he still feels weird on that date. He has a bad memory of dates but he can't forget that one. It's not even relevant because nothing had happened, really, it's just somehow shaking every year.

Not many know he tried to do something, that day he got rid of everything he had collected for it. Those who know were never really close to him, just came and gone. For a while after he lost his belief because those like him will go to Hell and then he will never meet his mama again because he did something very bad. Now he knew things didn't work like that, but for a while he believed even if he dies as Robin he will never get to Heaven so he tried to help others so they could get there, to a nice place where his mama is. He considers telling someone this year. Maybe it's better to keep it a secret, not to touch unless needed. But it's interesting because it's the first year he doesn't want to welcome death on this day. He wishes to live. Not exist, not survive, but to be selfish and live.

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 month ago

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chiropterology!

by ichorai Before Bruce Wayne became Batman, back when he was simply known as Vengeance, he accidentally crash-landed into a researcher working at Gotham University after leaping out of a high-rise building. Killer opening, huh? Thankfully, the only thing broken was your leg (save for Bruce's utterly shattered ego). In his defense, it was his first time jumping out of a building that high! Needless to say, years down the line, you found yourself a Bat for a husband, a manor to live in, and a thousand kids to worry about... and you would do it all over again if given the choice. Words: 3725, Chapters: 7/?, Language: English Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic), Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon (DCU) Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Reader, Bruce Wayne/Original Female Character(s), Batman/Batmom, batmom & batfamily Additional Tags: Slice of Life, SO MUCH FLUFF, Future Angst, loosely follows the batfam webtoon!, Batfamily Shenanigans, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), A Collection of Drabbles via https://ift.tt/lvVD98N

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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joekitsu · 3 months ago

Text

Would you still love me (When I'm no longer young and beautiful?)

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63693112

Part 1/3(?)

Word count: 7102

Main relationship: (PLATONIC) Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd

Additional tags: Hurt/comfort, Canon typical violence, angst, insecurity, Good parent Bruce Wayne (!!!), Batfamily feels.

Summary: Jason had underestimated Bruce’s paranoia when he asked him that question. It seems he had also underestimated how much the universe loved fucking things up for him.

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Gotham never quite had quiet nights. The cursed city almost always had something going on in its long shadows, a mugging, a robbery in the making, an assault, a hostage situation. Never silent, never calm, Gotham seemed to roar with chaos. Gotham quiet was never quiet, it was still noisy in every way that mattered.

Today was quiet. Not a single leaf fell to the ground, not a single wave crashed into the polluted docks of Gotham bay. All the rogues were already locked up tight in Arkham. There was no alarm blaring over the police radios, no Bat-signal lighting up the foggy night sky acting like a deterrent to criminals. Quiet. Unnervingly so. A quiet like this never spoke of good things.

The Red Hood stood on a rooftop with his guns in his hands, wary eyes scanning over his territory in the decrepit city. Even Crime Alley was silent, even the wind refused to howl in his ear. Stray dogs laid in their cardboard shelters in the dead stillness, not even looking up as rats scurried into nearby sewers. None of this reassured the gunslinging vigilante, only made the sick feeling in his gut worsen.

Jason had been so ready to call it quits before midnight fell, mind still racing over the vicious argument he had had with Bruce a few days ago. Bruce had been overbearing the past couple of weeks, invading on his patrol routes, commenting on his violent methods, ordering him around like he was still part of his nest, like he was still sweet, innocent Robin-

He shook his head, physically waving away the memory of Bruce’s face pinched in frustration, his voice calling after him as he rushed out of the Batcave, brushing past Alfred without a passing word or goodbye. He had gone straight to his shitty apartment and fallen into bed, wrapping himself in the sheets without dinner (he had been supposed to join them at the table today, but he just had to blow up, damnit-) and skipped out on patrol. Dick had called him the next day, enquiring about him and catching him up on what had happened last night when he hadn't joined patrol. The other man had probably wanted to reassure him that nothing had gone amiss in his absence, but he only succeeded in making Jason’s guilt and frustration worsen. Batman had patrolled Crime Alley when he was unaccounted for, and a drug smuggling ring had been shut down by the Bat clan, cleanly and efficiently. Without him.

They had no issues without him. They hadn't needed him.

He had gritted his teeth through the next two days, chasing down petty criminals and stopping drug distributions left and right. He went out of his way to avoid the rest of the Bats, still seething with directionless anger and soul-crushing sadness. He had ignored injuries, let the bruises take him further from his current issues and had let his body run on survival instinct as he rounded up his spoils. He knew he had been violent, savage, and the criminals knew that twice over.

Which was probably the reason for this unnatural silence, he tried and failed to reason to himself. None of the Bats liked quiet nights, former members or otherwise. The churning feeling in his stomach had not abated no matter how thoroughly he had swept through the streets, looking for any lurking suspicious goons. It simply grew till it crept up into his lungs, suffocating him in silent rage and worry.

Barely heard footsteps caught him before he spiralled, the careful nature of their falls already alerting him to their origin. He let the groan build up in the back of his throat and fall from his lips as he turned. A dark figure formed in the shadows of the rooftop, what should have been heavy footsteps dampened by training, only loud enough to alert those trained to pick up on their sound as a signal of his arrival. The swish of that long cape and the outline of a cowl confirmed his worst fears.

The Batman had decided to patrol Crime Alley again.

He did not react to the loud groan or the quiet sigh that followed when he strode forward to join Jason in looking over the area. ‘Insufferable bastard,’ Jason scoffed to himself.

“You really don't learn do you? What part of ‘leave my territory alone’ do you not understand?” Jason snarled as Bruce turned to look at him blankly. That thrice damned cowl, always hiding away what the older man felt. Hiding away the windows to Bruce’s soul, the gateway to understanding him. Jason had once been the best at it, now he doubted he could do it even with the cowl off.

They had both changed a lot since that horrible day in Ethiopia. Jason had grown some 2 feet taller and years older, had gained new calluses on his palms from training not obtained from his father’s gentle guidance, his hair had obtained a skunk streak and he had one day woken up to find out he was now not lactose intolerant. Bruce had a couple more laugh lines cutting through the planes of his moon-pale skin, his favourite ice cream flavour was now a coffee abomination as opposed to the salted caramel he used to get on late night patrols because his birds liked to steal it from him, his hair was greying at his temples from the stress of a life of stopping crime and he fought like he finally had people behind him, backing him up. Like he finally trusted them to do so.

Jason used to be the best Bruce-whisperer ever, nowadays he feared he couldn't recognise the man he once called dad. He feared his dad wouldn't recognise him either.

The silence dragged on for a few painful moments. Bruce still refused to respond to his question, staring at, staring through Jason like he did when he had a lot to say but was not saying them, emotionally repressed bastard that he was. White-hot anger pulsed through him as the seconds flew by, before Batman's modulator-affected voice broke the silence.

“You were patrolling without joining the comm lines.” The accusation in his voice was apparent, gravelly and modified though it was, and Jason couldn't help but bristle like a sodden cat at it. There it was, another taunting illusion of him still having a place in their midst when they so clearly didn't need him. All those dinners and brunch dates he was invited to but never attended, those playful jabs passed around over comms that he did not intrude on, that rain-soft bell chime chuckle drifting over the lines in exasperation and slight amusement at the stray joke that made him smile without the effects of his modulator; things he never would experience with them because he was not Robin. Not anymore.

He was Red Hood, the crime lord turned anti-hero, the one with crumbling morals and a hair-thin fuse. He was not the second Robin who ran around claiming he was magic, was not the 13 year old who buried his face into his father’s chest to listen to the man’s voice rumble through his body like a gentle thunderstorm, was not the boy who chased Dick around the manor for dog-tagging his book. He was not the Jason they had buried in a new tuxedo. He was not his father's son anymore. He was not the Jason Peter Todd-Wayne they remembered, the one they wanted him to be.

He turned away, his eyes threatening to flood green the longer he stared at Batman’s unmoving form on the rooftop. A cruel mocking laughter spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it, words aimed to hurt like acid following. “Right, just another way for you to control what I do, huh? Fuck that. I'm not part of your motley crew, and you don't get to just boss me around.”

That damned impassive cowl, that damn decade-trained steady form, nothing that indicated a reaction to Jason’s words was visible on Bruce. His hands were tucked under the cape wrapped around him, concealing his body from sight and the (for once) non-existent breeze. His jaw was tense, but that was nowadays par with the course. All at once he could recall a time when Bruce didn't have quite so much tension lining his body, when his smiles cost less and his love even lesser, but that memory slipped away like sand washed under a tide.

There was a barely present hesitance growing in the air the longer they remained in the oppressive silence, something building up in Bruce’s throat but not leaving the dam of his lips. Jason’s impatience only grew, irritation flaring in his gut and mixing with the lingering unease. Batman’s cowl lens flashed as his mouth opened once, twice, before finally calling his name. “Jason,” he began before pausing again, the visible part of his face grimacing, “I- I’m not- we were simply worried-”

Before he could respond, before he could conjure up the vitriol brewing in his chest, two simultaneous pings cut through the atmosphere and drew their attention to their communicators. Only a direct team-wide notification from Oracle could override the restrictions Jason had added to his comm. Dread pooled in his stomach once again, rising and falling like waves attracted to the turmoil in his heart.

“One incoming hostile identified, heading towards Park Row in T-minus 3 minutes. Identity unknown, not one of the rogues.”

“Keep us updated, Oracle. Red Hood and I are on-site. We will handle it. Standby for backup.”

Protests rang out over the comms, Damian loudly demanding to be allowed to join their father in facing the enemy. Dick, ever the loyal and protective son, immediately affirmed himself for backup on standby. Tim had pulled up security cameras following the route highlighted by Oracle, relaying that they couldn't find any evidence of a presence other than a dark blurry figure racing towards Park Row. Their abilities were unknown, their skill set unknown. They were going in completely blind. Jason was going in blind with Bruce for company.

Great. He knew this dreadful fucking quiet wouldn't last long. Fucking fantastic.

It was the evening after Valentine’s day and Jason was completely sick of it. Every single social media platform was overflowing with either sappy scenes of love, women bragging about the gifts their partners had given them, or unrelenting and horrifying drama that frankly shouldn't have been posted on the internet for the sake of the people involved.

‘Or not,’ he shivered as he recalled some of the exposing type videos he had seen, ‘I guess some of those shitbags deserved being called out on the internet.’

Jason’s school had even allowed for the students to exchange letters in the name of friendship, and he had watched the popular pretty girl cringe at some of the letters she had received. Seriously, if people had the balls to give the prettiest girl in school a card, they should at the very least ensure to write it legibly. That horrible pickup line written in a destructive chicken scratch he spotted in the corner of his eye would've made lesser men cry.

Other than the disgusting sappy flowery shit that was circulating, one old trend had resurfaced both online and in real life as it did every year. Everywhere he turned, swiped or clicked, someone was asking another person the million dollar question that could make or break a relationship.

No, it wasn't ‘Will you marry me?’ as he almost wished it was

It was, of course, ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm?’

Ugh, he could gag.

The age-old question was tossed around like spare change from one couple to another, nobody seemed to be immune from the urge to ask it. Even Dick had fallen prey to the compulsion, having bought a bouquet of flowers and expensive designer chocolate (with his own money, as he liked to remind them) for Koriand'r before he had asked the question. She hadn't really understood the purpose of the question (if it did have one), but her enthusiastic ‘yes' had appeased his sorta-maybe older brother. Jason was almost thankful he didn't have a partner, lest he turn into one of these sappy people. He was just 14, thank you. No hypothetical worm-transformation scenarios for him.

Instead of calling Alfred to pick him up after school as he usually did, he had requested him and Bruce to allow him to walk home today. The walk had been peaceful for the most part, the sky had taken on a soft gradient from bright midday blue to the cooler tones of the approaching evening. He entered the manor, a little later than usual, heading into the kitchen with his belongings to ask Alfred for something to snack on as he did his homework. What greeted him wasn't the elderly butler fussing over a pot on the stove, but rather a mound of scented letters and flowers spilling out of large bouquets. The combined cloying smell of artificial sweetness and an obscene amount of pollen had made his stomach roll and he backtracked, regretting his life choices when Alfred had entered, carrying what looked to be several empty garbage bags and a tray in his gloved hands. He paused when he took in Jason’s form, his nose and mouth covered by his hand, and sighed. He must've seen the big red question mark hovering over the boy’s head, deciding that an explanation and context was necessary. The Englishman moved his gaze to the overfilled center counter, working on stuffing the flowers into a garbage bag and placing the particularly pretty ones on the tray as he spoke.

“Welcome back, Master Jason. I hope you had a good day in school today. Do forgive the mess, I was not expecting your arrival and did not have the time to clean up Master Bruce’s mail yet.”

Bruce’s mail.

Flowers and scented letters.

Bruce’s mail?

Oh. Right. Valentine’s day. His father was one of the most eligible bachelors in the whole of America. How could he forget?

It had been a year since Bruce had decided to take him in after he tried to steal his tires, and Jason could pretty safely say that it was the best thing to have ever happened to him. Bruce had given him a home, food and clothes, a stable means to the education he craved so much, and most of all, he had given him family. It was pretty obvious how awkward Bruce was when dealing with emotions, how he rarely let himself succumb to their devastating pull. But he tried. He tried, for Jason, for Dick, and for Alfred.

He ruffled his hair with every minor achievement, sneaked him out for ice cream during and out of patrol without Alfred’s knowledge, sat with him and did his homework with him even if he had other work to do. He had cooked for him when he had fallen ill with a nasty flu and had sung him to sleep in a dreamy low baritone. He had held him through his breakdowns, he had paid for his mother’s funeral, he had single handedly turned Jason’s life around, made it into something actually worth living, something better.

(The first time Jason had called him dad, Bruce had honestly been moved to tears. Jason barely had the time to realise the implications of what he had said before he was pulled into his father’s chest in an all encompassing embrace, Bruce’s quiet love permeating their shared space and saturating his surroundings. Bruce’s wide torso bent forward, covering him completely before he had moved back, getting down to his eye level. Jason had never felt more secure than the moment his father had held him so close, his heartbeat strong and steady in his chest, beating so close to his ear. They had cuddled and talked for over two hours that day, reassuring each other of their love and mutual affection. Bruce had then carried him to bed like he was simply 5 years old, had tucked him in despite his half-hearted protests and pressed his lips to the furrow of his brow and the peak of his forehead. His own way of saying ‘I love you’, the safe way, he had realised when he saw Bruce do the same for Dick after he had gotten injured during a mission with the Titans.)

Knowing your father was famous for his looks and style was one thing. Realising how true that fact was was a whole different can of worms. Realizing what that fact meant for him as the son of said man famous for his ethereal looks and charming personality was something Jason would not like to experience again. Jason had not come to terms with it yet, always dogging Bruce’s heels at the galas he attended, claiming his attention like a tiny rain soaked pup. He had almost bitten off a man’s hand when he had wandered too close to Bruce once. Dick had sneaked into his room that day after Bruce had left for patrol just to give him an approving thumbs up before leaving. Alfred had lectured him about gala etiquette, but the extra cookie for dessert didn't fool anyone.

This new knowledge caused him to scrunch his nose in disgust at the piled up junk on the counter. Heaven knows what crap they had written in those letters and what they had added to those flowers. Jason hoped Alfred was turning them into incinerator fuel. He could already bet 20 dollars on there being a letter written by a parasocial creep asking if his ‘beloved Brucie’ would love him if he became a worm, followed by a truly 0/10 shitty pun. Alfred smiling in amusement at the visible disdain on his face, continuing to clean up the counter, soon accompanied by a smaller pair of hands. Together, Jason and Alfred had cleared the entire mail before Bruce returned from the unavoidable Wayne Enterprises meeting he had scheduled for today.

Barely-there footsteps alerted Alfred to his ward’s arrival, and the butler’s shifting attention clued Jason in on the new arrival. Jason quickly got rid of the last of the evidence as Alfred set up a few snacks for the father-son pair to enjoy with newly brewed tea. Just as both of them were done with their respective tasks, Bruce had entered the doorway to the kitchen, one hand working on loosening his tie and the other musing up his gelled hair. His eyes fell on Jason’s smiling face and Alfred’s fond expression, tension leaking out of his shoulders in waves as he moved to take a seat on the barstools next to the counters. His socked feet were hefted onto the stepping bar on the stool, his hands folding onto the counter as he looked at his son and his father figure together in a shared space. It still made him unnecessarily happy to see his family sharing space and working together, a small smile blossoming on his face, lifted into place by the smell of fresh cookies and tea, ballpen ink and cheap printed A4 paper.

“Evening Alfred, welcome back Jason. How was school today, chum?”

The boy beamed at the older man, sun warmed skin splitting as a boyish grin covered his face. “Welcome back Bruce! I hope your meeting was more interesting than last time. Let me tell you, lunch hour was crazy! Anne Cathy rejected Kelly Cooper in front of the whole cafeteria and it was-” As the pair fell into middle school gossip, Alfred chuckled to himself before moving to start on supper preparations, keeping an ear out as Jason recounted the drama that occurred over lunch and bled into the rest of the day. Bruce was invested in the story, amusement shining in his eyes as he watched his son continue to detail out the witness stories and backgrounds of the pair involved. Apparently, Kelly Copper had given Anne Cathy a card for Valentine’s day and had asked her out on a dare, hoping for an easy acceptance, except Anne had ruthlessly torn into him in vengeance, airing out his dirty laundry and humiliating him in front of 40 or so other middle schoolers. It was basically a social death sentence. By the end of the day, Kelly had fallen from his Sports Star status to yet another average middle schooler, just with tons more embarrassing stories staining his throne in tomato splatters. Middle schoolers could be more cruel than Gotham high society at times.

As laughter erupted and eventually petered out into a warm joy, a sudden thought made Jason stop and face a moral dilemma. Was he really considering doing this? When he had just spent the whole afternoon mock gagging over this cheesy bullshit? On one hand, the idea of asking Bruce the question was intriguing, as it was bound to bring about unexpected and funny results. On the other hand, it was very cringey. Jason took a few seconds to debate the pros and cons over in his head, weighing each option on an imaginary scale before coming to his conclusion.

It may be cringe, but at least he would be cringe and free. Also, watching Bruce flounder when asked that question would be so worth it.

“Bruce?” His father inclined his head, signalling for Jason to go on with his query. A teasing smirk fit onto Jason’s face as he spoke the next few words. “Would you still love me if I became a worm?”

Silence fell over the room as Bruce turned to stare at him blankly. Jason could practically see the hundred thousand geared machine that was Bruce’s mind turn and run to try and comprehend what he was just asked. Jason could even see him trying to come up with an answer that he thought wouldn't offend his son who clearly asked him a serious question, as if he hadn't asked it just to watch Bruce try and come up with an answer for fun. Bruce was nothing if not an overthinker, and he was obviously debating all the common answers one would give to someone who asked them such a question.

‘Yes I would’? Have you considered what that means for you as a human who would love and raise a worm?

‘No I wouldn't’? So you would deny any affection for me simply because I am not like you?

‘It's complicated’? Oh Fuck you, you sorry coward. Escaping the question in such an obvious answer.

There was no right answer to the question and only one widely semi-accepted solution to it (something only the people completely serious about it would accept). No matter what Bruce answered, Jason would have a retort ready to make him more confused. It was a master plan of epic proportions, the Riddler could never.

(Somewhere in Arkham Asylum, Edward Nigma sneezed.)

Bruce’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed again. He was doing a very accurate depiction of a goldfish and Jason was having the time of his life. Even Alfred looked amused, watching his indomitable Master Bruce, the World’s Greatest Detective, trip over himself for a simple question just so he doesn't accidentally offend his darling son’s delicate sensibilities.

By the time Bruce had collected himself enough to give Jason a clear answer, Jason had decided to relieve the man of his stress and moved to leave the room, snagging the last cookie off of the plate, grabbing his bag from the ground and climbing the stairs to his room. His laughter bloomed and blossomed, coating the walls of the Manor like a fresh coat of pearlescent paint. The hallways echoed with childish glee and innocent joy. The evening sun peeked in through the windows and the portraits covering the walls basked in the invited sunlight. Bruce’s home was lively once again.

That night after dinner, instead of leaving on patrol as he was wont to do, Bruce had knocked on his door, holding something behind his broad back with a slightly nervous look on his face. Jason opened the door for him, trying and failing to peek at what Bruce was holding as they both sat on his large soft bed. Jason watched as Bruce took a moment to properly gather his thoughts before he spoke.

“I… thought about your question.” he started, gaze shifting from Jason’s warm teal eyes to the floor and then the ceiling. “And. I think you brought up… a very valid concern.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to be confused and honestly kind of worried. What? That was supposed to just be a stupid question, aimed to poke fun at his dad. What did he mean by a ‘valid concern’?

“With the existence of magic and our, admittedly, lacking knowledge on how the art works, there is always a non-zero chance of something similar occurring in the line of duty. And. it would be optimal to have a safe space to contain an accomplice in that case. So.” His dad’s awkwardly rehearsed speech was only half heard as he continued to stare at Bruce in bewilderment. Bruce finally revealed just what he was hiding behind him. Jason gaped at him as a semi-large box was revealed to him. The words ‘Terrarium building kit’ in bold neon yellow block letters were plastered on all sides of the box, depictions of different living and self-sustaining biomes contained in glass containers popping out as backgrounds.

For a moment, Jason was completely sure his father was pulling his leg, but no. The set of his eyebrows and the glint in his eye revealed that Bruce was being completely, irrevocably serious about this.

“Do you want to build a terrarium habitat with me?”

He couldn't help it, Jason burst out in hysterical laughter, the pitch of his voice rising higher and higher like a helium filled balloon in an open concept home. Tiny tears escaped his eyes as he bent over himself, clutching his stomach as he laughed at the truly paranoid mind of one Bruce Thomas Wayne. He couldn't believe it. This was what his dad had been obsessing over most of the evening? This went beyond his expectations. No, it crashed straight past them like a wrecking ball. God, this was hilarious.

“B, B-man, Bruce, you can't be-” He hiccuped through his words, giggles interrupting him as he moved his gaze back to his father’s slightly bemused face. “Oh my god, you are actually so serious I can't- Hah! Dick would never believe this-” He continued laughing his ass off for a few more moments before Bruce realised the hilarity of the situation and he was joined by a hesitant and subdued windy laughter. He grinned at his dad, amusement leaking out of every cell in his body at the light chuckles he was releasing before he hopped off of the bed.

“Oh, I can't believe you are willing to miss patrol for this- Come on dad! We have a terrarium to build, contingencies to make, all that fun stuff.”

“It seems like a quiet day, what can I say?”

With that, the duo ventured into the Batcave, entering winding halls before Bruce showed him an honest to god Aquarium tank the size of a medium sized cabinet surrounded by bags of compost and terrarium soil. He gave him a small sheepish smile, palm running through his gently mussed hair as he tried to explain their existence to his laughing 14 year old. “The box is for one of those tiny tanks chum, you can not be thinking I would make you a tiny worm house, now would you?

The rest of the night was spent in the Batcave, shovelling dirt and sand into the tank. The activity was interrupted by stupid dad jokes and giggle fests so loud they disturbed Bruce’s pet cave bats. Bruce had allowed Jason to skip school the next day, calling Lucius to let him know he wouldn't be attending any meetings that day. Instead, the two of them had shared a hearty breakfast courtesy of Alfred, donned their best civilian disguises and ventured into the streets of Gotham in one of Bruce’s less fancy cars. They had visited parks, collected driftwood and broken branches and rocks with patches of moss Jason thought would look pretty. Bruce had patiently lugged around the containers containing their finding to and fro the car, had wadded into ponds after Jason trying to keep him from falling in the waters going after a particular piece of wood, had collected all the different kind of moss in the parks even though the kit came with a fast growing variety. They had then hit the hardware stores, buying humidifiers and screws and tubes of various sizes and other miscellaneous thingamagigs Bruce thought they would need (Jason had initially patiently let Bruce indulge in his love for building and mechanics in the hardware store, but that patience had quickly run out as he started to compare the pros and cons of two wrenches that looked virtually the same to him. If it had been up to him, he would have picked the cheaper one, but Bruce’s rich kid sensibilities would have never agreed with his assessment).

They had stayed out way past lunch time, buying and feasting on the kind of greasy fast food Jason liked and Bruce typically never indulged in because Alfred would never approve. They had licked their lips and Bruce had wiped the mess of sauce on Jason’s flaming face despite his squirming and kicking. They went back home with ice cream cones in hand and a car full of terrarium supplies, playfully jabbing at each other's choice of ice cream flavour. Alfred’s deadpan stare did nothing to quell the easy satisfaction in Jason’s heart as he and Bruce went straight to the cave to continue installing their little project.

By the time they were done, night had fallen and dinner was being served. The sweet caramel haze of the day had not faded in the slightest, the crunch of oreos in sugary cream stayed on his mind even as he pulled his blankets over his face to sleep. It was a school night and Bruce had made it clear he wouldn't be accompanying him on those days, so he settled for bed with laughter and gentle smiles drifting in his drowsy mind.

It was simply the best day ever.

They had never ended up using that terrarium. A non-zero chance was not a guarantee, and Jason had not stayed around long enough to see their little project be put to any use.

Bruce had almost taken an axe to the thriving biosphere in his desperate rage and drowning guilt one day. Instead, he simply moved the tank into a hidden room, curled around the glass enclosure and sobbed himself into restless sleep before it was time to patrol again. If the noses he had broken that day reminded him of his almost disastrous decision, that was only for him to know.

Batman and Red Hood quickly evacuated the rooftop, moving in long strides towards their hostile target. The tenseness of their previous conversation hung over them like the blade of a guillotine waiting to fall and divorce their heads from their bodies. It was hidden to the common eye, but a trained individual would be able to tell that they weren't really in the most optimal formation for a battle. Years of fighting crime together didn't hold up against family angst, it had been so long since they both stood side by side against a common enemy. Sure, Jason had been joining the Bats during their patrols and sometimes lent a helping hand, but he mostly stuck to long ranged cover. Even when he did join them in close combat, the Bats took care to pair him up with anyone other than the big daddy Bat. They were an active minefield waiting to explode at any given moment, and regardless of their professional nature on duty, no one trusted them to not blow up at each other when in close proximity. It was in everyone’s interest to not let them interact, and that choice meant they never got used to each other in battle again. That was really coming to bite them in the ass now.

Not that they were not adaptable if push came to shove (as it was, right now), it would have simply been easier to get used to each other before rather than during battle with an unknown entity.

The sharp clicking sounds of heels disrupted the tense silence that had fallen in the area, giggling so very reminiscent of a hyena’s laughter echoing off of Gotham’s narrow alleyways and tall walls. A short feminine figure emerged from the shadows, a comically large witch hat flopping around on her head. A manic grin was etched onto her face as her gaze immediately fell on the vigilante pair ready to lunge at her should she do anything to warrant it. The Batman had his signature batarangs lining every junction of his palms and the Red Hood’s hands were already loaded with his dual pistols. Her giggling intensified as she stared the pair down, stance loose and careless. Self assured. She had no visible weapon in sight, her long black pigtails swaying ever so slightly in Gotham breeze.

(Jason had to scoff, really? The breeze decided to blow right now of all times? Fuck Gotham Quiet man)

“Oh my! What a charming reception! The big bad bat and the red riding hood just to welcome little old me? I'm flattered!” her sardonic voice cooed. The pair had tensed further as she talked, cautious around the new player in their midst. Batman hoped that by letting her ramble, they would be able to gain some idea on her abilities. Though, given her choice of attire (and the absurdly large hat), he could safely assume that she used magic. Great. Just great. Fucking fantastic.

Bruce signalled to stay down and not engage unless she moved, but Jason was getting really tired of today. The steadily rising unease that had plagued him the whole evening had made him more than a little irritable, and he was just itching for a quick fight. Before Bruce could stop him, Jason had already fired at the woman only to watch them be deflected by some sort of force field.

The woman simply laughed louder, a mocking smile slipping higher on her face before she started to ‘tsk’ at them. “How very very rude, young man. Not polite at all! I was hoping to pass through with only a little chaos for the road, but you've gone and done it!” Her palms shimmered for a second before an unidentifiable object flew from a random direction towards Jason. It was only his training and reflexes that saved him from spilling his brain matter on the asphalt. He dodged the projectile, discovering it to be a rock. He hadn't seen her throw a rock, neither was anyone hidden in the shadows. It was only them.

“Come on now, show Madame Kaos a good time!”

It soon divulged into a frenzy of dodging random flying objects and dancing around her without stepping on each other’s toes. They were doing a remarkable job actually, not getting in each other's way, too preoccupied with dodging their own weapons being used against them. Jason ducked his head to leave the flight path of what looked like a demon possessed batarang just as Bruce literally dodged a bullet flying at him straight down from the sky. Anything in their surroundings seemed to be fair game as a weapon for her, as she soon graduated from using rocks and fired bullets to manhole covers and garbage can lids. At her command, cardboard junk turned into animated cutouts of cartoon characters attacking them, heavy metal sheets flew about like oversized frisbees, weeds growing along the edges tried to trip them as they dodged and weaved and attempted to attack her. Bruce had gotten close once, delivering a few heavy blows before he became preoccupied with dodging once again. She didn't exactly seem to have much combat training, so taking her down shouldn't be too much of an issue. If only they could get close enough to actually hit her again.

Tim’s voice crackled over the comms, yelling out weak spots for him to try and hit with his rubber bullets. He bit back the urge to yell back at him that he was preoccupied with trying not to get his neck sliced in two and instead readied his guns once again. He didn't want to waste his bullets, and he especially didn't want to give her more options for flying projectiles, so had to make it quick and accurate. Tim had pointed out a gap in her stance, uncovered by the force field sporadically appearing to ward off the stray thrown batarang before animating the metal into a deranged demon bat. He had to give it to the little stalker, he had observant eyes for someone observing the battle from the shitty Gotham security cameras.

As Jason took aim, Bruce had also heard what Tim had planned and took to diverting Madame Kaos’ attention from his son, throwing more batarangs and slicing through the cardboard cutouts clutching at his legs. In the instant her attention was taken, Jason fired, bullet striking true and strong in the sensitive spot. The woman doubled over in pain, all her projectiles dropping to the ground as the magic driving them was cut off. Bruce had immediately taken out a weighted bundle of net from god knows where, throwing it over the woman to immobilize her.

Seeing as the woman was down, Bruce took the chance to move closer after a few tense observatory moments in an attempt to restrain her for custody. From the side, Jason could see her hands shine in a way that alerted him that she was going to make another move. But Bruce wouldn't see it coming, Jason realised, her hand wasn't in his line of sight, conveniently hidden by her long hair and bent over body.

‘This isn't like people write in books’, Jason thought as he moved, intercepting whatever attack Madame Kaos was about to unleash on his father Bruce. Time didn't slow down for him, there was no dramatic moment, no tense musical crescendo playing as he was hit by a bright beam of violet light. Only desperation fueling him, only the view of his father’s face as he was blocked from the attack, the devastation visible even through his cowl, just the searing pain of his cells being torn apart and put together again and again. If it wasn't so glaringly painful, he would almost compare it to using a zeta tube.

His scream of pain cut off abruptly, leaving the area in a stilted silence. He felt himself grow smaller and smaller, body losing its shape as he writhed through waves upon waves of pain. He felt himself shift into something distinctly non-human, calloused skin folding over itself once, twice, a thousand times and becoming a hard shell. His legs didn't feel normal anymore, didn't feel like his aching pair anymore. On that note, he couldn't distinguish between his different limbs. It all felt like a fever dream, an excruciatingly painful weed trip.

It took him a few moments to regain control over his senses, eyes opening to view the world around him. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, everything looked fuzzy and discoloured, as if multiple copies of the same picture were placed on top of a single frame. His hearing came next, frantic calls of his name falling from Bruce’s lips prompting him to turn in that direction. He looked up, up, up at Bruce, all the way from the ground. His impassive face was twisted in obvious worry and concern. Jason tried to look for the woman and discovered that she was nowhere in sight. Bruce had let her escape!

“Are you serious?! All that work and you let her get away???”

Suddenly, Jason realised that he hadn't opened his mouth to say anything. Or rather, he couldn't make those sounds with his mouth. But clearly Bruce had heard him, since he looked at Jason with bewilderment, concern and a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

“...Jason?”

The incredulity in Bruce’s voice was not giving Jason any good vibes. Hesitantly, Bruce went down on his knees and reached out a gauntlet-covered hand to him, reaching all the way to the ground right in front of Jason. Well, he supposed, if he had really shrunk to such a small size, assistance was required. It would also be safer than walking around on the ground as a tiny being. With a great amount of reluctance, Jason moved to climb Bruce’s palm.

Or well, tried to.

Because he suddenly had way too many legs to control.

What the actual fuck?

It seemed that he had ‘said’ it out loud as well, because Bruce let out a hysterical snort.

Jason tried to turn and look at himself, but found himself unable to turn his head without turning his whole body. His legs did not cooperate with him in his panicked state and there were two random long red things waving themselves around in his line of sight. He tried to get up off the ground and failed miserably.

Bruce finally seemed to take some pity on him, retrieving a small piece of reflective metal from his utility belt and letting Jason look at himself.

Jason ‘screamed’.

By god, did the universe love to fuck with him. It was almost like he was her favourite punching bag.

He had been turned into a worm.

A WORM.

“You're a centipede, Jason. Not a worm.”

Yes, Thank you for the clarification, Bruce. It wasn't like they had more important things to be focusing on, such as him BECOMING A DAMN CENTIPEDE.

He ‘yelped’ as he was plucked off of the ground and placed on Bruce’s palm. He tried to bite the man in his outrage, but the gauntlet shielded him from the bite. Shame, centipede bites were painful as fuck.

“Don’t bite me Jason”

‘Fuck you Bruce.’

“Language, Jason. It appears that you can communicate via some form of telepathy.”

Oh great, he was one step away from starring in A Bug’s life.

Great. Just great. How fucking fantastic.

‘Fuck my life.’

“Language.”

Thank you @cheriecelestial for motivating me to finish this lol and again, the banners as well :3

Part one is over, let's see how long it takes for me to write part two.

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