#read hood imagine

[sophiethewitch1]

In Death's Embrace Pt. 2

Jason Todd x Death!Reader

Part one!

Jason shoots up in bed, his hand stretched out. He’s sweating, drenched in his own panic in fear. His hand falls into his lap, still twitching. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, doesn’t remember what he was trying to grasp.

He knows he failed. He knows it slipped through his fingers like sand. He doesn’t think there’s anything more tragic in the world. He doesn't know why.

“Once again, you amaze me. Breaking the rules of the universe, not once, but twice.”

His hand is wrapped around his gun before you even finish the sentence. It’s pointed between your eyes once you do. To your credit, whoever just broke into his apartment without triggering any of his alarms, you don’t even flinch. No, you just fold your hands behind your back and give him an odd look.

You tilt your head, eyes moving over the scars on his face and catching on the lock of white hair he sports. Then, your face breaks into a smile, and something in Jason’s heart jumps. There’s a knowing in your eyes that he doesn’t like. An understanding.

You see through him, somehow. He doesn’t like it. He’ll shoot you for the offence.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Jason demands, assessing you like you assess him. You don’t look like a combatant, in long dark flowing fabrics. Still, he knows not to underestimate someone based on their appearance.

That damned clown never looked like a threat. And now he was standing here, with someone who seemed just as crazy in his bedroom. Only someone that crazy would break into his home.

“Are you going to shoot me?” your words are teasing, eyes fond. Maybe you’re crazier, then. You don’t believe he’ll do it. He will.

He should have already. It’s base curiosity that holds his trigger finger. That’s what he thinks it is, at least.

“I might,” he finally says, “Again, who the fuck are you?”

“It’s interesting talking to you like this. You knew who I was straight away last time, but this time you turn your weapon to me,” you continue, ignoring his threat. A muscle jumps in his cheek, annoyed at your presence, at your blatant disregard for him.

“Last time?”

Your smile turns into a bright grin. He’s momentarily stunned by it.

“So, you really haven’t won just yet. That gives me a small measure of pride,” you say, walking over to the window with your hands still behind your back, “Maybe enough to spare you from my anger.”

You look over at him again. Purse your lips.

“Maybe not.”

“I think you forget who is holding the gun,” Jason reminds you, clicking his teeth at the way you just shrug.

You go quiet. No more teasing words or ominous warnings. Jason should shoot, shoot now. He’d hate the cleanup, hate the mess, hate all the effort, but it was necessary. You were dangerous. That much was obvious.

Instead, he opens his big dumb mouth and asks, “What do you want?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Is it terrible I don’t know? Rules are rules after all, but this situation is… complicated. You’re not another Sisyphus, you don’t even want to be here.”

“You broke into my home and started threatening me. That doesn’t sound complicated,” Jason insists. This is such a fucking weird conversation. And Sisyphus? Jason had done his homework, he knew about the mythical man who cheated death. He thinks he’s actually quite a lot like Sisyphus.

He still doesn’t appreciate the comparison.

“Yes well, I don’t want to be here either, de-” your voice cuts off, eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow on him like he caused some great offence. Inside him, he feels his dead little heart wither even further at the sight. Like you being upset with him was one of the worst mistakes of his life.

Once again, you broke into his house. All he’d done was tell you to get lost. Oh, and maybe threaten to shoot you, but who cares about that. He soothes the momentary panic, insisting you obviously hadn’t.

Which is dumb. He’s being an idiot. Jason Todd is being an absolute moron right now, and he just needs to shoot you.

Instead of paying attention to the gun trained on you, you stare out his window, at the streets of Gotham’s Hill district below. The sun is rising, rays bursting through the fog. The people are just getting up with it. It’s one of the few times the city is anything close to quiet. Most are still sleeping, and so is crime.

Warm sunlight catches on your cheek, and again, something inside Jason cries out at the sight. It’s worrying.

“I think I want you dead, again,” you confess.

Jason’s breath whooshes out of his lips, and his gun arm twitches for a second. Well, fuck him, that’s certainly a statement. And again, why hadn’t he shot you?

He still doesn’t do it. He must be crazy, too.

“I’m being greedy. I always have been, of course. It’s what I am… But especially this time, I think I’m being too greedy,” you sound sad, your fingers trailing across the wooden window frame, “I think I shouldn’t be here, but it’s the ones like you who make it hard.”

You rub dust against your fingers, and Jason feels embarrassed for the state of his home. He realises a second later what a stupid thought that is, you broke in. He wonders how many times he’ll have to repeat it to remember it. He feels uncomfortable and off-kilter, and he knows it’s because of you.

He needs to get you out.

“I’ve always hated the special ones, you know. The smart ones. You’re too good at pulling me, manipulating me, tugging on my strings like a puppet. You make me human,” you turn back to him, crossing your arms and resting against the sill. You’re comfortable in his home, more so than he usually is. Calm, relaxed, like the world is at peace, and worries are something of the past.

He wonders what that must be like. Fucking delightful, he bets.

“Are you not human?”

You raise an eyebrow in response.

Shit. Ah, fuck it. His finger tightens, and the recoil jerks his arm. The silencer keeps the early apartment quiet. Quiet, if not for the sound of the bullet clattering to the ground.

You both glance down at the crumpled piece of metal sitting pathetically on the floor. You lean over, pick the piece up, and then lift it to your eye, watching that same sunlight reflecting the early morning in the steel. A small rainbow flitters across your skin. You close your fist, and you stroll over to Jason.

It takes him a moment to remember to be wary of you, and by that time, you already have his hand cradled between yours.

You place the remnants of the bullet in his scarred palm.

“I expect an apology for that later,” your voice is soft, sweet. Loving, even after he shot you in the chest. Not like it did anything. Your fingers curl around his, tracing every crack and crevice. You do it with concentration, with precision, like you were made just to touch him, to comfort him.

A memory, gone in a flash. He feels it’s loss like a toothache.

He swallows, “I’m sorry.”

You laugh, and the sun’s not outside, it’s in his bedroom and it’s smiling and it’s everything and it’s here in his grasp and he knows it’ll be okay again. It has to be okay again. You said it’d be okay, didn’t you? He can’t remember. His head’s swirling, spinning, falling right into you. Right back into you.

“Or now, that’s fine too,” you sound delighted. He’s glad.

You let go of him, and move back to the window, drawn by the view outside. Jason's hand clasp and unclasp. The street obviously fascinates you, your eyes flicking back and forth and tracking the movement of every soul outside. He wants your gaze back on him.

Jason clears his throat. You glance back at him, then pointedly, his right hand.

He can feel his face flush, embarrassingly. He’s still holding the gun. He turns the safety off and tucks it back under his pillow.

He clears his throat again. He wants something from you, expects it, really. But he can’t tell what it is. He thinks you know, though. That you’re withholding it, for some reason. He’s irrationally irritated at that. You said you were greedy, but nothing could compare to his greed.

Even if you wanted him dead. He was starting to put together the pieces, but he couldn’t seem to feel alarmed. No, it simply wasn’t necessary, with you here.

Still, it’s not quite enough. He wants more. He wants to know more. So he waits for you to speak again.

“I’ve thought about doing this so many times over the years. It would’ve been selfish, and more than that, outside of my duty. You’re not one of mine anymore. For a little while, at least.”

He wants to be. He wants to be yours. He wants it more than he can breathe. If he’s yours, maybe you can be his.

You glance to the side, thinking out loud, “But then you went and started remembering. I’ve worked very hard to make sure that’s impossible, you know. That the memories from my realm stay there.”

You turn a disapproving glance his way.

“Of course, far be it for me to get in the way of a Wayne and his decision to break the world. You lot do that far too much, give me too much work,” you mutter that last part, hand moving to your brow. Like you’re massaging away a headache. He should be doing that for you.

“But you did it. And you’re here. And now I am, too. And I have to go soon.”

You drift closer to him, and Jason’s breath catches. He’s still. He doesn’t make a single movement, scared he’ll scare you away. He realises that’s stupid. That you caught a bullet to the chest. That you’re stronger than anything he could imagine.

He still thinks he could startle you if he’s not careful. That you’re like the mist outside, incorporeal. But Jason can do anything if he puts his mind to it. He knows how to catch the wind, how to gather steam on the underside of glass, how to cup sand and water and feathers and everything that would ever want to be outside of his reach.

You’re out of his reach. He has to let you step into it.

You stop a foot away from him. He grinds his teeth, and again, you raise a brow at him. He doesn’t move, despite his muscles screaming at him too. You give him a nod and take another step closer. He still doesn’t move, and you give him a satisfied look.

“So, what should we do, Jason?”

“How do you know my name?”

“What? Did dying strip you of any brains?”

The banter is familiar. He doesn’t mean to ruin it.

“Do you have to leave?” again, a voice in his mind whispers. You look sad, again. Again, again, again. All of this is an again.

“Eventually. Sooner rather than later,” you sigh, “You can keep a secret, can’t you, Jason?”

“Not if you leave.”

It’s a bold move. You take a step back, and he winces. Back and forth, back and forth… Still, he doesn’t take the words back. He can’t, because it’s the truth, and now that you’re here, there’s no going back. He’ll do anything to keep you with him, and if you go too far for him to reach, he’ll follow you.

“I think that’s an unfair request,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“It’s fair. You don’t have to stay forever, just a while.” Now that, that is a lie. You seem to know it, too.

You look out the window again. Jason, after a moment's hesitation, moves over beside you. You don’t flee, your attention is on the people below. He opens the window for you, and you give him another smile. He collects them like the rare treasures they are. You lean out into the air, and he freaks, then realises you’d shrugged off a bullet. He stays close, vigilant, anyway.

“I’m curious, I have to admit. What’s this place like?” you ask, resting elbows on the wood. The streets are foggy, as they usually are in the morning. The Hill isn’t the nicest place, not the cleanest either, but you look at it like it’s heaven incarnate. He can see his neighbour down at the local grocer, the old woman who hoards cats seeing her grandson off to school, and one of his guys hanging out on the street, keeping the space safe.

Under his orders. The Hill wasn’t the nicest place, but he liked to keep it as nice as possible.

...Peaceful, he wanted the people here to have their peace. He was obsessed with it, really.

“It sucks.”

You laugh again, music to his ears, “Not the best advertising.”

“I take it back, it’s the best place on earth,” he replies, barely paying attention to his words. He’s seeing how close he can get to you. How many inches he can claim. His face is almost in your neck by the time you lean back, and he curses under his breath.

“It doesn’t need to be,” you say, pushing away from the sill and turning to wander around his room. You take in everything about the space. From the general mess, to the Jane Austen books crammed into his bookshelf, to the mask he’s left half-hazard on his bedstand.

You watch it all, just as fascinated with the world outside as the one inside. He wants to believe that means he’s special to you. And if it doesn’t, that just means he needs to work a little harder.

Finally, you turn to him. You take in every facet of him, once again. Your all-knowing gaze finds his hair again. You seem especially fascinated by that. You lift your hands, and he’s in them before he realises he’s moved.

You map his features with your hands, and he makes a little sound in the back of his throat. Ignoring that, you wipe the bags under his eyes. He feels his sanity slip away under your touch. You trace the scar on his chin, the one above his left brow. The stubble along his jaw. The bump in his nose. The edge of his lips. He wonders at the smirk you give when he groans. And finally, you come to that strand of hair.

You tug on it. A memory fizzles again, and to his frustration, he can’t quite grab it. Can’t quite take it, claim it. It’s not his, not yet.

You haven’t given him permission to remember. He wants it, he wants it, he needs it.

“I think I can stay, maybe. Just for a little, just a little. You want that, right?” your hands cup his face, and he knows, somehow, that you’ve done this a thousand times. And if this is the thousand-and-first time you’ve held him like this, he’s glad. To be back in your embrace is the sweetest pleasure. The greatest relief.

“Yes. Yes, yes… yes, I do,” he’s nodding, he’s begging, he’s pleading with you. Just for a moment more, just a second more. Just a little bit more, before you let him go again. He leans down and presses his forehead to you, sighing in your scent, the wheat reeds in the wind, the warm sun on skin.

He wonders what he has to do to make sure you never let go again. He wonders if you’ll let him do it.

You shake your head, giving him a rueful smile, “You really are too cute, darling.”

That nickname. The key to his heart, his mind. Every single barrier keeping him from you is gone, crumbled by your will. He is thankful you’ve given them back. He is thankful for every moment you ever had with him. And he’ll make a thousand more.

He presses his lips to yours, arms holding you close. When you melt into him, sigh into the kiss, he feels a euphoria he didn’t know could be true. He feels a relief he didn’t know even in his days under, even when you only held him.

He feels alive with it.

“Thank you for coming back,” he whispers against you, and he can feel that familiar, that damning smile spread.

“You left me. I had to hunt you down myself, Jason dear.”

Maybe he couldn’t have his peaceful death. But he had a loving one, and that was all he needed.

[stormy-skyzzzzzz]

no but imagine Jason Todd with his big, strong, callused hands holding on to your hips for dear life while you ride him till dawn.

oh and he for sure whimpers.

[yoditopascal]

Or Nah

MINORS DNI 18+ ‼️

jason todd 100% loves to fuck to music.

he tries to focus on the lyrics, the beat of the song, tries his hardest to focus on anything but you to make this last longer but fuck, you’re squeezing him so tight and you sound so fucking good.

he buries his face into your neck and licks against your skin as he tries to stay hitting it on beat, promising you’re gonna feel oh so good when he's through with you “fuck mama.. so fuckin’ good to me .” he speeds up his pace a little as he gets closer faltering on tempo just a bit to let you know he's getting close

he’s so fucking big, and he's moving like he’ll die again if he can't get you to come first. he starts mumbling filthy nothings pathetically into you ear as he lazily drags a hand down your plush stomach to rub tight circles into your clit

you don’t even know when you both started cumming, him filling you hard and deep as he's painting your walls hot and white, but you know you didn't want it to stop.

a chill runs down your spine when you feel him exhale a strangled breath, your combined fluids leaking out of you as you both come down from your high leaving a milky ring around the base of his cock, so caught up in the euphoria of it all that he forgot to pull out.

there's a different song playing now and the thought of fucking you to it has his dick twitching inside of you all over again

a/n: i wrote this instead of doing my math hw

[fcthots]

Jason Todd reading you to sleep. send fucking post.

[mikakuna]

kid jason did not remind the teacher there was homework just for you guys to mischaracterize him as some horribly behaved child

like look at the rep this kid had amongst spoiled elitist children

[jasontoddsgaythoughts]

Do you think Bruce Wayne would be good at telling his Robins bed time stories when they were kids, or do you think he’ll approach it like the Smosh Reddit stories series?

[rev-wrath]

Marry Me

Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Your and Jason’s proposal isn’t quite the average one. It’s very fitting in your eyes though.

Info: Fluff. No gendered terms or pronouns are used so gender neutral Reader. 0.3k words.

“Hey,” You lift your head up to look at Jason. “marry me?”

“Yeah? I’m hoping to, baby.” His expression and tone are soft. Even after all these years he looks at you with such fondness it warms you, and he looks at you like that every day.

You shake your head, shifting so you're on your elbow. “Marry me?” Your eyes never leave his as you grab his hand.

Jason looks caught off guard as it sinks in. “Sweetheart, are you proposing to me right now?”

“I am. Jason Peter Todd, will you marry me?”

He laughs. “Yes,” your full name slipping out of his lips. “I will marry you.” You kiss his ring finger. “Not even going to let me be all romantic, sweep you off your feet and propose to you?”

“You still can. We gotta go buy the rings.” You know he won’t say it so you will. “I’ll let you have that.”

You can hear the amusement in his exhale. “Thanks baby.” You will however, contribute to the fund even if Jason has access to Bruce’s money. The thought of last names briefly crosses your mind but you tuck it away for later, choosing to stay in this moment.

“I’ve already proposed. You can pick the rings if you want.”

“I don’t really care as long as we get married.” You know that’s true but you still give him a look. You don’t doubt that he actually would put together something to propose himself or just celebrate your engagement. “Shush.”

“I didn’t say anything, babe, dear fiancé of mine.” You add.

“Fiancé.” He says fondly.

“Fiancé.” You nod, agreeing. “I love you.”

He tugs you back down to him. “I love you too.” You lean into each other, connecting your lips. Smiling against him you can feel his lips curve. You both know this is a new chapter of your lives, but it feels all too natural and right, because where else would you be if not here with each other?

[appallinnballin]

new

[greenerteacups]

Re: your recent response about Draco wearing blue - fashion is not something I tend to pick up on (or understand very well generally), so I’m always curious to hear more about it! Do you have any other fashion thoughts you want to elaborate on? You’ve talked a bit about Draco and Hermione’s fashion, what about Harry or Ron?

Aw, yeah! I'll preface this by saying that the following is a combination of canon and headcanon; some of this is evidenced in the text of the fic, but some of it probably isn't, it's just something that's in my head when describing them.

Harry's pretty small in Lionheart, as a consequence of chronic malnutrition in childhood mixed with a genetic predisposition to it (James is canonically a short king, cf. "Hairy Little Christmas.") That means a lot of his muggle clothes don't fit well, being hand-me-downs from Dudley; in contrast, his school robes, which we know he got tailored at Malkin's, seem to fit normally (i.e., Harry fits better in the magical world, it's his home, it suits him). In general, Harry's fashion is "adequate, but not great," which makes sense; he never had the chance to choose his own clothes growing up, and then he went to boarding school with a uniform, so when would he develop a sense of style? Honestly, it's a relief for him to have one fewer decisions to make.

Like Ron, Harry's uniform isn't super meticulous, but he seems to make an effort. He does his tie and keeps his shirt clean, etc. (which makes sense; Harry cares about belonging here). When we see Harry out of uniform, he's usually wearing baggy t-shirts and jeans, which are the least nice clothes you could give to someone while still expecting them to last; they're also clothes that fit loose and hang long on his body (very late-80's + early 90's).

Ron, on the other hand, doesn't have any qualms about belonging in the magical world; he was born to it. This manifests as a laziness with his robes. He doesn't bother with his tie as much, if at all, and when he does it's not the right knot (Draco points it out in Book 3); since he's the brother of not one but two Head Boys, we have to assume that's deliberate, or that at some extent his lack of attention is a deliberate manifestation of something. Ron is youngest boy, he has self-esteem issues, and the way this manifests is by Ron never asking for anything and then getting sour when nothing goes his way. He doesn't try, so he can't feel bad when he fails. Besides which, when Ron does try to dress nice, it backfires; it's either an uncomfortable costume, like in "Operation Prewett," or it's a horrible hand-me-down, e.g. the Yule Ball outfit. Contrast him with the other Weasley boys, many of whom — especially the three oldest — have their own cultivated aesthetics, because they all know who they are. Ron is figuring that out, and it manifests in stylistically messy ways.

[littlebatsimagines]

Christmas snuggles (Jason Todd x Reader)

(Y/n)= Your name

(E/c)=Eye color

(H/c)=Hair color

(F/c)=Favorite Color

MasterList

Snow fell over Gotham and harsh winter winds echoed through the streets. For Gotham it was surprisingly calm as everyone celebrated. (Y/n) watched the snow as they made two cups of hot chocolate, the sound of body armor being moved and guns being cleaned and put back together a bit odd against the festive music that quietly played through the small apartment. "Jay, I think all that can wait one day." (Y/n) said as they passed Jason the warm mug. "Hmm maybe but you know how the family gets...always be prepared and blah blah blah." he said as he moved onto the next weapon only for (Y/n) to put their hand out to stop him. "Yeah but no more of that please, its Christmas spend it here with me since you didn't even want to go see your family." They said with a soft smile before a mischievous one took its place. "Ya know..." (Y/n) started as they sat next to Jason. "I haven't been able to find my socks and I know how much you love it when I do this!" (Y/n) quickly put their ice cold feet on Jason's side making him let out a surprised squeal. "(Y/N)!" He yelled with a laugh before pushing his stuff aside and looking them. "You're not going to give up are you?" He asked as (Y/n) shook their head with a smile before he hummed. "Alright fine come here ice cube." He laughed as he pulled (Y/n) into his lap easily and they snuggled into him. "Can we watch the Polar Express?" (Y/n) asked as they looked up at him. "(Y/n) seriously? Aren't you like 23?" He asked making (Y/n) shrug. "I mean yeah, but I still have cold feet and I'm not afraid to use them." they said making Jason laugh a bit. "Alright, alright, alright. Polar Express it is." He said as he turned on the tv.

Sure there might not have been a Christmas Tree or a very festive atmosphere in that little rundown apartment but there was two people, a warm blanket, and lots of laughs and warm snuggles as the harsh winds of winter blew outside and really what more could be wanted on a cold Christmas Day than warm Christmas snuggles with the one you love.

[betterthanbatman1]

Literally went around thinking about this amazing fic all day, where Steph helps Jason after he has a little mishap with the bats. Turns out it was just a daydream I had… I don’t really know how I feel about that

[roxineedstosleep]

Jason have some memory issues

Situation that I really believe, and although I have no proof I have no doubts either, have definitely happened with Jason.

(Those who have read the book will understand what I mean by the line of events and the family tree).

Tim: So, let me get this straight.

Jason: Tell me.

Tim: You've read 100 Years of Solitude by Garcia Marquez.

Jason: Of course I have.

Tim: Without the need for notes on the timeline and events.

Jason: Uh-huh.

Tim: And without making notes of the Buendia’s family tree, regarding the family mess and their children and bastards.

Jason: I'm not weak-minded. And in the end the 17 Aurelianos were recognized by their grandmother, Úrsula, so they are not bastards. Your point?

Tim: My point? You know the family tree with no problem of confusion, but you keep confusing my Starbucks order even though it's just a triple espresso with 2 sugars?! Something I always ask for!!!

Jason: Why? Buendia’s family life is much more entertaining than your cappuccino and ice cream. That’s why.

[yoditopascal]

I feel like as much as we want Jason to be the dominant one in the relationship based on his choices of women in the comics (besides Isabel) he definitely likes to be topped

[fcthots]

thinking abt wearing jason's initial on a necklace but in a taylor swift kind of way

-🕷️

THIS THIS THIS CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

I WANT TO WEAR HIS INITIAL ON A CHAIN ROUND MY NECK CHAIN ROUND MY NECK NOT BC HE OWNS ME BUT CAUSE HE REALLY KNOWS ME WHICH IS MORE THAN THEY CAN SAY-

ANYWAy

Here's the thing about the fucking press, since the moment they found out Jason was alive, they've never let him breathe. Your relationship went public against your will only two months after he was declared legally alive. Since then the opinion on your relationship had fluctuated. Sometimes there were fan accounts and other times you were sent death threats. Jason did what he could, but he couldn't stop everything.

The worst that happened was when you went with some friends. It was just dinner on a balcony at a nice restaurant. Jason had gone to some concert with one of his siblings. To be honest, you were too drunk to remember which. You were out with three friends two of you were drunk. The birthday boy doesn’t like to drink, but he gave the ok for everyone else. One other friend stayed sober and offered to be the designated driver.

You're solidly drunk. Drunk enough to actually be excited to take pictures. Drunk enough to be laughing the whole time. Drunk enough to try to call your cat on the phone.

Either way, you're singing happy birthday while your friends are taking pictures so you lean over to kiss the birthday boy's cheek and tell him "HappsyBirthay!" He laughs and thanks you. It's a good time. Your other drunk friend kisses him on the other cheek and takes a picture of it on his phone. It's cute. It's fun. But it is 11:30 pm and time to go home.

You're about to get in the designated driver's car when he asks for your address. You don’t invite people over much, what with Jason having to go on patrol and bloody bats dropping in. You're also drunk enough to not know your address. "That's a relly diffisult queshion. Do you know the answer?" You look over to the birthday boy; he's been to your apartment a few times to have lunch and feed the cat.

He looks over at the designated driver. "I don’t know the address, but I know to get there... Don't worry about it. I'll take her home."

"We goin home?"

He laughs. "Yeah."

"Holy shit! Is Jason gunna be there?" He puts his arm around your waist to guide you into his car so you don’t fall.

"I don’t know. You said he was going out tonight, but I don’t know if he's back yet." He laughs again and waves goodbye to your other friends before he buckles himself into the driver's seat.

The car ride home is mostly quiet. You're half asleep, and it's not long until your friend is pulling into the parking garage. He taps your shoulder and asks for your key. You don’t know where it is. He asks for your phone. You hand it over, and he asks Siri to call Jason.

Jason picks up after half a ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, man. It's me. We're in the parking garage and your wonderful girlfriend is too drunk to find her keys. Any chance you're home."

You hear Jason's voice ask something about articles, news, and pictures before you fall asleep again.

A few minutes pass and someone's calling your name and unbuckling your seatbelt. You look over and see Jason leaning over you.

"J'son!"

"Hey, sweetheart."

"I missd you." He grabs your bag off the floor.

"I missed you too. Hey can you give me your phone?"

You nod your head and hand him the phone.

"I'm gonna pick you up. Ready?"

"Yeah!" He lifts you up while you shout "Weeeee!"

He closes the car with his shoe and turns toward your friend. "Thanks, man. Happy Birthday. Sorry about everything."

"'s no problem. Take care of her. Bye."

You don’t remember much of the elevator ride up or getting in pajamas or getting in bed. But you remember waking up. That wasn't fun.

Jason makes you breakfast, and that in itself isn't out of the ordinary at all, but he's acting weird. Every time you ask for your phone he says "I'll give it to you in a minute."

You can't take it anymore. "Jay, just tell me what happened. You're killing me. Did I post anything dumb while drunk again?"

"No." He sighs and grabs your phone out his pocket before opening up an article. You take your phone from him and read the headline. You feel sick.

"Jason Todd and Girlfriend Broke Up! Finally She's Gone"

You take a bite of eggs off Jason's plate and keep reading.

"Here's the evidence:

"nobody's heard from the couple for months, not even so much as an instagram post from the once vocal couple

"Todd was seen last night at a concert singing his heart out to breakup songs, images below

"and most damning of all: the now would-be ex-girlfriend was spotted last night getting cozy and leaving with new man, exclusive photos below!"

You scroll and see zoomed in photos of you kissing your friend's cheek and getting into his car. You bang your forehead into the counter repeatedly. Jason puts his hand over the spot you're hitting your head against. You look to him and he looks apologetic.

"I'd prefer if you didn’t read the rest. I don’t think Vicki Vale likes you very much. I'm having Bruce sue the company right now."

You try to hit your head into the table again and he grabs your cheek to stop you. He leaves his hand there. This time, you look apologetic.

"I'm sorry. It just makes me upset when people think I don’t love you or that you don’t love me." You meet his eyes and he's smiling.

"I had an idea."

He pulls two small boxes from his pockets and you stop yourself from making a comment about the size of men's pockets. Before you have the time to freak out, questioning what's in the boxes, he opens them. They're necklaces with the initials of your first names. He takes the one with your initial and puts it around his neck. The chain on his is longer than the other one.

"Obviously you don’t have to, I just had a feeling you might want to. I'm not trying to put a brand on you-"

You cut him off with a kiss.

"I'm never taking it off."

[cant-have-shit-in-gotham]

Thirteen hours. 

It’s been thirteen hours since Scarecrow escaped Arkham. Nobody knows where he is, nobody knows his plans, and nobody knows when they will take place. All they know is that it’s going to be bad.

From what little you can see on the security footage, Scarecrow is pissed. The kind of pissed where he attacks orphanages and playgrounds instead of office buildings and warehouses.

And it's been 

Thirteen 

Hours. 

[CW below the cut: mentions of bullet wounds, stitches. Screaming. Lots of screaming. Mentions of torture, especially in a medical setting, mental torture, mention of child torture, the chick is Creepy but doesn’t do anything SA-y but I’m gonna mention it just in case, mention of being trapped, mention of “the box” that might set off claustrophobia, being a self sacrificing parent, calling a child “it.”

Let me know if I forgot anything or if you spot an error]

————————————

Wil is almost relieved when Scarecrow finally surfaces. A typical attack on an occupied warehouse, one where the bats collectively decide that Hood and his henches have it handled and let them do their own thing.

When they arrive, they're not prepared for a firefight. They were expecting to see more people screaming on the ground from fear toxin than bullet wounds—they don't have enough medical supplies, and they certainly don't have enough ammo.

But they're Hood’s men. They claw their way to victory with bloodied hands. While they rush to save as many gunshot victims as possible, they don’t realize that they haven’t needed their gas masks yet. They don’t realize that Scarecrow isn’t done. Not until it’s almost too late, not until toxic green gas starts seeping up through the floor.

Beforehand, Wil is thinking about a large crack in the back of his boss’ helmit, where an enemy goon tried to knock his skull in with a metal bat.

After, Wil’s first thought is Aw shit, and his second is Holy shit boss’ ‘elmit is crack’d.

As he races over to where Hood is kneeling, stitching up a gunshot wound on one of Wil‘s coworkers, he mentally checks what all he brought with him.

Two gas masks and a rebreath’r. One mask got hit wit’ a stray bull’t, but the oth’r one and the rebreath’r ar’ fine. 

When he finally, finally, arrives at Hood’s side, all he has time to do is stuff the mask in his face, say “Your ‘elmets cracked,” and stick the rebreather in his own mouth. 

Ok, Terror Protocol.

-Ensure everyon’ dangerous ‘as a mask (Check)

-Find a mask fer yerself if ya can (His eyes scan the room, but everyone else had ta use ‘eir extras fer vict’ms)

-Leave if possible (“Boss,” calls anoth’r goon, we’re lock’d in from th’ outside.” Shit)

-Hand someone mask’d yer weapons (He starts throwing his guns and knives at Hood’s feet, desperately trying not ta pass out from the oxygen deprivation)

-Warn someon’ about triggers that could make ya violent (He feels his heart rate pick up as soon as he takes a breath of toxic green air. “Boz,” he chokes out, “k’p m’ aw’y fr’m med’c’l sh’t an’ an’on’ ‘n wh’te.”) [Boss, keep me away from medical shit and anyone in white.]

The Boss shouts something, but someone starts screaming with Wil’s next gasping breath and he can’t tell what was said.

Distantly, he recognises his own voice.

————————————

Riley hears Hood’s “Get us th’ hell outta ‘ere!” but only barely, because just as soon as he’s said it, someone starts screaming. The kind of screaming that reminds them of someone being tortured, taken apart slowly and never really put back together.

A second or two later, the sound stops—so abruptly they wonder if they ever heard it at all.

The other goons are searching for an exit or way to make one, so Riley looks for Hood, to see if he needs any help with whoever got dosed.

Fuck, they think, that’s Greenie.

Greenie, real name Wilbur Jacobs, has worked for Hood for three years. He started as a goon but worked his way up to the point where he’s now sixth in the hierarchy and even leads his own team of goons at times. He was actually the one to hire Riley in the first place.

(Greenie gets his nickname from a long conversation about the Green Lantern, where he made the joke “If ‘is ring runs on willpow’r, that mean I could control it? ‘Cause a my mast’ry of my own Wil-pow’r?”)

Greenie looks like shit. He’s shaking like a leaf in a hurricane; his hands are clasped in front of him like they’re cuffed there; his eyes are darting back and forth, scanning for hallucinated enemies, glassy, like he’s barely holding back tears, and terrified. Worse than Riley‘s ever seen in somebody who’s been fear-gassed.

Worst of all is the muttering. 

It’s only partly intelligible, but that’s only because he’s spitting his words through his teeth, not moving his jaw at all. (Did he think he was muzzled?)

“Damn you. Damn you. You can’t have him. You won’t touch him-”

“Ma- no, ma please-”

“If you touch one hair on my son’s head, I’ll make the Alcatraz escape look like a petty quarrel. I’ll string you up by your intestines-“

“Don’t leave me alone Pa, please I’m sorry-“

“Don’t- don’t touch him. Please. Leave my son alone. I swear- I- I’ll stop fighting. I’ll go back. Just let him go. Please-“

Shaking themself back to the real world, Riley turns to Hood. “Antidote not work?”

“No- he’ll have to wait till the Bats get here so they can synthesize one.”

Greenie was screaming again.

“I think-“ the Boss cuts himself off, “I think this one makes you feel the pain. Not just in resurfaced memories either.”

Riley flinches at a particularly pained scream, “I think you’re right.”

————————————

No. Nonononono no NO

Not again. Please. This can't be happening again please no pleasenono-

“And here I thought three years was long enough to make you stronger. It’s a pity that you’re just as pathetic as you were before.”

No not Her pleasenotHerno-

“Stop screaming. Look at me.”

And he does and She’s just as crazed-excited-cruel-

“There we go.” And She turns off the machine and he can breathe-

“I’m thrilled you found yourself a little toy. A talon, impressive. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Damn you. Damn you.” he spits, “You can’t have him. You won’t touch him-”

“Have you already forgotten that you don’t get to tell me what to do, Subject g-7512?”

And then She had his ma’s face and he was being left again and he was only seven howcouldthey-

“Ma- no, ma please-”

“Aww. Calling for your mum again?” And She was Herself and his ma was gone-

“Bring it in,” She called, and Wolf and Snake were hauling something through the door-

Morel.

“If you touch one hair on my son’s head, I’ll make the Alcatraz escape look like a petty quarrel. I’ll string you up by your intestines-“

She tsks at him, “Threats? Again? Have you not learned from last time?” And he did and he still had the scars but that was his son-

“A week in the box.”

“You’re a disappointment, son.“ That was his pa, behind him, to the right. “I’m glad we left you in that alley. You’ve only ever been a worthless leech.”

And he can’t turn to face him and his pa always hated that-

“Don’t leave me alone Pa, please I’m sorry-“

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re not alone. You have me, and Wolf, and Snake- and the Talon of course.  I wonder- should we return it to the Court, or do our own tests on it?”

“Don’t- don’t touch him. Please.” he begs, “Leave my son alone. I swear- I- I’ll stop fighting. I’ll go back. Just let them go. Please-“

She tsks at him again. Then motions for Wolf to turn the machine back on andhecantbreathe andhe’sscreaming andShetoldhimnotto andhecan’tstop

————————————

When he comes to he feels exhausted and his throat hurts and his boss is staring at him where he’s sitting in the dirt and-

The dirt? His boss? Wil stares up at the red helmet of the Hood and tries to ask what happened, but his voice doesn’t work. 

“Don’t talk, Greenie,” Hood says, in lieu of a greeting. “Drink this.”

His boss hands him a thermos, which he finds is filled with Earl Gray tea.

The warm drink soothes his throat enough to croak, “Wher’z Mor?” [Where is Morel]

“Asleep. About 10 feet behind you,” Hood answers. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Don’ wor’y,” WiI replies, ‘ad a ‘ell a time m’self.”

“What part of ‘don’t talk’ means ‘don’t shut up’?” 

Wil smirks, and is going to try and croak out another answer, but instead gets tackled by his kid.

“Father,” they start, “Injured?”

“Sor’ an’ tir’d”

“Going home.” And then there's forty-five pounds of ex-assassin trying to drag him off in the direction of their apartment.

He gives his boss a look that says Pleas’ save me. But Hood just says “Good idea squirt, I was going to send you both that way in just a second.”

When they’re finally home, Wil puts on a happy, safe TV show, and wraps himself and Morel up in a blanket with a cup of tea. And even though the day was terrifying, and neither of them sleep, they have a good night and throw popcorn at the screen whenever the characters do something dumb.

[grandpasnailgroovy]

It’s really bad but when I picture the magic 2.0 characters in my head a lot of them are based on these

A Robin Hood show I used to watch when I was younger!