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savagenutella46 · 4 years

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Who I’d Be - 2 of 2

Part 1 <- did I do that right? Sorry in advance.

Inspired by m3owww’s statue of ice

"She can't know, Timmy." Marinette whispers, wincing at the tight grip Tim has on her elegant green-silk dress, clutching it so hard wrinkles begin to form. Janet will have her head for those later.

They're standing in the corner, shouldered off from the rest of the Gala by a lone velvet curtain covering the long window sitting beside them, while Tim grasps onto her dress and pleads.

"Why not? She'd love to come! She'd be so proud of you." Marinette winced again, the wholly untruth of those words invisible to her twelve-year old brother, who's eyes are so innocent and excited. She looks down at him with a brief smile, and gently extracts her dress from his hold.

"Timothy." A pointed look, to show she is done with arguing with him about the conversation. "I assure you, Janet will not know of the exhibit prior to your mouth, so you will do your best to shut it." Formal language with Tim will always turn the sparkle off in his eye, the excited glint disappearing, and as much as it brings a hammering wallow to her heart, she swallows the regret harshly down her throat.

"Look, Tim. She's never been a fan of my photography. She would rather go to your parent-teacher conference." She plasters on a fake smile as she says the words, and they practically grind against her teeth as they fall out of her mouth.

He's been begging her to tell their mother about the photography exhibit for days on end now, and she can't give in now. He doesn't know about what happened to her old camera, and he never will. It was in pieces by the end of dinner, that day.

Tim sags his shoulders and sighs, putting on an unimpressed look at the mention of parent-teacher conferences. "Whatever." He turns around and reenters the ongoing Gala without another word.

Marinette swallows her plea for him to come back, please, and sighs. She looks down at the wrinkles in her—

—satin dress, and Janet, an almost unnoticeable twitch of her jaw, displays her disdain for the tiny creases at her hip. Marinette breathes a sigh of relief and feels a drop of sweat roll down the side of her neck when Janet turns back to the fellow business partner she had been conversing with before Marinette caught her attention by walking back into the room.

"Are you okay?" She flinches at the unexpected hand on her shoulder—jumps a little too noticeably to just be nerves, settling once she notes the hand is smaller than Jack's.

Marinette turns around, and suddenly, her vision is spilled over with a bright worried blue peering into her own eyes, searching for anything and everything, leaving her bare, almost as if they were stripping the secrets from her very own soul.

She must've looked surprised, because the voice quickly started to speak again, soothing her downtrodden nerves with a surprisingly gentle voice. "Sorry, you looked backed up for a moment there." Marinette clears her throat and spares a quick—panicked—glance back at Janet's back before settling back on the boy, who's followed her gaze with an almost imperceptible furrow in his eyebrow.

"It's fine, did you need something?" The boy's lips quirk up for a second before flickering his gaze down to her midsection and up again.

"Your hands are bleeding." Marinette's eyebrows shoot up, tearing away her eyes from the boy to take a glance at her clenched hands, where her nails have penetrated the skin and blood was oozing out.

"Oh," She breathes, and unclenches the fingers from their grip to reveal crescent-shaped welts in the heel of her palms. The boy takes a warm and surprisingly gentle hand to each of hers and begins to tug her along the floor, almost bumping into several ladies with long, expensive dresses who each took a turn to glare at her once they saw who was dragging her.

Huh, they must not be a fan of this guy.

"So, what's your name?" She turns her gaze back to him, and he's already peering at her with a slight turn of his head and a tiny grin. She never knew such a small upturn of lips could convey so much emotion, so much gentleness, but she finds herself not wanting to tear her eyes away from it.

"Oh, Uh—Marinette, Marinette Drake."

"Jason Todd." She swallows harshly as she realizes just who he is.

"You—"

"Yeah. Not really a big deal." He turns his head back to watch where he's going, and she finds herself going cold under the loss of Jason's gaze. Marinette mentally scolds herself and lets him pull her into a secluded room away from the Gala, momentarily breaking away to grab a first-aid kit from a fancy wooden cabinet.

Jason rummages through the white kit, "That woman, she's your mom?" She can almost decipher an undertone of scorn from his voice. Marinette coughs and looks away, a prickly feeling rattling its way up her arms and fingers at the slightly mention of her mother.

"Yes." The painting on the beige walls looks very interesting right now as she feels the weight of his piercing stare on her shoulders.

"Figured. She was lookin' at you real weird. Like she wanted to shoot an arrow in between your eyeballs." Marinette's head snaps back to Jason, and he has a skeptical look on his face, like he thinks...

No. He's wrong.

Whatever he's thinking, it's wrong.

—But, still, it hurts to wonder.

"You know, I've heard about Jack and Janet Drake, but I've never heard of you. Just Tim, that's his name, right?" She nods, turning her gaze back to the small wrinkles in her once magnificent green dress.

"I tend to keep out of the limelight. Less people to judge me." She hears a huff of laughter from right in front of her, and looks back up to see Jason kneeling before her hands, gently taking both of them in his warm hands, wiping away the blood with a cotton ball.

"I understand that. Still weird though, never would've guessed you even existed if I hadn't seen you right in front of me." The atmosphere around them was slowly starting to get uncomfortable, and Marinette feels as if a frog jumped in her throat and planted itself at the base of her lungs, scratching and strangling her.

"W-weird." She'd never been one for receiving public praise or glory. Never had her parents talk about her with a twinkle in their eye and a found sense of pride in their voice and posture, as if she were the best thing in their lives. No, instead they confined Marinette to her bedroom to waste away.

(What they didn't know, there was a rope she would swing down from her vast window, escaping through the abundant gardens to escape to the library.)

Jason hums in agreement, but not without a disbelieving glance in her direction. Not like she was looking anyway, feeling a nervous sweat start to form on the back of her neck as she stated hard at his hands, who are making their way back down to his own lap.

"All good." She wishes it could be that easy. To slap a bandaid on all the things that made her worthless, and finish the whole ordeal off with an “all good”.

But, no. This is not an “ordeal”. This is her livelihood, her existence. She is—

Who is she?

She’s putting up her photography on her appointed wall space. Snapshots of Gotham at her finest, smog floating through the air, the dim glow of lights as they spill onto the leaf-littered streets. The assault of dirty rain, like cold, hard truth spilling onto the leaves of sweet lies she almost surrounds herself with.

Because she defines herself with photography. She defines herself into computers, hacking the Pentagon at least twice a week.

But, photography without her, it stays the same. Marinette without a passion, she dies and wilts away under the scornful glare of her mother. She is hated, worthless, disgusting, mortifying to mention, as if the utter of her name will bring disgrace upon the Drakes.

Marinette is wearing her finest dress. Leaf-like structures sewn into the bodice, streaking their way down her waist and puffing out to follow the soft ivory dress.

“Woah.” Marinette could’ve sworn, even as someone stands very obviously behind her, looking over her shoulder, that she did not tell a soul about this exhibit.

—Except Barbara Gordon. Marinette turns around, and Barbara appears to be ethereal before her own eyes, ginger hair curled and spilling like a waterfall down her back. A deep mahogany dress fits around her, as if it’s made solely for the capable woman.

“Babs, you made it.” (Because, Barbara would kill her if she called her anything different.)

Barbara smiles beautifully at Marinette and slaps the boy next to her on the back—the one her uttered such a defining, yet normal word under her work. (Woah—she never thought her work was capable of such a word.)

It’s Jason Todd standing next to Barbara, looking quite fancy himself and staring at her with an awe she’s never seen on anyone before. Marinette smiles at him with familiarity, eyebrows slightly furrowing when he tears his gaze away, suddenly, and a red tint blooms across his cheekbones.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t, besides, this is worth it.” Barbara pulls her gaze back with a warm voice. She continues, “Where’s your parents?” She turns her head and scans over the crowd, before returning back to Marinette with a questioning look. Suddenly, Jason’s eyes are back on her as well.

She fiddles with her thumbs, taken aback by such a question. “Um, uh, they’re—“ Sitting at home, arguing with each other. (They’d decided to skip Tim’s parent teacher conference, for the boy was top of his class, what more did they need to know?) “They’re—they couldn’t make it.” She coughs, ignoring the apologetic eyes before her.

“So! What do you think?” She smiles, quickly changing the subject, and even though their gazes remain the same for a second, they quickly agree with her non-verbal plea to change the subject.

“It’s great—“

“Wonderful. How do you get your shots so high up? You’d need to be awfully skilled to do that. The amount of dark to light shots of Gotham contrasts perfectly with each other, really shows the side we don’t see.” Jason listed, keeping his eyes on the photos the entire time.

Marinette opens her mouth, gaping at Jason. She’s sure Barbara is doing the same without looking at the older, judging on the cricket-inducing silence coming from Marinette’s left.

Jason seemingly snaps back to reality, shutting his mouth audibly and clearing his throat. “Sorry, you just...” And Marinette finds it in herself to talk once again.

“Thank you, that...really means a lot to me.” Jason looks back at her, and she smiles widely at him, a real, genuine smile she’s sure she’s never produced in her fifteen years.

Jason smiles back with the same intensity and continues to rattle off compliments, ones she knows is coming from his heart, because there’s a heavy blush on his face the entire time.

Maybe she’s found her passion. Maybe this is who she is, because, standing under the bright museum lights, standing next to two unexpected—but welcome— friends who acknowledge her worth, she’s found herself.

She’s Marinette. Just Marinette.

This is who she is. She is something. She is everything she’s ever wanted to be.

Taglist: @jjmjjktth @moonlightstar64 @laurcad123

#jasonette #jason todd #timmari #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #ml x dc

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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Jasonette July Day 3: Grave

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event

Prompt: Grave (EDIT : trying to make it look consistent)

Rated: T

Side note: Tikki and Plagg being the ones who created the Lazarus pits is my favourite bit of Maribat crossover lore.

Marinette had only known Jason for about a year, ever since that day he commissioned her for a new suit and leather jacket design. She had seen news reports about the Red Hood, but she had never seen him in person ever since she came to Gotham. That was until he visited her just as she was getting ready to close up shop. Marinette needed to know why her mysterious client was asking her to work with a great big bolt of Kevlar. It seemed like a challenging task for the young boutique owner. It wasn’t necessarily being used for nefarious purposes. He was a crimefighter, one of many that tried to keep Gotham safe. Tikki felt like there was something strange about him, but she couldn’t quite put their finger on why.

She didn’t think she’d ever see him again, until one night when there was a loud banging on the boutique door. Marinette was about to say something about people having no manners when she saw a redhead in a red suit and a green cap…with someone’s arm slung over his shoulder. Marinette rushed to the front door to find the Red Hood, with his helmet cracked to reveal a part of his face. She could make out some matted dark hair and a red domino mask around his eye. “Please, do you think he can lay low in here for a while? At least until we can get him fixed up,” the redhead asked, “we can’t take him to the hospital”. Marinette looked around before hurrying them inside.

She got to know more about Jason, the person behind the red mask. There’s only so much you can hide from a person after they end up cleaning and stitching your wounds in their apartment. He told her that he slept on the streets of Gotham before being taken in by Batman when he was 13. He told her that, when he was 15, he went on a journey to find his birth mother and he was never the same since. Jason would say that the old him died that day. Marinette assumed he meant that he was so drastically changed by the experience, that he was unrecognizable from his old self. Still, she got to know the person he was in that moment, and that was what mattered. The two became close and started dating shortly after, and Marinette told him that she had been a superhero since she was 13. Marinette remembered seeing a worried look on his face, before assuring him that she was up against very different villains from what he was used to in Gotham. Marinette wondered if he was worried that she could have ended up like him?

Marinette knew that there was a roguish charm to him, possibly a remnant of the young boy he described from his past. She would occasionally help him as Ladybug, and he became impressed with her quick thinking in a fight. Marinette told him about the time she got a rocket launcher as a lucky charm and discarded it because she only needed the targeting laser. She was certain that she saw a tear in his eye at that moment. Marinette also knew he was someone who cared about those close to him, a group of people who now included her. She got the chance to meet the rest of his adopted family, that is when he wasn’t at odds with them. Dick reminded her far too much of Chat Noir, Damian was a lot colder and more standoffish, Tim told her he’s like that with everyone. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Marinette knew Jason would put his life on the line for his adopted brothers. She came to know Roy as the more optimistic of their dynamic duo, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t battling demons of his own. As the year went on, Marinette went from being unsure about him, to feeling safe and warm with him by her side. Even Tikki came to see that whoever this person was, he made their Guardian happy, and that was what mattered most.

Today, however, Marinette had been worried sick. Jason had left for a mission in a rush, barely able to say goodbye. That was days ago, he had not answered any of her messages or her calls. She paced around the apartment in a panic, “why isn’t he answering? Is he hurt? Captured? Worse yet…dead?” She slapped her cheeks, trying to snap out of it.

“Jason’s strong, he can handle it. If he’s in trouble, I’m sure Dick or Tim would help him. If he’s really in trouble, Bruce would certainly help him,” Tikki assured her as Marinette paced around the room.

Marinette decided to take a trip to Wayne Manor, having some of Alfred’s baking would calm them both and she could ask him about Jason’s whereabouts. Ladybug sets off to Wayne Manor, changing back before she arrives at the front gate. When she arrives in the kitchen, she is greeted by Alfred wearing an apron. "Welcome Miss Dupain-Cheng, you're just in time. I'm doing the finishing touches on the ginger biscuits. Why don't you take a seat while they cool?"

Marinette smiles at Alfred, she could smell the biscuits from the front door. "Thanks, Alfred, I came to ask about Jason. I haven’t heard from him in a while,” she asked.

Alfred scratched his chin, "Master Todd? It would be best to ask Master Bruce then if it's related to work. He is currently asleep and should wake up in an hour or two"

“Thanks, Alfred, mind if I have a few biscuits to go then? I'd like to have a walk in the gardens, " she asked.

Alfred nodded and handed the biscuits to her in a paper bag.

Marinette took a stroll around Wayne Manor, walking past Damian drawing something, whilst a large dog was curled around him. She came across the private Wayne cemetery at the very edge of the estate. She was drawn in by the Gothic architecture and design of the area. Curious about the history of the Wayne family, she tentatively wandered into the graveyard. She saw the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Everyone knew the story of how Bruce watched in horror as they were killed in Crime Alley.

She froze in shock as she saw one grave in particular, tears began forming in her eyes. “Here Lies Jason Peter Todd: Gone But Not Forgotten” in large bold letters. She felt her heart breaking, many questions raced through her mind. How did he die? Why didn’t anyone tell her? Did no one at least think to invite her to the funeral? She was too stunned to move, Tikki floated down to take a close look. Before she could utterly break down in tears, she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, Pixie Pop” Marinette whipped around to see Jason standing before her. He was casually eating a chilli dog, acting as if standing in front of his gravestone was the most natural thing in the world. Marinette didn’t know if she should feel happy, distraught or furious. At first, she slammed into him, hugging him tightly. “Hey, Pixie, did you miss me that much?” He was about to return her hug, and maybe finish eating the chilli dog over her shoulder, when she softly pounded her fists into his chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, her fists punctuating her words, Jason was trying to make sense of what she meant. He had told her that he had died before, or at least tried to. Even he didn’t like to talk about it, the events leading up to it and how he was brought back. Eventually, she stopped, and just curled into him with tears streaming down her face. Right now, the last thing she needed was dumb jokes as he held her close to him.

“I’m sorry, I” Jason tried to explain, only to be interrupted by Tikki.

“Marinette,” Tikki called, Marinette looked back at the gravestone to see the date written on the tombstone. The year was 7 years ago when Jason was around 15.

She turned back to Jason “so when you said that your old self died…”, Tikki finally realised why she always felt there was something strange about him. The Lazarus pits, the result of a wish that she and Plagg were forced to grant long ago. Tikki could sense her magic on him, and a faint hint of Plagg’s magic that would consume him if left unchecked. In the time he’d known Marinette, he had managed to keep it under control, for her sake.

“So what happened? These last few days I mean,” she asked as she pulled away, wiping her tears on her sleeves before crossing her arms.

“I was gonna call you, Roy and I were in Paris fighting killer mimes when one of them fried my phone,” he explained. “I tried to get you something to eat from your parents’ bakery on the last day we were there, your parents said ‘hi’ by the way”, he told her.

“Then what happened?” she asked, he wasn’t holding any paper bags or boxes with their logo on them.

“Roy ate them all is what happened, right after his little talk with Killer Croc,” he told her.

“So why didn’t you just drop by for a visit when you came back?” she asked.

“We tried to, but Roy was craving chilli dogs and I was just ready to crash,” he replied. The look on Marinette’s face told him that if he didn’t do something, he might be back in that grave a lot sooner than he thought. “Look, I’ll make it up to you, starting with taking you to that little craft store you love…” he suggested, the corner of her mouth pulled into a slight smile. “I’ll buy you as much silk, satin and tulle as you want. Paid for with money we got from kicking killer mime ass”, he promised.

“You mean I’ll get a chance to sew something that isn’t Kevlar, leather or your flesh? Who are you and what have you done with the real Jason?” She asked jokingly. As the two of them walked away, Jason wrapped his arm around her. He glanced back at his tombstone, that boy had been gone for quite some time now. Right now, he was just trying to be a better man.

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #maribat

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forlornmelody · 4 years

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Kord Center Mall: Out In The Rain, In From The Cold

Rating: E (the nerdiest smut you’ll read all week.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics, Jack Nought from Mass Effect makes an appearance, but familiarity with the game is not important

Ship: Rose Wilson/Jason Todd, mentions of Jason/Roy/Jack

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Rose is finally ready to come clean with Jason, and admit the feelings she has for him. But is it too late?

Note: This is a cross over, mall-verse AU concocted by @scifi-ginger and myself. You’ve been warned. Also, I just want to state, for the record, that I wrote this before Titans: E.L._.O. hit the internet. I have the Tumblr snippets to prove it.

–>–>

The ground’s so dry when she leaves Cassie’s, Rose doesn’t even think to grab a jacket on the way. By the time she reaches Jason and Roy’s apartment, the sky’s dumping car-wash levels of water on the bus. Even though it only takes her five minutes to walk to the building, Rose’s clothes are sticking to her when she rings the doorbell. Lightning cracks in the clouds behind her.

Opening the door, Roy’s face flashes bright and dark as the thunder rolls around them. “Rose.”

“Roy.” Rose takes a breath. “Hey. Uh--”

“Fuck off,” Jack calls from the couch. “Jason doesn’t want to see you.”

Yeah. She deserves that. “Could you at least tell him I’m here?” Rose says it to Roy, not Jack.

Lighting flashes two more times before Roy sighs. “Fine.” He holds up a hand to keep Jack back. “But I swear if you hurt him again--”

“Fuck, Roy. I’m here to apologize.” Rose glances at Jack as she steps gingerly through the doorway. “Nice to see you, too. Jack flips a finger in response.

Just as Rose knocks on Jason’s door, the power goes out. “Oh come on!” Jason yells from the other side of the door, and she hears the crash of a controller hitting the floor and the rolling of batteries as they fall out.

Rose has perfect timing. She clears her throat, reaching to knock a second time when Jason opens the door. His cellphone casts soft grey light along his jaw and highlights the sheen on his nose. “If you’re an axe-murderer, I’ll--Rose!?”

“Hey,” she says softly, pulling out her own phone to cast some light---only to realize it died on the way here. “Shit.” Better not fuck this up.

Jason lingers in his doorway, his eyes roaming over her like she’ll vanish any second. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Yeah. Me either.” Rose dares to step closer, looking up at him. “Can I come in?” Jason hesitates ever so slightly, but it’s enough to kick Rose in the gut. She deserves that, too.

“Sure.” He steps to the side, swinging his arm wide. Jason never kept a tidy room. Rose would constantly remake the bed before she left. If she brought pizza, she’d have to clear off the beer bottles and carefully move the bong out of the way. But Jason always took care of his books--bookmarking them, closing them gently and sorting them on the shelves by genre, author, title, routinely cleaning them with a fucking feather duster. At this point, Jason doesn’t even have a bedroom--he has a personal library with a bed in it. Right now--it looks like a tornado had swept through the shelves.

“Fuck.” Rose muttered under her breath, frozen in the doorway.

“Did you come here to talk, or to judge me?” Jason folds his arms, and Rose notices the bags under his eyes for the first time. She’s reaching to push the hair from his eyes before she catches herself.

“To apologize,” Rose says quickly, ducking inside before Jason can change his mind. She finds a Complete Works of William Shakespeare lying open in the middle of his bed. Obviously, it’s too dark to read, but she’d know the size and thickness of that book anywhere. One of Jason’s favorites.

Rose sets it aside, sitting on the edge of the bed with one foot draped across her lap. Jason lingers by the door, but he does close it behind him. His eyes track the movement of the book before daring to glance at her again. “Why’d you come back?”

“I missed you.” Rose says. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, she chants over and over in her brain, but “sorry” doesn’t feel good enough right now. Jason deserves the world, and Rose is just a tiny island wracked with storms.

Jason’s eyes soften ever so slightly before they harden--cold as steel. “Missed what, exactly?”

Rose allows herself a small smile. Jason loves the big questions--meaning of life, origins of the universe, whether true love exists--he always has his head up in the clouds. Meanwhile Rose stands back on earth--rooted in doing things--going, doing, fucking, eating, breathing. The thunder outside nearly drowns out her words. “I missed the way your eyes change color when you’re angry, happy, or sad. The way you smile when you think no one is looking.” She itches to get closer to him--show him exactly how much he means to her, but it’s not her choice to make. “The way you forget the world around you when you’re reading.” Her voice thickens, with love or want--she isn’t sure. “The way your face lights up when Roy comes in the room.”

Is it still raining? Rose isn’t sure. All she can hear is the thundering of her pulse in her ears and the sound of their breathing. Jason still hasn’t said a word or moved an inch--him and his fucking poker face.

At first Rose thinks her eyes are straining to see him in the darkness, but then she feels a tear slip down her cheek. Damnit. This is why she doesn’t do this stuff. Love, real love, hurts. “I realized I didn’t want to live without that. I didn’t want to live without you. I don’t want to.” Jason probably can’t even understand what she’s saying at this point, with the way her breath keeps shaking her voice.

Jason finally looks away, and Rose nods to herself. Figures. It’s too late for them. It’s always too late. “Sorry,” she mutters, standing up and wiping her nose and eyes. It’s gonna be a bitch getting home in this weather, but she’ll manage. Rose always does. She’s halfway to the door when Jason grabs her hand.

“Where’re you going?” he says softly, squeezing her hand.

“I…” I’m going home, Rose says in her mind, but the words don’t ring true. She turns, daring to face him. “Not sure.”

“Stay.” Jason tugs her ever so slightly, and she falls into his arms like she just jumped off a building. He reeks. Always has. Like dank weed and cheap beer. Rose wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Jerk my arm why don’t you?” His laugh rumbles against her chest and she pulls back just enough to look at his face. Rose traces his features with her fingertips, reacquainting herself with the tip of his nose, the jut of his eyebrows, the firmness of his lips.

Everything’s so desaturated in the dim room, but Jason’s eyes shine the brightest blue. “I love you, too.”

Rose couldn’t tell who kissed who first. She’s too busy tasting his mouth and messing with his hair. Jason breaks for air, only to pay careful attention to where her jaw meets her neck. His hands roam her shoulders, arms, sides and stomach as if he can’t get enough of her. He has far too many clothes on. No zipper on Jason’s hoodie, so Rose lifts it to his shoulders, but he gets tangled in the sleeves. “Candles,” Rose says hoarsely.

Jason peeks at her blankly through the bottom of his hoodie.

“Please tell me you have some. Jack’s surely got enough to set the apartment on fire but I’m not keen on asking her tonight.”

“Be right back.” Jason frees himself of his shirt and hoodie, slipping out the door shirtless.

Rose sits on the bed, unable to sit still, still humming with the thrill of his touch. She glances back at the Tome, and switches Jason’s phone’s flashlight on so she can finally read it. Jason has it open to Sonnet 87,

“Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou knowst thy estimate.

The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,

And for that riches where is my deserving?”

Rose swallows, reaching to close the book when Jason comes back inside--his arms full of candles. He freezes when he realizes what she's reading.

“Oh, hey. Lemme take care of that.” Jason sets the candles on his tv stand, reaching for the book.

Rose swats his hand. “Candles.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason replies. “Fine. Fine.”

Leaning back, Rose watches as the candles, lit one by one, cast a soft glow along the lines of Jason’s body. She doubts she’ll ever tire of the view.

Lighting the last candle, Jason whisks around, lighter still in his hand. He nods down at the book. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Interesting choice. Real depressing.” Rose kicks her heels against his box spring.

Setting the lighter aside, Jason grins slowly. “Actually. Hold on a sec.” He kneels, clearing a space on the floor.

Rose stares at him. “No. Absolutely not. Your floor is a fucking mess.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be touching it.” Space cleared, Jason glances up at Rose. “Hand me Shakespeare.”

“Whatever.” Rose hefts it over, eyes widening as Jason sets it reverently in the space he cleared. “You’re shitting me.”

Jason snickers, shaking his head. “C’mon. The book may be hard, but the pages are soft.”

“Oh my god. I’m couching you for that.” Rose chides, but she gets down from the bed anyway. She glances at him one last time before sitting gently between the pages.

“Better.” Jason’s eyes have darkened to a warm green. The fact that a dead playwright and poet makes him all hot and bothered never ceases to amuse her. “Lean back.”

Rose rolls her eyes, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it beneath her arms.

Jason makes quick work of Rose jeans, shucking them off and tossing them across the room. Rose snorts as they take down a couple bottles in their fall. “Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.” His grins as he lowers himself to her neck.

“What’s in a name?” Jason murmurs into her skin, his voice as reverent as a priest’s on Sunday. His fingers drag the zipper of her soaked hoodie down her chest, and goosebumps prick across her skin.

“That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.” Jason lavishes attention where her neck meets her shoulder, and Rose’s so caught up in his touch she almost doesn’t catch the reference. Almost.

“Romeo and Juliet? Really?” she snorts, pulling back to give him a look of disdain. “Most overrated play ever.”

“It’s a classic.” Jason pouts, his fingers edging underneath her t-shirt--a suitable challenge with the way the fabric sticks to her skin. He dives to kiss her collarbone. “And it has your name in it.”

“Jace, they off themselves because they’re impatient hormonal teenagers.” A moan slips from her mouth as he kisses from her waist to her chest, pushing her shirt up and out of the way. “It’s not romantic.”

Dragging the shirt and her bra up and over her head, Jason grins at her. Oh, he knows. “So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d.”

“Do you put Jack and Roy through this? Or am I special?”

Jason doesn’t linger on her breasts, just moves her damp bra off her skin, hanging it on one of his bedposts. “Retain that dear perfection with he owes.” He plants a reverent kiss in the valley between them.

“I am special, aren’t I?” Rose groans, for more reasons than one.

Instead of answering, Jason snickers against her skin, breathing her in. “Without that title. Romeo doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee,”

Rose has another comeback coming, somewhere, but it’s hard enough trying to keep her breathing steady the farther south Jason travels with his mouth. He stops just north of her thighs, grinning up at her. “Oh, come on, already,” she groans again, letting her head fall back.

Jason wets his lips and tongue, waiting for her to look at him again. Once he has her full attention, he whispers, “Take all myself.”

Then he plants a kiss against her clit, and Rose shudders despite herself. “Really? You think some, some poetry is gonna, oh.”

She can feel his grin as he toys with her licking gently around but never quite touching where she wants him most. His hair musses in her fingers as he kisses deeper, harder, licking her with nice, long strokes. Jason moans with her, the hum reverberating across her skin. Rose’s hips rise off the book and Jason holds her down with one arm. Pausing, Jason licks one finger, then another, and Rose can’t help but cry out his name as they thrust in and out of her while he lavishes attention on her clit. Fuck, she’s probably tearing his hair out, but she can’t help it. Now she’s so close she’s--

Jason pulls back, kissing her thigh, and Rose curses him and half his family. “I take thee at thy word:”

Fuck her, she’s pleading, pulling him back. “Jace, please. I need.”

Snickering, Jason plants a soothing kiss on her thigh before gathering her hands to her right side, holding them still. “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized;” he murmurs as he wets his lips again. Something in her belly roils as she realizes what he’s planning.

Mm, yeah, Jack and Roy definitely heard that scream. Let them, Rose thinks, until she can’t anymore, so focused on Jason’s feather light touch against her clit. She’s so close to falling right off the cliff when he pulls back again. This time, Rose bites her tongue, shaking as she waits for him to continue.

Jason watches her come down from the brink, his smile wide (and his lips covered in her slick), and his eyes bright. Part of Rose wants to hide from that look--she doesn’t deserve it--she’ll break his heart--he’ll find out what she’s really like and he won’t look at her like that any-- Squeezing her hands, Jason pulls Rose from her thoughts, and she swallows hard as she allows her walls to come crashing down. “Jason, I--”

“Shh. We’re almost there,” he whispers, kissing her hands, squeezing them again. Waiting until she’s relaxed again, Jason leans down one last time, his words barely audible, “Henceforth I never will be Romeo.” He brings her back slowly, using his fingers as well as his tongue, seemingly touching her anywhere and everywhere at once. Sliding one finger inside her, then another, he closes his eyes, gracing her with long, slow licks, pumping and curling. Rose isn’t even sure what sounds are coming out of her mouth anymore, as her hips rise and fall with his fingers.

Her world flashes whiter and hotter than lightning.

Maybe seconds pass, maybe hours, when Rose finally opens her eyes. The candles have nearly guttered out, and Jason lies, with his clothed legs intertwined with her bare ones. Rose should pay him back for that--when she finds the energy. She leans her forehead against his, murmuring. “Power still out?”

“Yeah.” Jason reaches out, trailing a hand down her bare back.

“You need to clean off the bed before the candles burn out.”

Jason groans, holding her tighter. “Fine.” He releases her standing up stiffly and reaching for the stuff scattered across his bed. “Love you too, Rose,” he muttered under his breath.

Rose sits up quickly, grabbing his hand. “Wait.”

Looking down at her in exasperation, Jason asks blankly, “What?”

“I love you.” The words feel so strange coming off her tongue, but Rose knows them to be true. “Meant to say it earlier but you were too busy going down on me and quoting lines to listen.”

Jason pulls her to her feet, and into a kiss. “You can say it whenever you want.”

Rose’s so busy tasting herself on his lips she almost doesn’t notice the hiss of the guttering candles. “Shit.”

“What?” Jason pulls back, looking around at nothing. “Fuck.”

#jayrose #dc comics #jason todd #rose wilson #au #mallverse #kord center mall #melody writes #jason is a nerd #I don't make the rules #and rose loves him for it

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coffee-randomness · 5 years

Text

Lie

(Roy Harper x Reader/ Jason Todd x Reader)

Note: Loosely based off a request I somehow ended up deleting from the askbox (sorry!). Also a little thank you to all the new followers that came out of nowhere while I was away, and to the ones that stayed.

Trigger warnings: implicit drug use, cursing, death mention, hospital, angst.

Word count: 999

Tagging: @insideoflit @speedypan @the-shadow-of-atlantis

———

All you can think about is his name. It echoes in your mind with every breathless step you take. Up the creaky stairs of the building. Hands reaching for the doorknob. You almost want to scream it.

The world is a blurry mix of colors and sounds as tears travel down your cheeks. The trembling whisper that his name becomes as it escapes your lips heaves with fear and sadness.

In the very center of your chests, something shatters and travels down your legs, making them so heavy you sink.

Roy is lying on the floor, limps spread as if he was already dead. But his eyes are open, and he stares pass you, a glossy film enveloping him.

Face cold, you scramble to him and cup his face with your hands. His name spilling out of your mouth like a desperate plead, a curse, a yell. Whatever it takes to get him through, to get him back.

He reeks of blood and broken promises yet, he smiles. It’s bright, despite the shades of red and pink painting his teeth, dazed eyes dancing over your face. And almost sincere, as if you don’t know what that half flushed plastic package handing inside the toilet means.

Fingers forcing his mouth open. Searching down his throat and pulling back as he coughs.

That idiot, reckless, selfish bastard. If he wanted to go, he would have to try harder than this.

When he’s done, he holds on to you, shaking, and even though you want to put your shoulder away from his grip and scream, you let him.

“It’s okay,” you lie. “I’m here,” even though you wish you weren’t.

You get lost in the shattered pieces of his soul, glimmering bits reflected on his iris, and help him lay back down.

He whispers something that’s half an apology, half a confession, you can’t quite tell them apart. He promises it won’t happen again: a lie.

“You’re so pretty tonight,” he manages to let out. “Did I screw up another date?”

Ginger locks brushing your naked tights, you nod, feeling the tears clenching your throat.

“Shut up, Roy,” you stammer, sliding your hand into your pocket.

Seeing your blurry phone screen, you whip your eyes with your forearm and take a deep breath. Fingers nuzzling the top of Roy’s head throughout all the calls.

———

“He’s going to be ok,” Jason says, partly to himself.

He has been repeating it from the very moment you called him, like clockwork, every time Roy’s heart beat slower, every time his breath shook and every time you seemed about to cry. As if his words could materialize into reality. His own kind of personal prayer.

Jason brushes his thumb on the back of your hand, comforting, and there’s nothing you want to do more than fall to pieces on his chest.

Instead, you look away. There’s purple circles under Roy’s eyes, other than that, he seems peaceful. All the brokenness hiding behind his closed eyelids.

“He’s gonna be so mad when he wakes up, y’know?”

Something boils down your stomach and your grip on Jason’s hand tightens.

“I couldn’t fucking care less.”

After spending two days at the hospital only hearing him scream those awful, horrible things, you tell yourself you’re done crying, worry melting into quiet anger.

———

You stand at the side of his bed. Roy propped up, half laying on a pillow, half sit.

He’s glaring at you. The idiot, reckless, bastard is glaring at you even though he’s wearing a hospital gown.

“I could’ve managed it by myself,” he says.

You rise you hand fast, violently, no real thought behind it and you see him closing his eyes, bracing for impact, willing to take anything you give him.

“How dare you?” You want yell, you want pounce his chests and shake him back into reasoning. But your lips stay sealed.

Your hand stops inches away from his cheek, and it is then, watching the way he opens his eyes slowly, a pinch of mischief glinting on all that green, when you break down.

“So much for being angry,” you hear Jason whisper, his hands on your waist keeping you from falling to your knees.

“Shut the fuck up,” you let out through sobs.

He helps you up the right side of the bed, and you wrap your arms around Roy’s chests, holding on to him. The bed sinks under Jason’s weight on the left side and a part of you wonders how could the three of you fit in there.

“I hate you,” you mumble.

“I know,” Roy nods.

“I really do hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

You repeat it until the words lost all meaning and fingers are lazily brushing hair strands away from your face.

“You need to stop doing this.”

“I know.”

“I was just so fucking worried. You were almost dead and I...”

“I know.”

“Stop saying that!” You snap, too close to his hear he jumps a little. “Sorry, I just... I just don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Hey, keep talking like that and your boyfriend here will get jealous.”

“I might as well do.”

“Guys, this is no a fucking joke, I’m—“

You don’t know how much time you spend cursing or begging, the thing is your eyes are puffed out and you’re starting to feel sleepy for the first time in days when you’re finally done.

“And Roy?”

“Yes?”

“No more lies.”

He kisses the top of your head, hand rubbing your shoulder. “No more lies.”

Jason stands up. “Now I’d say you need to get ready for real trouble because I’m calling Kori.”

Roy gulps, a bewildered look on his face. “Can’t you wait it up for a little longer?”

“No,” Jason pulls out his phone and walks away.

“Jaybird, wait!”

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silver-snow-writes · 5 years

Text

The thing with Jaytim and a lot of cats

This is a not! fic campfire I did on a discord server that I’m porting over here, I hope y’all enjoy the fluff. @inkyubus and @salazarastark helped a bit towards the end

———————————————————————

Okay. Tim is canonically a cat person and it has annoyed the hell out of me that Tim never got pets but Damian gets a menagerie, so I always give him a cat when given the opportunity by plot

Tim finds a pregnant kitty on his fire escape, and takes her in. He’s calling on Selina and googling everything he can after processing that oh right this is going to be a big change, and goes out to the pet store incognito to grab supplies

But he’s at the Crime Alley theater house apartment so Jason is out doing an early evening patrol, spots him, and gets curious. What’s he doing around here in civvies?

Jason tails him to the nearest pet shop, and back to his house, where he spots him playing with soon-to-be mama cat. He wants to be mad that Tim’s in *his* territory, clearly living here, but it’s hard to get too pissed when he’s giving a happy kitty belly rubs and smiling like that.

Jason’s seen him do confident Robin grin, dangerous “I’m gonna fuck you up” battle smirk, calming civilians smile, even polite Wayne heir curve of the lips. But smiling joyfully like this, eyes uncovered, clearly laughing a little as the cat demands treats? Something goes warm in his chest

Meanwhile Tim is feeling tired and stressed bc his life is a busy exhausting and traumatizing mess lately but it’s hard to think about the bad stuff when he has mama cat and her litter to think about. She’s clearly been a pet before and is so friendly and cuddly that it breaks his heart to think someone abandoned her. He gets her to the vet to check for a chip and get her looked over, and when there’s no chip that cements his decision that fuck it, he’s keeping her

He totally names her Arwen bc there is no way in hell a kid that was a DM for DC’s D&D equivalent isn’t a fan of LoTR. Arwen has to get mites and fleas removed but once she’s flea free she’s sharing his bed

Jason. Is still keeping an eye on him, subtly. Staying out of range of Tim’s security systems and Babs’s cameras and telling himself it’s all because he can’t just let the Pretender go unsupervised in his turf. And sure that’s part of it. But Tim’s actually pretty good about sticking to patrolling his own territory and that helps somewhat

And well. Jason regrets what went down during that mess after Bruce died. Was kinda shitty of him to repay Tim letting him out of jail by stabbing him in the chest and all. He’s a big awkward goober dealing with some guilt now that he’s more settled, so he has trouble figuring out how he should approach Tim and let him know that Jason is aware that he’s holing up in Crime Alley

He’s gotta do something eventually, right? Ah well. Can’t hurt to just. Watch him, every now and then. See him through the windows being a goofy new cat dad and a disaster of a teenage vigilante

(Jason, honey, things really have come full circle)

Eventually things get set in motion. LoS assassins attack Tim’s apartment, Arwen runs away bc scared kitty, Jason jumps in to help fight the assassins and then they go track down the poor baby. And some bonding and pining bc Jason is developing such a crush and also hot damn Tim fighting and winning is a sight to see

Tim is understandably wary about Jason but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when he’s being helpful and even offering to assist him in finding Arwen. She’s due to give birth soon!

(It’s been about a month now and she was already about midway through when Tim first found her. Domestic cats are pregnant around 57-65 days, so around two months)

They end up running around asking the ladies of the night and various others if they’ve seen a pregnant long-haired tabby cat. Eventually they go back to Tim’s apartment as dawn is breaking, only to find Arwen is on his fire escape again and in labor

They get her inside, clean up, and Tim sets her down in his bathtub, petting her soothingly and fussing over her. Jason is still helping out and he just goes with it, gratefully accepting a can of Zesti and medical supplies

I foster cats irl so I know how this tends to go pretty well. Within an hour of labor starting Arwen will finish pushing out kitten #1 and each of the rest will come around 15-20 minutes apart. She’ll clean them up and eat the placentas, which is gross but perfectly healthy, and soon enough they’ll be nursing from her while she purrs and rests

Tim looked into it and well. He’s been around human deliveries before and this was honestly so much quicker that it was a relief

(He was there when Steph gave birth and has likely helped deliver babies as Robin bc pregnant women can and will go into labor when shocked, like being held hostage or getting hurt in an accident)

He sits back with a sigh and pays his full attention to Jason now. He hasn’t been fully ignoring him persay, still keeping an eye and an ear on him just in case, but he’s been. Surprisingly nice and nothing but helpful, Tim isn’t sure what to think of it. Jason’s staring at the kittens but turns to look at Tim when he notices that the younger vigilante is assessing him

There’s a long moment of increasingly awkward silence as they stare at each other while the newborn kittens are mewling and Arwen’s drifting off to sleep. Jason is the one that finally breaks the tension, rubbing the back of his neck and looking back at the kitties.

“So. Pretty cute cats you got here”

Jay immediately cringes inside because yeah, it’s true that the cats are cute as heck, but c’mon Todd address the scenario

Here’s inky’s contributions:

"yeah real cute when they're covered in blood and placenta" tim retorts and then wants to smack himself.

"it's ok. they're still adorable through the bodily fluids," jason's smile is so fond when he looks down at the kittens tucked tight into the curve of arwen's body that tim thinks he must be dreaming

he's never seen jason with an expression even close to fond or happy since he came back. jason is stroking arwen's tail with just the tip of a finger, smoothing down the crooked fur.

(Back to me again)

He hasn’t seen him look so happy since he was. Since he was Robin, and Tim was just a fanboy with a camera

(Inky)

"you like cats?" the question breaks jason out of his reverie.

"they were just always around. alley cats are cranky fucks, but city strays are never that afraid of humans. they'd come around and beg for scraps until someone chased them off."

tim hummed, scritching arwen between the ears. "you were pretty good with her just now."

there was a tiny flush on jason's cheeks. "might have invited one in for a few days when no one was home. chased her off before she could get too attached."

(Me)

“I always wanted a cat, but my parents hated them and Alfred said no. I found Arwen on my fire escape hiding from a stray dog and I just had to take her inside”

Eventually Tim offers Jason a cup of tea and Jason asks about the cats more. Arwen’s name comes up and leads into a talk about Lord of the Rings, bc they both read the series and loved it. And a debate comes up over something they saw differently but it’s still friendly

Maybe Tim liked the movies’ take better than Jason did and they argue the merits vs flaws of the adaption. But they both agree that the Hobbit movies are way less faithful to the book

By the time they’re done with the tea and their conversation the sun is up and Jason ducks out to go home, feeling butterflies in his stomach at the memory of Tim smiling and laughing at him. Tim is reminded why he used to have a crush, but still very watchful bc he thought things were getting better before BftC happened

He goes to sleep and wakes up to Arwen balefully glaring at him bc her breakfast is late

Tim got injured during the LoS fight and aggravated it while looking for his poor kitty, so in the end he’s not really up for patrol that night. He stays in his apartment and alternates between looking over case files on his laptop and checking on Arwen and her babies. He lets Oracle know he’s off rotation for the night and to let Cass patrol his territory bc she’s visiting, and settles in to do some hacking to find out why Ra’s sent the assassins last night and talking with Lonnie about Unternet developments

He’s in the middle of hacking a phone’s datastream to find footage taken by a teenager that noticed skulking shadows outside the windows when there’s a knock on his window, and he checks his security system expecting one of the Bats to have gotten past his sensors. It’s Jason out on the fire escape with a couple of bags in hand. Tim is confused, but decides to roll with it again. He’s just hoping that the duffle isn’t full of heads

Turns out Jason went looking and found the League’s newest base in Gotham, liberating some paper files, a couple choice weapons, several USB drives, and a laptop that had belonged to the squad leader. He offers to let Tim work with him on this because he wants “those sycophantic assassins out of my territory dammit” and obviously Tim’s involved anyway

They both check on the kittens every now and then. They’re still too little to be doing much but nursing, sleeping, and crying, but god are they precious. And Arwen is a tired but proud mama cat

Now let’s see...Arwen’s a long-haired brown tabby with green eyes (not at all based on my baby Zelda, of course *shhh*). The kittens will be named after the Hobbits—Frodo the black kitten with big blue eyes, Sam the ginger tabby, Merry is white with golden patches, and Pippin is the tiny little tabby runt that mewls loudest

At one point Jason picks them all up and makes a joke while carrying the four of them that they're taking the hobbits to Isengard. It makes Tim snort and then wince bc the injury that kept him in was to his ribs

Tim gets sick. Not like immediately but a couple days to a week or two in, and Jason ends up playing rough but sweet nurse while Tim tries to hide that he’s ill from the Bats. Maybe the ribs issue leads to him getting a cold that nearly turns nasty bc no spleen plus two incidents of death plague and numerous other things mean his immune system’s wonky

Tim’s a stubborn little shit who won’t stay in bed unless Jason picks up Arwen and the babies to put them on the bed with him. He’s not cruel enough to move the babies when they’re sleeping on him, is he? But he can still glare at Jason

Jason might sneak a few pictures. For blackmail, he tells himself. Sure Jason, we believe you. It’s certainly not because it’s adorable and makes you get the warm fuzzies

It feels significantly less adorable when Tim pukes in the trash can and drips snot everywhere but the bedhead and flushed face and some semi-coherent feverish babbling about Star Trek and ornithology helps

Jason remembers Alfred’s cooking lessons and puts them to use, Tim lets out an obscene moan when he starts eating the soup that makes Jason choke on his own spit like a dork

“Did you get this from Alfred? It tastes just like his!”

“Yeah, he taught me how to cook, before...y’know.” Jason is very proud of himself for remembering it correctly, if a bit sad that he hasn’t spoken to Alfred since before he died

“Oh.” Tim blinks owlishly at him, unsure how to respond. “Well. You did a way better job than I would have.”

Arwen chooses that moment to demand attention, meowing stridently and rubbing her face against his hand until he goes along with it and scratches lightly under her chin

———

And that’s all, folks. Will eventually turn this into a proper fic and give it an ending, but I hope y’all enjoy it as is for the moment

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Red Robin #Red Hood #Jaytim #slowburn #catfic #fluff #cats #DC comics #Batfamily #my writing #not!fic #fanfiction

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mrsmarymorstan · 5 years

Text

Did I.... did I MISS something? Because everyone is acting as if Tim's new code name is going to be Drake for Real and For Sure.

When from what I saw, an Evil version of himself (who was ginger so may not have even been TIM but rather Jason Todd) chose to go by that name. And then one of Tim's best friends, a well renowned broken clock and prankster, decided that he should ALSO be called Drake.

And then Tim decided that he wouldn't bother arguing right now because there were bigger things to worry about namely the knocked out Batwoman cradles in his arms.

And has at no point agreed to this permanent name change.

So am I MISSING some big key plot twist, or are people just having fun being angry?

#Tim Drake #Young Justice #Young Justice 2019 #Wednesday Spoilers

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audreycritter · 6 years

Text

Dragged to the Depths

Written for @brambleberrycottage for @cerusee‘s GoFundMe drive. I uh, let the word count get away from me.

AO3 Link Here Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy Horror

***

There it was again.

Dick Grayson leaned on the railing of the yacht, tumbler of ginger ale cradled against the palm of his hand, and squinted at the dark bay water.

Again.

A sliver of light reflected off something in the distance, and in the murky midnight of the water’s surface, the glittering shine turned to metallic red and green.

Dick straightened, one hand gripping the polished rail. He peered hard into the night, cursing his useless tux and the lack of gear he regretted not hiding on his person. Some collapsible binoculars would be great right now.

Without taking his gaze off the spot— it was still fragments of familiar red and green— he set the tumbler down on the lilting deck. The rolling was too gentle tonight for the glass to slide very far; it was a perfect night for a charity dinner on the bay. It had been clear all evening, and now the moon was full and bright overhead.

In the moonlight he saw a hand raise out of the water and it pulled at him, the sense of emergency forcing every other thought out of his mind. His nimble fingers unknotted his tie and he tore off the jacket, too, kicked off his polished shoes.

A single leap put his feet on the railing. He balanced, checked direction, and leapt. The noise of the party on the broader deck cut out behind him when he hit the water in a smooth dive. He resurfaced and began paddling, long trained strokes cutting through the calm water.

The red sparkled in the moon now and that was definitely a slender arm. For a wild moment he thought it was Damian, out as Robin despite orders to stay in at home while Dick and Bruce put in a show at the dinner. Signaling him?

No. The red and green were too bright, the arm too exposed. Damian’s gloves and hood made him nearly the color of the rolling water in the dark. This was designed to catch light, to throw it— maybe a swimmer adrift from the shore earlier.

The closer he got, the more dread crept up through him. The water was frigid, but the air was warm, and this was…this was something else. His limbs froze for a breath and then he was treading water, frowning at the quiet, waving form.

Not waving, but drowning, a woman’s voice said, so clear it was like she was whispering into his ear.

Dick shook his head and glanced back at the boat.

“Dickie?” The voice clarified into tones achingly familiar, a sound he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten until he heard it again.

Despite the icy horror in his gut, he whipped back around toward the figure. His eyes filled with tears. He began swimming slowly toward her, the Flying Grayson leotard more distinct now that he was closer.

“Mom?” he choked, coughing on water.

The part of him screaming to stay back was silenced with a firm clap of some interior door when she began singing.

“He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease.”

He didn’t know how, but Jason had come back. Damian had come back. So many others. Maybe, just maybe, somehow this was…

She was beautiful. She was Mary Grayson, smiling at him, beckoning, singing and it had been so long since she’d sang to him that his chest felt cracked open.

“Mom!” He grabbed for the reaching arm, shaking waterlogged hair out of his eyes so he could see her face.

His fingers closed around stony slime, stinging his hand and melting him to the inhuman texture. Bile rushed up his throat at the same instant she smiled, revealing rows of razor fangs black with rot.

Everything that had been Mary Grayson in her face vanished, shifting into features pale and foul, ashy scales of rotted fish and empty white eyes. The song she was singing continued in his mother’s own voice for a second longer, while he was paralyzed and sinking with his hand still stuck on seaweed-sticky skin.

He slipped beneath the surface and the song turned into a harsh, grating note of high and raucous triumph.

Then, when it joined him beneath the surface, maw of jagged teeth nearing his neck, he came fully back to himself and he fought.

He kicked and struggled with it, sinking deeper and deeper, while the voice whispered again in his ear, in her voice, the stolen voice.

Too late, Little Robin.

Jason Todd sat with his legs dangling off the small recreational fishing pier, watching the surf roll in while drinking tea from a waxed paper cup. He hoped the tea would settle the prickly unease that had seized him.

There was something in the air in Gotham tonight, a curdled atmosphere that reeked of magic and evils older than the first cobblestones of the city’s streets. His nerves thrummed with sour remnants of the Lazarus Pit’s supernatural reversal of his very cells, and it had become hard to keep his finger from laying tight against a trigger. He’d given up on patrol and stayed in a crowded cafe just long enough to buy jasmine tea.

Far off, down the coast, he could see the white hull of the yacht anchored near Cape Carmine.

The Red Hood helmet sat next to him, the cloaking turned on so it looked like a standard motorcycle mask; a hoodie zipped over the symbol on his chest made him look just like a guy in a brown jacket. He’d declined Bruce’s invitation to join them, but now he wrestled with himself over whether or not he regretted that decision. Maybe the air didn’t teem with tendrils of wicked magic out there.

Maybe it did, or maybe it was all in his imagination. His mind did that sometimes— it would nudge him toward panic over things that weren’t there, weren’t real, or were long gone.

He crumpled the empty cup in his hands and sighed.

Then, a low moan from the sand below the pier drew his muscles taut with wary energy.

“Hello?” he said.

Another moan. And then, very faint and incredulous, “Jay?”

The wavering voice was one he recognized immediately, would have known anywhere. He abandoned the empty cup and his helmet to slip down onto the beach, his boots sinking a few inches deep in bay water.

“Dick?”

His hand was on his holster just in case, but no mimicking monster swarmed out of the dark. It was just the murmuring crash of low waves breaking, and another moan from the figure slumped against a wooden support beneath the pier.

Jason plowed through the shallow water, boots throwing up salty spray, in his haste to get to Dick. In the dim light, he could make out shiny, slick stain covering Dick’s skin like oil.

Blood.

“We have to get you out of the water,” Jason said gently, crouching. “It’s too dark down here. What happened, Dickie?”

Wide, startled eyes stared back at him. Dick had one arm wrapped around the wood and when Jason reached for him, he flinched back and nearly went under keeping himself out of Jason’s reach.

Jason snatched his hand back as if stung.

“Let me see your teeth,” Dick demanded, voice trembling on only the last word.

“What,” Jason said, frowning.

“Teeth,” Dick repeated frantically. “Your teeth, Jason, let me see your teeth.”

More than he needed an explanation right now, he needed to get Dick out of the water and somewhere in good lighting— somewhere dry and warm. Jason shrugged, and obliged: he bared his teeth at Dick, turning his head one way and then the other.

“Happy?” he asked. “All there. No cavities.”

Dick lunged for him, arms locking around Jason’s neck, and before Jason could shove him off, he was muttering, “Out, get me out, out of the water, Jay, we have to get out, it’ll…it’ll…”

When Jason tried to look out at the bay, confused, strong and freezing hands grabbed his chin so tightly it hurt his jaw.

“Do not look,” Dick said, his tone like iron. “Whatever you think you see or hear, do not look. I’m not sure I killed it, I’m not sure, so don’t…don’t…we have to get out. I don’t know if I killed it, or if it’s toying with me, get out, get out.”

By the end, he’d slurred back into desperate pleading. Jason didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He twisted so Dick’s arm was around his shoulder and he hauled him forward toward the sand, strewn with fragments of broken seashells. Dick whimpered when Jason dragged him through the brushy seagrass overgrown by the public access steps, but Jason didn’t slow down until they were at a bench under a dull street lamp far from the shore. Dick struggled to keep his feet working beneath him, and Jason was mostly carrying him by the time he dumped him onto the bench.

Jason crouched in front of him and began to survey damage. What was left of the tux wasn’t going to be worth saving— it was shredded and stained. Dick’s neck had a ragged wound and another dozen places were bleeding. They all had the same oval shape, some stretched like a comb of razors had been dragged across Dick’s body.

It was worse than Jason had realized and not like anything he’d ever seen.

“Dick,” he hissed. “What the fuck happened.”

“I didn’t know,” Dick groaned, doubling over and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking. It couldn’t have been her, I should have known it couldn’t be her.”

“Who?” Jason exclaimed, pulling a roll of gauze out of his jacket pocket. He held it against Dick’s neck and his older brother didn’t react at all to the pressure.

“My mom,” Dick said into his palms. “My mom. It sounded just like my mom and it was in my head singing and I killed it, I don’t even know if it was human once but I killed it and Bruce is going to kill me. It was all so dark and fast and I couldn’t breathe and…and…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jason said. “In the water? Something was singing to you in the water?”

Dick nodded without looking up.

“I’m an idiot. God, it sounded so much like her, Jason, just like I remember and I haven’t heard her in so long, I just wanted to hear her.”

His shoulders, one bloodied and raw beneath his torn shirt, shook.

“You saw a fucking siren,” Jason breathed, glancing at the water. “A siren in Gotham. Goddamn. Just one?”

Dick nodded again, an animal whine in his throat.

“You killed a siren in Gotham. How…”

Jason was still gazing out at the coastline and Dick reached up and roughly grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down until their foreheads were pressed against each other. His eyes were closed but he seemed determined to keep Jason from looking again.

“Brass belt buckle. Used the prong. Stabbed it in the chest and the head. It died or gave up, I don’t know, I don’t know, I was underwater and I couldn’t breathe and then I was swimming and telling myself not to pass out.”

“Shit,” Jason exhaled. Dick’s face was clammy against his own and he struggled for a minute to pull back, slowly prying Dick’s hand off his neck. “I swear I’m not looking, Dickie. I have to get you inside somewhere and clean you up. Is Bruce still at the dinner?”

“I don’t know.” Dick sniffled, and his voice took a frantic pitch. “Call him, Jay. Call him and tell him to bring the yacht in. Get everyone off. He’ll think of some excuse, but you gotta…”

“Calm the hell down, Dick, I’m already calling.”

Jason stood next to Dick and risked looking in the direction of the yacht. It was golden with light against the shadowed cape.

“Hello, Jay!” Bruce answered in the sweet, light way he spoke whenever he was near people who expected Brucie. He sounded like he was faking being tipsy, too; there was laughter in the background, like marbles spilled on tile floors. “I hope everything is okay!”

That was the cue, the say the word and I’m on my way cue, the one Jason had missed and was getting to know again.

“Dick was attacked by a siren, and no I’m not shitting you, an honest-to-god siren. He thinks…” he paused, and glanced at Dick, who tensed suddenly on the bench. He was shaking his head. There was no way to do this but to rip the bandaid off, and let it sting the both of them. The rules about non-human creatures were fuzzy anyway. “He says he killed it. You need to get everyone on shore in case there are more.”

“Absolutely, Jason,” Bruce said cheerfully. There was a hard edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Tell Damian I’ll tuck him in when I get home.”

Kids, Bruce said, to someone nearby on the yacht. They’re the sweetest, aren’t they? If you’ll excuse me, a moment.

The conversational buzz faded and there was a click, like a door closing, over the line.

“Where are you? Is Dick alright?” Bruce asked, serious and low. “What happened? I thought he’d gone home. He’s sure it’s dead?”

“I found him south of the cape,” Jason said. “He’s conscious but torn up. He seems lucid enough. We’re near Folley Ave, by the Big Mouth tackle shop before the pier, but we aren’t staying. I’m taking him to a place I have.”

“Ventura St,” Bruce said.

“Did anyone ever bother even trying to explain the concept of secrets to you?” Jason demanded. “Yes. Fuck. Thanks, now I have to move again.”

“I keep track in case you’re injured. I need to know the places to check,” Bruce said, so matter-of-fact about the assumption that he would come looking that Jason’s mouth clapped shut.

“Whatever,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “You can find us, then.”

He hung up before Bruce could.

“Let’s go,” he said to Dick, pocketing his phone. There was a button sewn into the lining of his sleeve and he pressed it— dozens of feet away, his abandoned helmet fizzled and sent up a small plume of smoke. The visor had been cracked anyway.

Far off on the bay, the thin shriek of a fire alarm sounded, followed by shouts carried across the water.

“B just committed a felony for you,” Jason said, offering Dick a hand.

“That’s how he says I love you,” Dick joked weakly. “Is he pissed? He’s pissed.”

“What? Fuck, no. Not at you. I’m probably gonna get yelled at for something, somehow, but you get to play the ‘I’m bleeding,’ card.”

“Remember when…he yelled at me more?” Dick asked, gasping as he walked. He leaned heavily on Jason while he limped. “You could get away with anything, but if I bought the wrong jeans we’d end up fighting.”

“Dick, I’m really not in the mood,” Jason said, warning. There were some things he didn’t want to revisit right now.

“I’m just sayin’,” Dick continued anyway. “I served my time. You’ve about run the course on yours. It’s time to let Tim or Cass take a turn. Tim’s gonna blow off college, so that should do it.”

“Well, hell, I’ll have to yell at him, too,” Jason said, grateful for how quickly and easily Dick steered the joke into more comfortable territory.

“Just like I did to you.” Dick hissed and Jason paused for a minute, letting him catch his breath. “The torch is passed.”

The next block was silent, and the few people who passed them kept their heads down and didn’t look too closely. Dick seemed like he was fading too much to keep up conversation, and Jason jostled him when they turned to the nondescript door to one of Jason’s holes.

“Dickie, stay awake.”

“Uhnnn,” Dick said, his head lolling against Jason’s shoulder. “So…glad you…were there. Looking?”

“Mhmm,” Jason said, deciding to not get into his feelings about magic and the atmosphere at the moment. “Heard you ditched the party.”

“Huh,” Dick said. He stumbled across the threshold, on the low concrete stoop.

“Watch the step,” Jason said, after catching him.

“Thanks,” Dick slurred. “Asshole.”

“I could drop you right now,” Jason threatened, flicking on the light.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t until Jason had Dick stripped out of the ruined tux, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with a sheet thrown under him, that he began to get worried about how quiet Dick had grown. He was staring blankly at the wall, his breath shallow, while Jason cleaned the ugly bites with an antiseptic rinse. It wasn’t supposed to sting, but Jason knew it did anyway; Dick didn’t shudder or inch away once.

“Dick.” Jason’s mouth was dry. He was bad at this, at being a good brother. He blamed the years he’d lost, but more and more that felt like an awful excuse. “Are you…okay?”

“Did you just ask if I was okay?” Dick asked, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “Wow. I thought hearing that question from B was weird.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason grumbled. “I was just trying to be nice. Geez.”

“I’m fine,” Dick said, after a tense silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t.” Jason got another bandage out.

Another long silence.

“I have to be,” Dick said, tightly. “I have to…to…”

Jason stopped cleaning the seeping wound on Dick’s side because Dick was shaking. The trembling started in his limbs and then he was gulping for air, hunched forward.

Instinct got Jason onto his feet and beside him on the couch, pulling Dick into one of the hugs he was so good at offering everyone else.

“Dickie, I’m one of the big kids now,” Jason said, into his hair. “Don’t insult me by trying to shield me from shit.”

“You’re a kid,” Dick protested hoarsely. “A kid.”

“M’not,” Jason said, keeping his voice calm like he was the one talking to a scared kid. “Haven’t been for a while, whether you like it or not. I promise you aren’t gonna traumatize me.”

It was like he’d unlocked the sluice gate.

The wail that tore out of Dick was full of agony and, though he’d never admit it, did frighten Jason. He held him while Dick wept and gripped his shirt in his fists.

“I’m sorry,” Dick babbled a minute later, his breath still hitched. “I’m sorry. I thought it was her, I thought it was really her, and I’d forgotten what she looked like, Jay, I forgot what she looked like.”

“I know,” Jason said, because he was no stranger to the realization that details and features were blurring in his memories. It was the sort of thing you told yourself you’d never forget, but time was cruel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He rested his chin on Dick’s damp hair and shushed him while his hold tightened.

“S’ok, Dickie. It sucks balls, but you’re okay.”

“I know, I know,” Dick nodded, sounding more composed but exhausted. “Bruce is gonna yell at me. I was stupid. It was stupid.”

“No,” Jason said. “I miss my mom, too.”

He swallowed.

“Dick?”

“What,” Dick said miserably.

“I would have gone in, too. If I’d heard my mom. I forget what she looks like sometimes. I can’t hear her voice anymore. I would have…” Jason didn’t mean for his throat to get so tight. “Fuck. You know what I mean. I would have had to go check. You aren’t stupid.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, sniffling. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jason.”

For a few moments, Jason just held him while Dick’s rasping breath evened out.

There was a knock on the door and then, “I’m coming in,” steady and sure and the door was pushed open even though Jason knew the lock had engaged.

“If he yells at you, I’ll kick him in the shins,” Jason whispered against Dick’s ear and Dick laughed, a thin and fragile sound.

“Dick,” Bruce said, crossing the room. He was still in his tux. He crouched in front of them and reached out to lift Dick’s chin, stare into his face. “You’re alright? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at the Manor,” Jason interrupted. Dick sagged against him and he could feel the relief.

Bruce studied Dick for another moment and then his attention darted to Jason.

“The car is parked outside. You’re coming?”

Jason nodded. “I’ll grab him some clothes.”

He disentangled himself and got up, and lingered just inside the bedroom door to shamelessly eavesdrop, his head bent against the frame. If Bruce so much breathed a word of reprimand right now, he was going to kick him out— at gunpoint if necessary.

When had he gotten so protective of Dick?

Was this how Dick felt about everyone else, all the time?

Whatever Dick said to Bruce, if there was anything, was inaudible to Jason.

Bruce’s answer was not. It was soft, softer than Jason had heard since he was recovering from burns at the Manor.

“You’ve had a rough night. You can tell me about it later.”

“It sounded like her, B, it sounded just like my mom.”

“Oh, chum,” Bruce said, the gravel of his voice somehow tender.

Jason went to rummage for sweats that would fit Dick. He joined them while Bruce was dabbing more antiseptic on a bite Jason hadn’t covered yet. Dick was nearly asleep.

“He was underwater,” Jason said, sitting on the edge of the couch again. “Al will need to check his lungs.”

Bruce nodded, his face pensive. There was blood on his cuffs now.

“Did you see it?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Jason said. “I felt it, though. The air’s been wrong all night.”

“Hn,” Bruce said. “I know.”

“It’s not your fault, B,” Dick mumbled.

“Hush, Dick,” Jason and Bruce said in sync. They exchanged a look and Bruce’s mouth twitched in a grim smile.

“Gotham,” Jason said, firmly.

“I called Arthur,” Bruce said. “He’s going to sweep the bay for us. I don’t want any of you out there again until he gives us the clear.”

“Yes, sir.” This time, it was Dick and Jason in quick unison. There were times to argue and there were times to follow orders. Jason didn’t particularly want to find out what a siren would sing to him.

“Home, Dick,” Bruce said, standing. “Can you walk?”

“Whatcha gonna do if I say no, Old Man?” Dick teased, trying to smile. It wavered.

“Make Jason carry you,” Bruce said, without hesitation.

“I already lugged his sorry ass three blocks,” Jason said, ducking under Dick’s arm before Bruce could. “What’s another twenty feet.”

“You’re coming to the Manor?” Dick asked again, mostly managing his own weight. “For real?”

“I gotta get Alfred’s baked reward for saving you,” Jason said. “That’s my siren. Alfred singing with scones.”

Dick’s laugh was broken.

“Too soon?” Jason asked. “Too soon.”

“No, I was just…imagining Alfred singing ‘Spoonful of Sugar’ in the pool,” Dick said, wincing when he laughed again. He coughed. “Still in his suit.”

“The scones are soggy,” Jason said. “I still go in after ‘em. It’s worth it.”

“That’s gross, Jay.”

Jason opened the passenger door of Bruce’s car for Dick and Dick all but crawled onto the seat, buckled, and curled up.

“I call driver’s seat,” Jason said.

“That’s not…” Bruce started. He handed over the keys. “Speed limit. Get him home. I’m going to go to the Penthouse and then wait for Arthur.”

“Get in, B,” Dick said. “Please.”

Bruce stared for a long moment in the direction of the bay, something Jason couldn’t read on his face.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go home for now.”

#dick grayson #jason todd #gofundme #cerusee #brambleberrycottage #prompts #fantasy horror #tw: near drowning #tw: blood #tw: grief #batman #batfam #fic #ao3 link

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