#jason gray. general

[mazeheart]

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 ; 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 shane gray @starsdrew

" what don't you understand , bro ? " jason's tone complexed. " not all birdhouses are made the same !! the ones in the store aren't built with love , even if they are essentially a bird condo. "

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

We should talk more about the fact Jason got swarmed and attacked by a mob as Robin, like??? Hello. He had to be left there because the mob was too violent with Batman near. He had to be taken to the hospital.

Look at those injuries!!

The next time we see him he's forcing himself out of bed and putting on the Robin costume thinking "I've gotta do what I can to help, even if it kills me!"

The next next time we see him he has walked into yet another violent mob

I cannot stop thinking about this story and the effects it probably had on him honestly. Do you think it's made him nervous in crowds, do you think it made him trust others just that bit less. How long do you think he was being attacked before he was found, the scene had cleared. "I've gotta do what I can to help, even if it kills me!",,,,

Just the concept itself! I don't know about you guys but being attacked and grabbed and trampled into unconsciousness sounds absolutely terrifying! Did he black out, still getting hit, thinking he was going to die? Knowing he couldn't defend himself as his injuries to took their toll? At their complete mercy?

1986-87 Legends, issue #2 (the attack), #3 (the hospital), #5 (getting up), #6 (defending heros from another forming mob)

2010 DC Universe: Legacies, issue #6 (flashback panel to Legends moment)

[thief-of-eggs]

Remember folks- murder is OK so long as the murderer is just a silly little guy :)

[spiritgone]

˗ ˋ  ☁ (  park hyung - sik , cis - man , twenty - eight , he / him ) terret's cove is welcoming to all, and you might see jason gray around town. while they're a canon character in camp rock, they've been making their home in maine for three months now. and, be careful, because it appears as though they do believe they have been in terret's cove, maine their whole lives.

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : jason ' birdhouse lover ' gray 𝐚𝐠𝐞 : twenty - eight 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 : cis - man 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : he / him / his 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 : very confused bisexual 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : guitar teacher 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : open

[hiddensmile]

ღ * ➜ ( park hyung - sik , male , twenty - eight , he / him ) it seems like jason gray might be making a new home in mystic, connecticut. a canon character from camp rock was seen walking down main street. while they arrived three months ago , they believe they have been here their whole lives.

𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 : jason ' birdhouse lover ' gray 𝒂𝒈𝒆 : twenty - eight 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 : male 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔 : he / him / his 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 : very confused bisexual 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 : guitar teacher 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔 : open

[teethsmoothie]

seeing it being posted about , &i do not imagine i will care . for the minecraft movie

better movie minecraft stories are crafted and larp-ed. in countless backyards, every day. i promise

[gothamundernightlight]

I know we as a fandom don’t talk enough about the Batkids acknowledging how old Bruce is getting, but something I think we talk about EVEN LESS is the Batkids acknowledging Dick getting older.

Like Dick is pushing 30 in canon at this point, and realistically cannot do the same things he was doing as a kid. There is a reason a lot of athletes retire young, and Dick’s life has been brutal on his body, so eventually it’ll catch up with him.

Imagine if you will some random new JL/Titans recruit meeting Nightwing and asking “Is it true you can do a quadruple somersault?”

And Dick has to wince and say “I used to, but not anymore.”

Imagine the Batkids hearing that? Imagine everyone who saw him grow up hearing Dick acknowledge he is getting older and can’t do the same things he did in his youth. Imagine how they feel about their own age. Imagine the grief Dick must feel at knowing he’s losing the gifts his parents bestowed upon him, and the fact he’s out-aged them both.

Imagine Bruce painfully acknowledge (in his head because it’s illegal for him to emote aloud) that not only is he getting older, but his first child, his SON, is now the same age he was when Bruce took Dick in.

Imagine Dick picking the smaller option out on ice cream trips because his body can’t handle sugar the way it used to, or eating less in general because his metabolism has slowed down.

Imagine the Batkids sparring and Dick has to tap out because he can’t keep up with them all for as long anymore. Like he can’t keep still do a lot, and handle himself in a fight, but he is not showing off with flips the same way he used to.

Imagine the day one of the Batkids spots gray hair on Dick’s head, or realize that the lines on his face are just a little deeper than they used to be?

Babs keeps calling him the Boy Wonder as a private joke, but the boyish charm that Dick once had has since faded. He’s a grown man, and while at heart he still is the kid that brought light back to Gotham, his outside reflects the life they’ve lived and shared together, which didn’t just pass by in the blink of an eye.

And Jason pretends he doesn’t care, but realizes that Dick isn’t the same 16-year old kid that Bruce put on a pedestal. That he, out of all their siblings, saw Dick the most when he was in his prime, and that his older brother is just a little more fragile than he used to be.

And Tim thinks back to the days of him stalking Batman and Robin before, pulling out those old photos and realizing just how much Dick has aged. When did that happen, he wonders, and how much more will Dick change as he gets older?

Cass, Steph, and Duke acknowledge that Dick Grayson grew up, and left behind a legacy for them to fill, but they’ll always wonder what he was like when he was younger, and wonder how much longer he’ll be around. Bruce has been doing this vigilante schtick for 20+ years, but will Dick still be doing this when he’s Bruce’s age?

Damian takes it the hardest. He can’t look at Dick without thinking of him as the same Grayson who was his Batman, but the truth is, he’s not the same. His old portraits of Dick bear witness to that, with each one just a little different because time is not frozen to Dick the way it is with Ra’s and Talia. Damian privately grieves everyone he comes to care about in advance because death has surrounded him his whole life and eventually despite Dick’s promises that he’ll always be there for Damian, a day is coming when that promise will be broken.

But yeah. Older Dick Grayson. I have thoughts on this.

(Anyways don’t mind me. Just coming to terms with being the same age canonically as my childhood hero.)

[freewriterevangeline]

From writing today -

~

"Elliot barely touched her. Why don’t you punish me?”

The Admin looked down at him, smirking. “Who’s to say this isn’t a punishment.”

Horror ran through Jason. Elena knew him too well. Hurting others hurt him just as much.

The Admin raised his fist and Elliot stood nobly, waiting for the blow.

The fist slammed into his jaw. As his head snapped back, another blow hit his cheek.

Gray’s grip weakened.

Jason took his chance. He yanked his arm away from Gray’s hand and hurled his fist into the Admin’s jaw. Pain burst across his knuckles. But it was satisfying pain.

[mixingandmelting]

Ok so there comes a time in every relationship where your partner annoys you and then you have to decide if staying with them is worth it cuz you love them more than the person’s flaws? Now for the batboys, what normal annoying things from their partner do you think would annoy them? And on the flip side, what do you think the bat boys would do to annoy their partner without meaning too? (Example: One of the things about Dick is that he has organised mess and he gets incredibly stressed out if someone moves his stuff around without telling him. It’s as basic as his shoes being cleaned and placed a couple of feet in the open from where they were for him without telling him, he feels like an asshole and apologises after once he cools down, but this actually upsets him in canon comics.) (for example for reader: it can be he has an annoying sneeze that goes through you when you sit next to him)?

His Pet Peeve vs His Bad Habit

A/N: Ended up making this somewhat a two-part post since let's be real, all of them would be guilty with crashing unannounced which i posted here😂

Dick:

Pet peeve that you do: touching his stuff

Others have said he's terrible at putting things away, he simply calls it an organizational mess. It works for him so why should it matter to anyone else? 

Can’t handle anyone moving his things. Absolutely, genuinely, no matter who it is

Called and texted you multiple times before over this whether it’s his shoes being placed a few inches away where he usually places them, his cereal boxes in the wrong order compared to how he usually has them placed

“Where are my keys? What? Why would you place them in my desk’s drawer? They belong on the couch-”

There are reasons why he placed things the way they are. It’s not hard to not touch and leave them be

Vents out his frustration and irritation but never to the point of crossing the line since you only move things when you’re helping him out with cleaning his place out especially if he neglects doing some house chores ( laundry, dishes, making his bed, everything)

Bad habit that annoys you: naming things after his vigilante code name

He’s known to be witty and charming with his word play, most of the time being cute or funny. But when it comes to naming, in general, it’s a mess

The name he gave to his boat, motorcycle, car, and weapons are of the following: boat wing, wing cycle, nightbird, wing dings. Yes, this is all canon and it should be telling how great his naming senses are

You swore and even made a bet against his friends that he was the one to give the name Bitewing to the cute pitbull. You later called Tim and Babs to express your disappointment towards them, saying they knew better 

You tried not to shed a tear from how proud you were for Dick to name Bitewing with a reasonable and normal civilian name: Haley. It wasn’t Nugget or Gray - it was an actual memorable and good name

Begged him to not have the plane he planned to have either “night” or “wing”. No Wing Plane, no Night Flight, please. Something normal. He never listens and goes it for it in the end

Jason:

Pet peeve that you do: Incorrect grammar and messes

He’s special because he has two: incorrect grammar usage and his place being messy

Unlike Dick who hates people touching his stuff in general, Jason’s more keeping his space clean

Seriously, anyone who breaks into his room should know how meticulous he is, where even his weapons are hanging on the walls in fancy oak wood frames with red velvet cushioning underneath for aesthetics

He’s gentle but looks like a cherry when he reminds you to make sure you’re not leaving your laundry on the ground or used napkins on the table - like there’s a dirty hamper and trash can for a reason and it’s not for decoration

Irritates him to no end when people misuse words and grammar where he’ll annoy the other person until the correct it including you

Yes he will do the cliche can vs may (“Can you? As in are you able to? Or may you as in you need permission”), use asterisks below your text with the correct word because if it annoys you think about how he feels when you make those errors

Bad habit that annoys you: Messy eater

With him being a fan of eating hand-held foods, favorite being hot dogs and ice cream, he frequently gets food stains on his clothes

Slouches on his chair or couch, ketchup slipping off and onto his shirt and munching without a care while you’re staring at the guy who’s also a clean freak regarding his private space

Lost track how many shirts he ruined, annoying you and himself 

Though sometimes it was appreciated when he’d get up and take off his shirt to wash out the fresh, new stain at the kitchen sink ;)

But most times you threaten to get him a bib or be those pretentious, stereotypical rich people where they stuff a corner of their napkin into their shirts while shaking the numerous shirts you had to wash in a single week

Tim:

Pet peeve that you do: not following directions

He already gets agitated and stressed when no one follows the plans he spent three weeks perfecting without sleep. What makes you think he won’t be the same when you don’t read the package inserts or the directions?

Most of the time everything goes smoothly when reading them. And do you know how much time it must’ve taken to write the instructions while considering all the people they’re selling their product to?

He does admit a some are BS and make no sense

Doesn’t express his annoyance and instead stays on the sidelines, slurping from his can of Monster and lets you do your own thing knowing you’re going to fail. Then once you do and get frustrated as to why nothing is working, he rubs it in how you should’ve read the instructions

“You sure that’s right? It says here you need to insert that part first.” “I know what I’m doing Tim, I’ve done it a thousand times.” Cue the Ikea frame falling. “Maybe you should’ve read the package insert.” “Shut up.” 

Bad habit that annoys you: Napping locations

Where he takes his naps is just as bad as his caffeine consumption and lack of sleep in general

When he’s tired, like really tired, he can sleep anywhere. In the classroom, in the conference room, on the floor of the living room

You found him sleeping on the kitchen table once. As in his whole body lying on the table. How and why neither of you know other than Tim remembering he wanted to rest his head on the table

You’ve begged him so many times to nap on the bed or couch out of concern he was going to get hurt

He still doesn’t listen so you started a collection of taking pictures of the oddest places he sleeps at and on, proceeding by sending them to the group chat. It does work but only for a while since he’ll end up falling asleep after not sleeping for another whole week

Duke:

Pet peeve that you do: common sense

When leaving the room, turn the lights off. When done washing your hands, turn the faucet off. In other words, common sense

He really doesn’t get how it’s so hard to do just that. It should be natural, automatic response

After becoming a full time vigilantes, the bigger things he scratches up as the per usual daily problems but it’s the little things that get to him

Found you reading in the dark once without having the lights on before. He went on about vision impairment after flicking the switch up. He wasn’t amused when you joked how he could’ve sat next to you so you’d get both a reading lamp and body-sized pillow

Don’t get him started with dishes and how they should’ve been washed after a meal not leaving them in the sink for who knows how long

Also cereal. He believes it’s cereal first then milk, reasoning you can control the amount and ratio of cereal to milk 

Bad habit that annoys you: biting pencils 

Does it whenever he’s thinking about something deeply but can’t solve the issue

Whether it’s working on a plan, trying to figure out a case, doing homework

Problem is pencil paint isn’t all that healthy or safe to consume. Also having a pencil have smell like one’s breath isn’t that appealing 

Doesn’t matter what part of the pencil though there seems to be actual indents near the eraser end which once made you asked if a pencil tastes good

You’ve gotten him mechanical pencils and eraser toppers. Somewhat worked only for him to go back using his usual wooden pencils and bite them again

Tries to stop after you went on how harmful biting pencils are, still finds himself doing it time-to-time

Damian:

Pet peeve you do: calling him short

Don’t ever bring it up. Don’t ever mention it. He. Is. Not. Short

Height is not everything when it comes to crime fighting. Skills, abilities, and strategy beats pure physical prowess

He’s not the shortest either. He’s still growing. Drake is only 5’7” at his current age while Todd was 4’6” when he was Robin. Being  5’4” is a perfectly, acceptable height

This also includes all synonyms and phrases. Tiny, small, fun sized. His personality coming from the fact shorter people are closer to hell- 

He fumes and bursts whenever it happens. Literally will get ready wage a battle of a lifetime 

Whenever you do it, he gives you hell by pranking you in every way until you wave the white flag and admit you’re wrong. Usually that never happens and the adults end up having to step in to get both of you two stop

Bad habit that annoys you: tongue clicking

Does it to express so many emotions, so it gets confusing as to why he clicked his tongue without the full context

It could be from annoyance, dissatisfaction, or disagreement. At least you know it’s used for a negative response

Not as bad when he does it because he got stumped since then you’re just smug and getting to gloat you were right while he scowls back

But when he does it to avoid answering you out right or when he refuses to agree- like come on, use your words not onomatopoeia

Ask him if he’s doing it because he’s sulking and it gets him to stop only for it happen again as it’s part of his habit

Cue another reason for a childish war between the two of you where one has to one-up the other

[imheretoreadafic]

Headcannon that Bruce keeps a mental record of everyone, he loves' favorite color and takes it very seriously.

Tim? Red. That one is pretty obvious. He also takes favorite colors fairly seriously and will stab someone over getting the red color in Connect Four. Bruce makes sure he gets as many red pens and markers as he craves and always grabs a red option if there is one. He also makes sure to stay within the red range he likes because he doesn't like firetruck red but more of a crimson or cherry red.

Dick? Blue - again, pretty obvious with his suit. But because he's the oldest sibling, he's pretty used to letting the others take the blue things. Bruce tries to make sure he can have blue, too, whenever he can.

Duke? One would assume yellow, but he's actually more of a yellow-orange guy (Yes, there's a different fight me). Bruce makes sure to grab things in that color if it's an option - expect for furniture. Duke thinks that a yellow-orange desk chair/shelf/door/wall, etc, is tacky. He DOES love yellow-orange stickers, though.

Jason likes black... and baby blue. Bruce is one of the only ones who knows about him liking baby blue, and he only knows because he noticed Jason gravitating towards it when he was in a space where he wouldn't be teased for not being super edgy all the time. Bruce thinks it's silly he's embarrassed about liking baby blue - especially because he's just fine dressing in bright pink but he thinks it might have to do with the gentle and childlike association with the color rather than masculinity. Bruce buys him a big, fluffy, and very well-made baby blue blanket for his first Christmas back at the manor and Jason damn near cries.

Damian? Damian was tough to figure out because he thought the idea of favorite colors was silly and childish. So, Bruce originally went with green because of his preference for it in decor and fashion. However, he slowly realized it was indigo. So he bought him brushes with indigo handles and a dog bed for Titus that was indigo and generally just a bunch of small items in indigo over time to not make him seem suspicious. (Damian realized what he was doing despite his best efforts and painted Bruce with his indigo brushes, indigo paint pallet, sitting on an indigo stool because Bruce is shit at being subtle).

Steph? Another fairly obvious one - purple. She loves EVERYTHING in purple, and while Bruce internally gags, he tries to match her energy. Every single gift he gives her is purple if he can help it and is in purple wrapping paper.

Babs likes a golden orange (different from yellow-orange, and once again, I will throw hands over this). He buys (and helps her put them on because its a lot harder than it looks) wheelchair spooks covers in that color for her.

Cass doesn't really have a favorite color per se, but she definitely liked cool tones, pastels and iridescents. She finds bright and neon colors to be a bit overwhelming, but she also doesn't like constant gray scale. For a while, her life felt like a gray scale, and it still does sometimes, but that just isn't who she is. She is thousands of colors, pooling and swirling and constantly changing. And if she wants to repaint something for the seventh time? Goddammit, Bruce is going to help her.

(Do they have Canon fave colors? Idk and idc. Assigning them colors is fun for me and im gonna keep it up)

[mazeheart]

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 ; 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 mitchie torres @mystlcmemolrs

ever the airhead , jason wasn't watching where he was going ; his eyes locked on the storefront windows. it was only a matter of time before he collided with someone. " oh , shoot ! i'm so sorry !! "

[forsaken-headcanons]

okay so more of a general roblox head canon but i think robloxians can be split into different categories based off skin color, this will relate back to forsaken i promise

so they all fall under robloxian, but then there's the subspecies

bloxians: whites and all its shades, like grays and near black. bacons are a sub species of bloxians, which itself was already a subspecies, so a subspecies of a subspecies. subsubspecies.

noobs: yellow colors, can be greenish yellow or orange yellow but can't be straight up orange or green. mostly bald, it's rare, but they can grow hair, it it's color is similar to yellow, like blonde or brown

guests: basically bloxians except with a distinct lack of being able to communicate properly. they can speak, just not very well. there are exceptions, but they are very rare, about 1 in 100 guests can speak normally.

rainbloxes: red, orange, green, blue, purple, basically all the colors that are kinda wacky and silly. typically seen as them just being born wrong, but are actually just normal. everyone of the other subspecies have the genes to make rainbloxes, but they are very recessive and unlikely to happen, which makes them rare. yellow is the most common one, and is why noobs exist separately.

bloxxers: any human skin colors, can be a mix of bloxians and the others subspecies. most commonly noobs and guests, but could also be rainbloxes or bloxians instead!

now that i've established this, here is where it ties back into forsaken.

Builderman, Dusekkar, Two Time, and Jason are all Bloxians. not much to say about this.

Noob (duh), John, Jane, Elliot, AND Shedletsky, are Noobs! Shedletsky hides it better than most people, with the distinct addition of hair! like i said, it's rare for them to have hair, but it's not impossible, as much as shedletsky tries to convince the others it is. John and Jane are also part Bloxxer.

Guest 1337 (yea), Guest 666 (again yep), Chance, and Taph, are Guests! the Guests make sense. no explanation needed. Chance looks like the stereotypical Anonymous man guy person thing, and fits in with guests pretty well. Taph's lack of talking also makes for a pretty good fit in the guest category i think.

C00lkidd, 1x1x1x1, and Bludude are Rainbloxes! Because Colors!! Yayy!!!

007n7 is the only full bloxxer in the group so far. basic ass bitch.

okay that's all hope this makes sense if not i don't apologize

-🍔

Oh this is peak. I'd yoink that but I already have contradicting headcanons.

How could you say all this and not mention iTrapped. Shaking my head. /lighthearted

[ode-to-melpomene]

"Everyone's a Critic"

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Synopsis: Art is in the eye of the beholder... Word Count: 1861 Warnings: None. Art gallery meet cute. A hint of awkwardness and embarrassment!

Jason was used to being overlooked.

In a sea of bodies he often found himself standing still. A lone rock in the middle of a raucous tide that slipped around him, dousing his cold, weathered face with seafoam. It wasn't so bad, being a rock–especially at events like these. Jason stood, like a rock, in the center of a crowd, and watched the crowd part around him.

Why would they look at him? He had mastered the art of appearing smaller than he really was–broad shoulders drawn into a tight hunch, obscuring his height. Eyes to the ground and his back to the wall. Ignore me, his presence seemed to say.

Why would they look at him when Dick fluttered about the crowd with a broad smile, a proverbial halo above his head from the soft, golden light of the venue? Why would they look at him when Tim's cleverness and etiquette outshone his? Why would they look at him when Damian spoke so maturely for his age, or Cass reveled in her most recent ballet performance, or Bruce existed?

Sometimes it was better to be the dead Wayne.

Sometimes.

The venue could have been worse. The Gotham Museum of Art was familiar to him these days, after Cass’s numerous performances and Bruce’s subsequent donations. Jason had lost track long ago of how many grateful galas had been hosted in thanks for his father’s contributions. They even had a plaque posted somewhere for Bruce–or was that Gotham General Hospital? He couldn’t remember at this point.

It was easy to hide in the shadows between the paintings, the spotlights above them only spanning the canvas’s borders. Hide at the edge of the crowd, his head ducked down, shoulders drawn tight- it was what he always did.

Until a tittering couple pressed too close to him, admiring the painting he stood beside. Ivory nails tangled in a suit jacket, heels clicking against the parquet floors. Too loud. Too close. He pushed off the wall as they approached, ignoring the side-cast glances. He felt judged at events like this. He could handle being ignored, or even ostracized. But criticism hurt. He lifted his head for the first time in what felt like ages, taking in the crowd.

There. A quiet spot in front of a broad painting, its oil surface unmarred by the demanding gazes of the gala’s attendees. Jason pushed through the crowd with his head high, watching as the chattering sea parted around him. His long stride carried him through the throng as he fled his once barren spot and approached his newfound haven. His lips parted in a soft exhale at the sight of a bench–he could sit with his back to the crowd and-

Jason’s stride faltered. There was already someone sitting on the bench, a figure with their back to the crowd. How had he not noticed them before?

The spotlight on the art cast a soft glow across your front, blanketed in a warm haze that brightened the dark clothes you wore. A deep-gray blouse fading to black, well-ironed slacks. Jason’s eyes dropped to your shoes–old and worn compared to the rest of the outfit. Tired, and scuffed, the black finish faded with age and wear. A cocktail server on break, it seemed.

When Jason lifted his gaze, he found you already staring. He jumped slightly, blinking once, twice. You smiled softly–it was a bone-tired smile that eased the tension in your brow and smoothed the hard look in your eyes. 

“Sorry, I…” he started, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He rubbed the back of his neck and hunched his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not,” you answered quietly. “Did you want somewhere to sit?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

Jason bobbed his head in a half-hearted nod and rounded the bench. He sat at the opposite side, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, eyes fixated on the ground for a moment. After a long pause, he lifted his head to take in the painting in front of him.

It seemed to come to life the longer he took it in. The background bustled with liveliness. Parents talking–maybe arguing, he thought–in a doorway. The preoccupied cat ignoring a mouse that went otherwise unseen. Children’s toys scattered at the edges of the canvas. His eyes roved over the child at the center of the canvas’s foreground, alone on a couch, gaze meeting the viewer. It was a modernized oil painting, vastly different from the Renaissance-like pieces that lined the wall–maybe that was why this piece went ignored throughout the night.

“It doesn’t really fit the theme, but I still like it,” you spoke up. What he first took as timidity now seemed contemplative as he turned to see you gazing up at the painting. “Seems I’m one of the few.” You shrugged, a tender smile across your lips.

Jason took in the muted colors of the background and the quiet intensity of the scene. “It feels very… isolated.” You turned your head sharply to look at him, brows raising in surprise. He quickly looked between you and the painting. “It’s… the kid feels really alone, you know? Like the whole world is-”

“Moving on without him?”

Jason clamped his jaw firmly shut as he tipped his head to meet your gaze. Your eyes sparkled with warmth and excitement, chasing away the exhaustion that once clung to you.

“Moving around him,” Jason answered, holding your intense stare, his brows furrowing slightly. “His parents are just-” he gestured to the painting, “ignoring him, I guess. I mean, he’s alone in the center of the painting, while everything else is distracted. Look, even the wallpaper looks busy, and he’s just… wearing muted clothes and sitting on a gray couch.”

“It’s ivory and phthalo blue.”

“What?”

“The couch. It’s ivory and phthalo blue, and a little bit of brown umber mixed into the shadows. Not gray.” You cocked your head to the side and offered him a crooked, toothy grin. His eyes dropped to your lips before moving back to your eyes. “I… like your interpretation a lot. ‘Moving around him.’ You’re the first person tonight to give it any thought, honestly.”

Jason narrowed his eyes as he studied you, his brows pinched together. His usual scowl sat on his lips, the one that tended to drive people away. Instead, you smiled sweetly and turned your attention back to the canvas. You didn’t stare through him–you stared at him. For once, it didn’t make his skin crawl. It didn’t feel like you were forcibly filling the silence.

“I was hoping for some exposure tonight, really. You know, big Wayne event, good time to show off,” you said with a melodic chuckle that sent goosebumps down his arms. “But no one seems particularly interested in my work. Everyone’s a critic, right? Except you. You get it.”

Jason blinked owlishly as his brain raced to catch up.

“You painted this?”

You hummed in the affirmative, gazing up fondly at your work.

His eyes snapped up at the painting and then back down to you. “I’m sorry, I- I just assumed you-”

“You’re not the only one,” you answered quickly. His shoulders eased. You picked up on his meaning so quickly without an ounce of offense in your tone. “I don’t really care how people do or don’t, in this case, see me. At least one person took the time to look.”

The tension in your shoulders eased with a visible sense of relief. Tonight wasn’t a total loss. Sure, you hadn’t received any commissions, and had been asked to refill someone’s drink one too many times, but there had been some success in the end. It only took one admirer to make hours of labor worthwhile.

“I think it’s beautiful.”

You jerked your head to stare at him, starved for feedback. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I… don’t know much about art–I prefer reading, honestly, but, uh, I think you did a great job with the colors. It does a really good job of framing the kid, y’know?” Jason glanced at you, his cheeks warming at your dazzled expression before looking back at the painting. “He’s muted, so it kind of draws your eyes to the middle instead of the super bright background. It’s like the opposite effect of some of the others.” He gestured over his shoulder at a few of the other paintings. “It definitely gives that… isolated vibe. I just… I guess it makes you wonder how the kid is feeling in all of this. He feels lonely.”

He could feel your heated stare grazing his skin. You weren’t leering at him like some of the others did. He held on to the reverent silence and fought to quell the warm blush that dusted his cheeks.

“You have a nice nose.”

Jason’s face flushed scarlet. He snapped his gaze to yours, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Sorry, I-” His gaze dropped to your lips as they pursed in embarrassment and then parted with a shaky inhale. “I just- sorry, I do some sculpture on the side–not very well, I think, but I’m trying–and, well, I’ve been working on this one piece and I just can’t get the nose right, and you- you’ve got a really nice nose and I was trying to… memorize it… for when I work on it later…”

Jason held your gaze for a long moment. You shifted nervously in your seat at the way he straightened his back and regarded you closely. Your mouth opened and closed, tongue feeling tacky against the roof of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, that was-”

“Do you have a picture of it?”

“Of… what?”

“The sculpture. Can I see it?”

Your eyes widened as you blinked slowly at him, your mind racing to catch up. You tilted your head slightly to the side, staring at him in awe. “Yeah, I… um, I don’t have a picture, but- uh, my studio is only a couple of blocks away. Technically it’s the gallery’s studio-” you gestured widely to the gala venue. “But I use it for some of my projects. You could- do you want-?”

He smiled. The stone-faced, impassive, wall of a man that you had been sitting beside for who knows how long actually smiled a full, toothy grin. The crooked scar that crossed over his cheek and jaw danced with a subtle grace. Crow's feet decorated the corner of his pretty green eyes. You wondered if you could maybe match their shade.

You took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then breathed out a soft sigh. His gaze dipped to your lips at the movement, then back to your eyes.

“Would you… want to come to my studio?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

[dying-isnt-good-for-your-health]

DpxDc, A hypocrite's concern

A little thing I wrote about Jason and Danny interacting after Jason gets captured by the GIW:)

(Starts under cut because I accidentally made it long)

Jason didn't know what to think.

He had been walking to the bus stop to get groceries in his civilian clothes, when a white van with an obnoxious logo on the side drove by and snatched him off the sidewalk. They didn't even grab him. They just full on drove by with a giant net outstretched like some weird type of fishing to catch him.

They didn't knock him out, they hadn't seemed to find a need to, but they did call him several terms he never even knew existed. None came close enough to the net—which was made of a weird material that couldn't be cut with his smartly hidden knife—to be kicked, so he had resorted to calling them several lovely names that you could only learn by growing up in Crime Alley.

When the van full of Men in Black ripoffs finally stopped, he was loaded into a... cage? Like, it looked a bit like a cage, but it also seemed as if it was made of rubber or plastic, and its shape was also odd, like it was specifically designed for something that would escape a regular cage easily and this was their attempt to stop it. It had bars, sure, but they were at weird angles and constantly layered over each other.

The 'cage' was placed on a cart and wheeled inside a generic office building, but they didn't enter through the entryway, no, what kind of madman uses a door? They entered through the wall. The agents walked directly through the wall, wheeling him in after them, with no difficulty other than pressing a small button next to a random brick. The secret entrance led to an early 2000s sci-fi movie elevator, that had wires filled with a disturbingly familiar green, and a not-so familiar blue.

One of the agents leaned into the comm thing attached to one of the wires and murmured something that made the elevator start working.

The elevator reached what was probably the bottom of the Secret Evil Lair™, and opened with a hiss. The doors revealed a well lit hallway with white walls, floors, ceilings, and heavily reinforced doors. So, these madmen did use doors. It was modern, but in a way that would remind you of a rich person with no interior decorating abilities.

The disproportionately large number of bald men pushed the cage-cart down the hall. The second thing he noticed after the atrocious decoration was the eerie quiet. There wasn't any noise that you would expect from an evil lab, even when the agents walked it was difficult to hear their steps, while when they were outside every step they made would be heard, inside, it was as if they were in their element.

The cart stopped in front of a door with far more protection than the rest, it was dark gray with the blue accents, rather than the white and green of the others. One of the agents leading him turned to a keypad-looking thing and began typing. The door had two signs on it, seemingly to catalog what was held within, but only one had any writing on it, as if the information of the room's contents was incomplete.

"-Phantom-

-DP-001-

-Danger Class: 7-

-Ectoplasmic Strength: Level 4 (For lower level agents, the maximum is Level 5)-

-Power Set: On the DP-001 file-

-Experiment Notes: While testing, ignore any and all pleas for mercy, it is a manipulation tactic it utilizes often. Do NOT remove the muzzle, doing so will result in termination. Causing permanent damage to subject without instruction from an agent classed over Class 7 will result in termination.-"

Jason was able to read the entire thing while the agent was still typing in the code to open the door. When the agent finally finished entering the code, the door opened with the same hiss as the elevator, and revealed a decontamination chamber.

They threw him into the chamber, and quickly closed the doors behind him. The cage melted away, as if it were made of wax, leaving him standing free in the chamber.

The chamber began to fill with a blue gas that fell from the ceiling vents. Jason instinctively held his breath while reaching for his gas mask, only to realize he didn't have his gas mask. Which was not right, he knew he had his gas mask. No Gothamite leaves home without a gas mask. No smart one, at least.

The agents had somehow managed to remove all of his belongings without him noticing. His clothes were also different, instead of the outfit he had left the house in, he was wearing a white shirt, and white pants.

How the hell did they do this? Was the most coherent thought he could have, but it was short lived as the doors in front of him opened with the exact same annoying hiss as the last few.

Based on the sign, he was expecting some kind of cryptid, like a demon, or something. But rather, he was greeted by a short teenager with black hair and blue eyes. The boy wore the same white clothes as Jason, but he also wore a mask that covered half his face, but there was also a blue tinted glass that allowed him to see his mouth. He was working on something behind him.

The boy stared for a moment, before smiling and waving animatedly, like he hadn't seen anyone other than the agents in a long while.

"Hi! I'm Danny!" He said, even if it was slightly muffled, sounding something between being under a blanket and speaking through a fan, "Or Phantom. Or DP-001 or just 001, they flip flop between the last three usually, you?"

"...I'm Jason," He couldn't see why he shouldn't tell this kid his name, it didn't matter, the kid wouldn't recognize it, "Uh, how old are you?"

Danny paused before tilting his head and asking, "Hm, What's the date? I dunno how long I've been here."

"April 13th." He replied, not liking the implications of not knowing your own age.

"Oh! I turned 15 last week! What about you?"

That was way too young to be... where ever this is, this kid is a literal child.

"I'm 23." Again, seeing no reason to lie.

"Wow. You're old." Danny said with the typical teenage snark you'd expect from a fifteen year old, "Sorry, my friend used to say that whenever her parents made her socialize at rich people parties."

He filed away that information for later, even if "Rich people parties" is pretty vague.

"So, where are you from?" Jason asked, Small talk and gather info, he can do that.

He froze for a split second, before speaking, "Amity Park," The kid said, smiling, but in a sad, wistful way, "It's in Illinois."

So this kid was most definitely kidnapped, there are no doubts about that.

"I'd ask where you're from, but I kinda already know" Danny stated, "I saw you in the Gotham file back when I still tried to escape."

Still? They had a file on Gotham? Why? Why was he on the file?

"Oh, why do they have me in the file?" Subtle.

"Either you died and came back funky," He started, holding his fingers out to count on his hand, which was, just perfect, that this random shady group knows about that, "Or you have come in to contact with ectoplasm, the green stuff, or both! That happened to me."

There was a lot to unpack there, but begin simple.

" 'Came back funky' ?" That was a good place to start.

"Oh yeah, like, came back with powers, or with your body being in a better condition than while you were dead, or coming back after too long a time for it to be technically possible."

That answered nothing and everything.

"Actually, I don't even think they care if you came back at all," Danny said after he seemed to think about it for a moment, "Ancients know they only care about technicalities when it benefits them."

Every time the kid answers a question, ten more fill its place because of the answer.

It was a little hard to focus on his answers, though, because of how uncomfortable the weird new clothes were.

Wait.

"How did they get these clothes on me?" He didn't really want the answer, but he also didn't want to not have the answer. "I didn't even notice it."

"Oh! Did they bring you here in a cage?" Danny asked.

"Yeah, if you could even call it that."

"Well," He said, making a big show with his hands to enunciate his sentence, which made Jason notice the electrical scarring that lined his left hand, "I'm pretty sure the Guys In White made the cages out of some material that, when it melts, coats your clothes in some kind of ectoplasm, and then the gas basically breaks down the affected clothing, and replaces it. I'm still not sure how, though."

That, again, answered nothing and everything, but mostly nothing this time.

[on-leatheredwings]

House Arrest

Yandere! Batfam / Bruce Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

For a request, Munchausen's syndrome by proxy with Bruce? Like, he keeps reader sick so she can't leave him or interact with someone outside the family. And maybe the rest of the batfam is in on it?

[a/n: Didn’t know if you wanted this platonic or not so I didn’t specify! In my head its romantic with bruce though lmao]

> word count: 1581

> Tw: gaslighting, munchausen’s syndrome by proxy, yandere-typical behaviors!

You sit in anticipation, foot tapping against the stone floor. There’s an entire miniature hospital set up for you down here in the Batcave. Respirators, diagnostics machines, and other expensive medical equipment that would be better served in Gotham General. 

Helping people recover. 

So patients could some day leave. 

You used to love being in the Batcave. It was the family’s little secret. When you officially joined the family, the Batcave was now your secret as well. But ever since falling ill months ago, bedridden with a sickness whose cause continues to elude everyone… being here is depressing. You now notice it’s damp down here. Dark. Lifeless.

Bruce sits at the Batcomputer, the screen’s light painting over his face in a green wash. You watch his eyes scan line after line of your results. Reminds you of a typewriter. Methodical. Orderly. Nearly inhuman. When he sighs, your heart stops. 

Fuck.

He turns to you, face grave. “You’re still ill.” 

Your eyes start stinging with an onset of tears that you furiously try to blink back. 

“... H-How ill? How bad? Am I any better?” you ask, as if bartering with him will make the situation any different. As if bartering with God ever made any difference for mere mortals such as yourself.

Bruce’s face is still. 

“You haven’t improved.” 

Your hopes crash down around you like glass. You aren’t better at all? Even though you haven’t had a fever in weeks? Even though you’ve been working out with enough energy to keep up with Damian? He was exerting perhaps only 10% of his effort, but still. Your lymph nodes aren’t even swollen anymore. Tim had told you as much, accidentally contradicting Bruce’s insistence that they had been earlier that morning. 

“But I feel better,” you croak. You hear footsteps behind you approach and you swallow drily, nearly hissing at the offender. It’s Dick, and damn him. You don’t want to be placated right now.

“Are you experiencing any headaches? Shortness of breath?” Bruce asks, eyes still trained on you. You try to recall. 

“... I may have had a migraine this morning…” At Bruce’s weary shake of the head, you blurt, “But it’s passed. I’m perfectly fine. And no shortness of breath.”

“... I’m sorry. But if you’ve been having symptoms like that, along with your being immunocompromised…” Bruce doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. You won’t be leaving the Wayne Manor grounds for a long time. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see Dick, whose face is somber but offers an encouraging smile. 

“Well, I’m back in town for the time being. We can hang out all the time.” His expression brightens as an idea pops into his head. “And I can call Tim, Jason, Duke–! Maybe even Cass and Steph… We can have a board game night tonight!” He sounds as chipper as you are miserable.

Damian approaches from behind, leaving the shadows. His arms are folded. “If that’s the case, I’ll humor Grayson and let him capture some of my fleet for once.” A popular choice was Risk, perfect for the family who’s entire lives revolved around combat and strategy. But you didn’t want to play Risk again. You didn’t want to have a board game night, no matter how many of the family came. You wanted to see people. 

Other people. Everyone here is your family. 

You want fucking friends again. You wanted a job again – a sentiment you would’ve laughed at even just five months ago. You wanted any semblance of a life again.

Bruce’s eyes haven’t left your trembling form once, two chips of slate-gray peering over steepled hands.

“Thank you, Dick. Damian. But I think she could use some time alone.”

Dick’s hand releases your shoulder, retracting as if burned. None of them are the boss here. It’s Bruce who is my warden, your mind whispers darkly. 

“Right! Don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” Dick sees himself out, taking Damian with him. “See you tonight.” And that feels like a sentencing to your fate.

Now the two of you alone, Bruce stands, offering his arm wordlessly. You know what this means. You take it, linking yours with his without thought or protest. Bruce liked to ensure you were always within his reach, as if you were prone to fainting spells. This was less humiliating for you than him carrying you through the estate, you suppose. 

“Why, yes, let’s take a turn around the grounds!” you used to exclaim, making your voice posh and British, mimicking the regency romance movies you had been watching all the time. 

Now, months later, you just sullenly allow him to lead you. Your surroundings pass by and you vaguely recognize that you are exiting the Batcave, walking through the manor, and out into the never-ending expanse of a well-kept lawn. 

It’s a sunny, idyllic spring day after months of overcast winter. 

And thank god you could still traipse outside when you wanted, even if fenced in. Bruce told you when you had first fallen ill that he had installed some high-tech, anti-air pollution gadget. Wayne Manor was effectively your own personal bubble. Fresh air was the only thing keeping you sane, lately. 

You two pass by the garden, a labor of love Alfred started. You and Damian tend to it now… and mainly the latter, these days. You haven’t had any energy for gardening as of late. Fatigue is a symptom, you hear Bruce’s voice whisper in the back of your mind. But you don’t feel fatigue… rather, just depressed. But of course, isn’t fatigue a symptom of being depressed…? A familiar brain fog crawls into your mind. Your head was starting to hurt.

You look across the lawn, onto the horizon. Gotham’s dark skyline sits there, enticing. When night falls, it’ll glimmer and twinkle with light. There is a whole world out there. And, God, you love the Waynes, but they aren’t the world. You need to distract yourself. Bruce, ever the lover of pleasant silences, is going to have to distract you from thoughts that make you want to leap off the second story balcony of your bedroom.

Should you ask, “How’s work?” No. You find you don’t care. 

“How’s Jason?” you say instead, feeling Bruce stiffen at the mention of his most tenuous relation.

He wasn’t around as much, but when he was, he was always relaxing with you in your room. You have a whole shelf for the knick knacks he brings. “Don’t worry. They’re clean,” he’d snort at his former mentor, because Bruce required everything to be thrice sanitized before coming into your possession.

“... Better.”

You’re glad. That’s one good thing, you guess. 

“Bruce,” you croak. 

He looks at you, face alight in expectation. 

“Maybe I should just go,” you say, small and weak. Your eyes don’t leave the sight of Gotham skyscrapers, stretching to the sky. Bruce stills, stopping you both in your tracks.

“What do you mean, ‘go’?” he says carefully.

You remove yourself from his arm and gesture to the city. “Just go. Leave. I mean, I can’t stay here forever.” Bruce looks genuinely confused, as much as he can. 

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t!” you screech. Frustrated, you tear at your hair. “I can just be an outpatient somewhere– I can go for hospital treatments every week– or everyday– whatever!

Bruce places his hands on your shoulders.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rage flares in you and you gnash your teeth at him. By now, that all-too-familiar brain fog has flooded your brain. But you try to fight it. You have to fight it. Like trying to crawl out of rapidly-sinking quicksand, you fight it.

“I-I know what I’m saying. I’m saying–”

“You’re saying to just let you die,” Bruce sharply returns. “To give up, let you die, and leave us to grieve.” 

“No–”

“Stephanie.” 

You meet his eyes again at the name, which are resolute and as blue as ever. 

“Cassandra. Duke.” Your stomach churns, imagining their smiling faces, turned into ash as your hypothetical passing. “Barbara.” 

“Bruce,” you croak, pleading inwardly for him to stop. 

“Damian.” 

“Tim.”

“Jason.” 

“Dick. Alfred.” You duck your head and your eyes meet the ground. The listing of all your loved ones pinches your heart, and you feel nauseous. You weren’t trying to leave them. You didn’t want to leave them at all. 

“... Me.” 

Your eyes sting with tears again. Why did he have to make it sound like that? Like you were seeking some selfish want, rather than trying to improve your quality of life. You feel your ambition and desire wane under the weight of guilt. You feel all sense of struggle start to disintegrate, lost to the fog in your head. Lost. You’ve lost.

Bruce’s eyes scrutinize you.

“As I suspected. You’re acting delirious. Manic. Delusional.”

Any semblance of protest dies in your throat. 

“What?” you say. But Bruce is already leading you away towards the looming doors of Wayne Manor, away from the green of the grounds. Away from the light of the sun, and away from the skyline. He comforts you with familiar lines on the way to your bedroom. 

You need rest. Alfred will brew his tea for you. I’ll call the kids to come tonight. We can play Risk. He pats your shoulder, stroking soft, deceptively warm circles with his thumb.

“You just need some rest.” 

And not for the first time, you believe he may be right.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hey cats, I was the one who sent you that anon that's alright with me, I don't mind but is an gen z reader yeeted to the dc verse be okay? I could picture Bruce almost growing white hair because of reader who is an epitome of ✨unhealthy coping mechanism✨

Oh yeah, a reader just yeeted in there... Some universe doing some shit and Bruce adopts him... While also losing his mind. I love it. Lets go. It's a bit short, but... I like it.

Summary: (Y/N) is Gen Z. Bruce is loosing his mind.

Warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, Gen Z ones at that.

Bruce knew that each generation is different. They have different opinions, don't like to be told what to do exactly, although that's more specific to the newer generations. That is something that Bruce knew all to well. Gen Z wanting to have a balance between work and personal business. Bruce could respect that. But one other thing that shocked Bruce about Gen Z is the fact they have so many unhealthy coping mechanisms.

How would Bruce know?

He has adopted a teen who simply got, according to Jason and other younger heroes, yeeted into their universe. Universe where Justice League and it's heroes are real. And where DC comic universe is real. (Y/N) was forced to explain to the entire Justice League what DC is, what does it contain. And that has only applied to comic books. Then he had to explain cartoons, movies, video games... Absolutely everything.

Bruce found it to be interesting, the entire multiverse essentially, all of them are carefully planned out... Bruce found them to also be a great source of information. What to avoid, what to do... It was an incredible well of information and has decided to investigate this even more.

And while doing so, keep (Y/N) close to make sure that he has the information he needs.

And while (Y/N) is a nice kid, he has some unhealthy... Coping mechanisms as he calls them.

First one being jokes. Humor is something that can help a person if they feel down. Or if they simply want to deflect. And (Y/N)'s sense of humor is rather... Dark, to say the very least. Bruce would more often than not get gray hairs if he heard (Y/N) joking about his will to live being gone. He knows that (Y/N) is not suicidal... Right?

Humor is simply used to deflect... Right?

Bruce didn't quite like how (Y/N) was chronically online. Sure, teens spend time on their phone, but this is borderline an addiction. Bruce has tried to solve the problem with putting restrictions, taking the phone away. Put settings that don't allow (Y/N) to be online from certain times. That was to try to make (Y/N) sleep better, since he's clearly online into the late hours of the night.

Bruce simply wants the only child in the house who is not on patrol to have a normal sleeping schedule. Is that a crazy thing to ask for? It should be a normal thing to ask for, right? Being chronically online is far from good. Far, far, from good.

Also, hyper fixation.

(Y/N) was more invested in fiction rather than reality. Which would be fine. If it didn't interfere with his life. In what way, I might hear you asking? He's been neglecting his hygiene, gets angsty and anxious if he is not near his hyper fixation. Bruce never knew that Gen Z is this... Bruce shouldn't say annoying, but this was getting out of hand. Rather fast.

Bruce had to take action.

Otherwise he would get a lot more grey hairs. Way more. Way more.

" (Y/N), go to sleep. " Bruce pleaded, suited up and ready to go on patrol, however, he can't go, knowing that (Y/N) won't go to sleep. And everyone needs their 7 to 9 hours of sleep. Besides Bruce and the boys that are... On their night job. To put it mildly.

" I'm not tired Bruce. "

A common response in the most recent days from (Y/N) to Bruce.

" I swear to God, I'll sedate you with ketamine if you don't go to sleep. I'll knock you out with it to the point you'll be sleeping for days. " Bruce threatened and then came the infamous two words.

Alright, bet.

Bruce was seeing red at the mere thought of those words. They were both taunting and dismissive. Not something to be saying to an already stressed father anyway. And while Bruce has grown to love (Y/N) as his son, he was going to lose his mind with him.

" Alright, here's a deal. You go to sleep and sleep through the night and I'll take you to see your favorite artist. "

(Y/N) tilted his head, frowning.

" Promise? "

" I promise you. I swear it to you. I'll get you VIP tickets. I'll make sure to take you myself and pull strings. But for the love of God and everything else, go to sleep! "