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redhoodinternaldialectical · 10 months

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I don’t think Jason has ever hated Tim

I recently revived my Jason Todd hyperfixation from its torpor and realized I had... Means and Ways of reading as many comics as I want for free, so I made the transition from Fanon Only to having read Lost Days, Under the Red Hood, Teen Titans #29 (where Jason fights and beats the tar out of Tim), Hush, Red Hood and the Outlaws (the majority of both runs), Red Robin: The Grail, Batman and Robin: Streets Run Red, Green Arrow #70 - #73 (where Jason kidnaps Mia), Battle for the Cowl, and a smattering of other bits and bobs, all within the last month.

I have come to the conclusion that the idea that Jason hated Tim before slowly learning to be okay with him is completely backwards.

Jason starts respecting Tim as a fellow combatant after basically their first meeting, and was sympathizing with him even before. Fandom talks a lot about how Jason repeatedly tried to kill Tim, but I think there’s a good argument to be made that actually Jason has never tried to kill Tim, and there’s a better argument that Jason has never tried to hurt Tim out of a dislike for him.

Tim is the one who feels viciously betrayed by Jason, hates his guts, and depending on if you blend in the New 52 either learns to begrudgingly like him or just stays hatin.

Obviously I need some proof here, since this goes completely against the grain of every relationship interpretation I’ve ever seen for them, so approximately seven miles of character analysis under the cut lmao

I’m gonna try to go in chronological order of the characters’ history here, which means we’re starting with Lost Days, and Jason’s first reaction to finding out there’s a new Robin:

This does not look like anger to me.

Lost Days is only six issues long, and this is the entirety of the pages devoted to Jason’s feelings on Tim. Jason succeeds in a plan that would have almost certainly killed Batman if Jason had gone through with it. Jason undeniably has Joker dead to rights at one point, but lets him go. Jason at no point in this story attempts to harm Tim at all.

Now for Hush.

Context for fanon only folks: this is where the “throat slitting” bit happens.

Context for a lot of confusion: I don’t know if Jason is the one who holds Tim hostage or not.

In the original Hush plot line this is only Clayface; Jason isn’t here at all. It was later retconned in Under the Red Hood that Jason was actually in this fight for... some amount of time. It’s highly unclear to me when they swap out. Probably because originally, they didn’t swap out. Oh well! In either case, it’s now canon that Jason coached Clayface on his acting, so for the purposes of this essay, Imma hold Jason responsible for the throat damages and the words said regardless of who did what!

Right off the bat: this is a hostage taking, not a murder. Yes, Clayson Jayface does nick Tim’s neck and absolutely makes the threat of murdering him to Batman, but it’s clearly a threat. Like, look at this panel:

He is talking a lot. This isn’t an attempt to kill Tim, it’s an attempt to screw with Batman. No matter who this is, they have every reason to expect that Batman will stop them before they do any permanent damage. Can you see that little, blurry, half-hidden line of red? Lets look at what the damage was later on:

The bleeding was stopped by a bit of cloth, some pressure, and he’ll need stitches eventually, but they can clearly wait, and Tim doesn’t seem alarmed. That’s enough to scar, and enough that it is perfectly reasonable for Tim to assume that he would have died if he hadn’t been rescued.

However, Jason being deeply protective of kids is a reasonably consistent character trait. “You really think I’m gonna bring the pain to a ten year old?” Even at Jason’s most villainous, he is willing to put himself in danger in order to protect his own sidekick Scarlet. I think it would be very out of character for him to have gone through with it. Combined with Jason’s later actions and the general fact that a hostage is pretty useless dead, I come to the conclusion that Jason was bluffing.

It is ambiguous though, and I admit that this is probably the weakest link in the “Jason never tried to kill him” chain.

But enough of that, was he angry with him? Is the hate there?

I argue no, and that really there’s no emotional investment in Tim at all. In terms of hard numbers the pages Jalay Toddface spends holding Tim hostage is 3 and the number he spends fighting Batman is 13 and the number of times he even so much as LOOKS at Tim is ZERO, like actually, literally ZERO TIMES. He does not spare poor Timmy a SINGLE GLANCE.

Now make a special note here because those three pages of no eye contact from someone who might not even be Jason are the ONLY times that Tim is called Pretender or Imposter.

I’m relying on this research done by Kiragecko: https://kiragecko.tumblr.com/post/128411908944/bat-sibling-interaction It only goes up to Battle for the Cowl, (as does this essay it turns out, I just don’t know how to bridge between that and the New 52) so it isn’t every interaction ever, but it’s still excellent research, go leave a like.

According to them: “Comments: Tim thinks about Jason a lot while he’s first training. He imagines the former Robins giving him pep talks, and uses them to fight off fear gas. When Jason comes back, though, Tim’s really nasty, especially in his head. Jason, however, is somewhat respectful. He usually calls Tim ‘Tim’, and seems to kind of like him. ‘Pretender’ and ‘Imposter’ are things that CLAYFACE said, not Jason.“

How many times are those said? Once. Each. That’s it. As a comment under the Jason and Tim post done by Kiragecko points out, “Replacement” doesn’t even get used.

Under the Red Hood is basically THE Jason Todd comic. To my memory he doesn’t interact with Tim in it. However, it does contain that aforementioned reconning! So we get to see his reasoning during this encounter.

And it very very clearly isn’t at all about Tim.

Moving on to Titans Tower, which is indisputably focused on Tim: When he fights Tim, he is absolutely violent and over the line, but he’s NOT out of his head. Jason is clearly very lucid and careful about what he’s doing.

Is he angry? Of course! He’s angry at the Titans who in his mind cared about him way less than their other members, and accepted a replacement robin as though his life, his whole flesh and blood self, was something that could be so easily forgotten and swapped out.

But I think it would be a mistake to assume that Jason’s at all mad that he isn’t Robin anymore.

A very interesting direct parallel to this fight is when Jason kidnaps Mia, Green Arrow’s sidekick Speedy, fights her, appeals to their commonalities and encourages her to solve crime his way rather than Green Arrow’s way.

In both scenarios Jason engineers a way to isolate a sidekick and attempts to teach them something through combat. He makes a direct appeal to them against their mentors, and seems genuine about what he’s saying. He also lets both of them live, and with Mia is honestly pretty damned polite about it all. At least, as polite as a guy can be about kidnapping you and encouraging you to try to kill him in your high school gym that he definitely should not know about.

The plain fact of the matter is that Jason knocked Tim out, had time to paint his whole ass name way up high on a wall, and did not kill him. This is the same Jason who just prior to that took out all of Tim’s allies non-lethally. The same Jason who kept Mia’s protector’s busy non-lethally. The same Jason who cuts Mia free and gives her weapons back and starts slow in their fighting to make sure he doesn’t hurt her too badly. The same Jason who seems to feel very strongly that killing, trafficking, or selling drugs to kids is an unforgivable offense and very clearly sees Tim as a kid.

Quite frankly, this reads not like a murder, and not like a jealous beatdown, but an attempt to convince Tim that he’s going to get himself killed and needs to get out while he still can. In Jason’s mind before they meet, Tim is purely A Robin, a kid who deserves better than to be put into danger against the same monsters over and over again until he finally slips up and dies.

Is this a hairbrained and back asswards way of doing that? Yes! But it does track for someone who tries to do all of his talking through his actions, which do speak louder than words, but unfortunately C-4 loudness is not actually a significant boon to nuanced communication.

If you want to put it in a less charitable way (and maybe we should, this is a bonkers asshole move on Jason’s part no matter how you slice it) then we can say Jason is testing Tim, trying to see if this one has what it takes to be better than he was, to survive where he couldn’t. Personally I think it’s a mix of both, and for this end of that emotional mess: Tim passes the test.

Jason leaves while talking about Tim in present tense, showing that he has every expectation of Tim being alive, and praises him in the process:

Did you know that the fun panel of Tim kicking Jason in the nuts is actually from the same comic run, about twenty or so issues later?

Did you know that the argument they were having starts with Dick and Tim wrestling with Jason and accusing him of a murder he did not commit, and in fact tried to save the victim from?

Did I mention yet that the death in question was of Duela Dent, aka the JOKER’S DAUGHTER, whom Jason caught attempting to hold a young woman hostage for ransom? And that Jason repeatedly shot her getaway balloon instead of her and then tried to save her life immediately afterwards despite the fact that she was going to let the hostage plummet to their death? And it is implied that part of the reason he’s so easy on her is because of “Once a Titan always a Titan” loyalty, with this being our first clue that Jason isn’t the one shooting at her anymore?

Did I also mention that he comes to her funeral in part to be around Donna (the starry leotard lady whose statue he smashed) because it’s nice to be around people who understand being displaced by their own death? And that the one who sticks up for him in this scene is Donna?

At risk of negating my own thesus here, I’d say it’s reasonable to think that maybe Jason feels rage-hate for Tim in this “kicked in the dick while Dick grins smugly” moment.

Lets go now to Robin #177 at the tail end of the 1993 to 2003 run - Bruce has “died” and Tim hasn’t yet gone on his epic quest to find him. Tim finds Jason unifying street gangs with the intent to bring them under control and solve the current crisis. He appeals to Tim for help with this, in fact he comes off as almost puppy dog eager to work with him, and seems really sad when he says fuck no.

This is one of the first fights in which Tim really holds his own against Jason, and I am very proud of him, yes :3

This gets Jason arrested. Then Tim actually goes through with a heavily modified, less violent version of Jason’s plan that Jason didn’t think could work. A few issues later, when Tim decides that he’s going to try to honor what Bruce would have wanted by springing Jason out of jail, Jason makes note of that.

Jason is pretty damned civil at their next meeting, even though Tim makes it pretty damned clear he doesn’t want him around.

And now... we have to talk about Battle for the Cowl.

I’ve seen it described as a masterclass in how NOT to write Jason Todd, due to it portraying him as being an absolutely off his rocker anger murder violence man. I am inclined to agree.

In this three issue comic Jason Todd has been dRiVeN mAd (in the most bullshit comic sense of that word) by Bruce’s will... telling him to go to therapy. Yeah. So uh, he dons a Batman suit to shoot people in AND pretends to be Black Mask so he can enslave a bunch of villains Amanda Waller style, and like it gets weird from there. It is an extremely jarring transition from that last scene to GUNS BAT HATE MAN.

He still does not hate Tim in it. I really, seriously thought I was going to have to make a lot of excuses for this portion but then the more I read of it the more vindicated I was cause let me repeat: One of the most unhinged with Bat hate and crazy juice versions of Jason ever put to print does not hate Tim at all.

Hell, he likes Tim! He compliments him!

And on top of that, even though he is MUCH more lethal against his fellow robins when they attack him - Jason straight up shoots a ten year old Damian in the chest. It’s fucked. - There is still evidence to suggest that Jason deliberately didn’t kill Tim when he had ample opportunity.

Jason first of all never hunts Tim down. I’ve heard Battle for the Cowl described as Jason tracking Tim down or kidnapping him or going after him to force him to Be His Robin, but that’s just not how it goes.

Instead he waits for Tim to come find his Batcave, disorients him, and goes for a ton of surface cuts. He only actually goes for a real body blow after Tim picks up a crowbar and beats Jason across the face with it a few times.

(Again, proud of you Timmy)

After the stabbing, Jason doesn’t just leave Tim there; this isn’t a matter of hurrying on before he could check. He’s seen dragging Tim off. When Nightwing later comes to rescue him, Dick is downright certain Jason is lying to him about Tim being dead because Jason is refusing to show him the body and Dick figures it’s because he knows there’s no body to show (if in part because he can’t let himself believe Tim is dead without hard proof).

Tim himself wonders about this, noting that the batterang was rusted and shattered on his armor.

Sure, Tim used playing possum to make his pulse slow to a near stop for a while, maybe that fooled Jason, but keep in mind that BRUCE taught Tim that skill, and if there’s one thing these comics have established, it’s that Jason is dangerous precisely because he is so intimately familiar with the techniques of the Bat. Jason even makes specific note of the fact that Tim being trained like Bruce and fighting like Bruce would be his downfall at the beginning of their fight.

The whole comic leaves me wondering just how much of what happened went completely according to Jason’s plan. I really would not put it passed him to engineer a ‘death in the family’ recreation for the next Batman in line! As much as I agree that this is garbage characterization for him in many many ways, I do think Jason makes a fantastic villain. I love to see him run rings around the Bats in some places, and make lemonade out of getting his ass kicked in others.

No matter how we interpret the stabbing here though, what does seem very clear to me is that Jason makes the Be My Robin offer to Tim first and foremost because he thinks pretty highly of Tim! He’s been rejected by Tim at least three times over but keeps holding a hand out for him. This does not seem like Tim hater reaction hours here!

Also that whole thing about kids being dragged into this vigilante life irresponsibly? Yeah that’s still there!

I have TRIED to find evidence that Jason hates Tim at like literally any point here. I have gone through the shit people point to. I have looked at the context around those and dug up more obscure interactions for second and third views. Everywhere I look I just see more instances of Jason complimenting Tim!! It’s driving me nuts!

The only conclusion that I can come to is that people read this stuff and just trust that Tim is right about Jason. Tim’s internal view waaay more closely resembles fandom interpretation. Tim assumes that Clayson Toddface would absolutely have killed him in cold blood, that Jason beat the shit out of him purely to prove he was stronger, that he’s a brute, a moron, an active danger to society, and that every bit of leniency given to him will result in betrayal and death.

I don’t have clearer proof for it, but I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Tim probably believes Jason has it out for him and holds him responsible for his replacement.

So yeah. As a fascinating reversal of my expectations going in: I don’t think Jason has ever hated Tim, but boy fuckin howdy has Tim HATED Jason.

#jason todd #tim drake #character analysis #jason todd and tim drake #jason todd & tim drake #jaytim #jason todd/tim drake #robin #red hood #red robin

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factual-fantasy · 2 months

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24 ASKS! :D THANK YOU!! 🧀

Not in my AU she's not! For 2 reasons-

For 1, my AU is built from Mario games and media I personally know/am familiar with. I know a little bit about Mario sunshine and saw a comic where Delfino island was Daisy's vacation island. So I took that info and crafted it into my AU lore! My Daisy's kingdom is populated by Delfino's, and it sits along the coast nearby the Mushroom Kingdom.

The other reason is I only heard of what Sarasaland was like two days ago. I've never played any of the games its from and had no idea it existed. So I didn't add it to my AU and I definitely cant add it now-

But even if I did, I'd have the same problem. Why is Daisy the ruler of these little.. dancing.. skeleton.. guys..?? If she isn't one of them?

@neo-metalscottic (Post in question)

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD And yeah, that was Wendy and Roy! Though her exact reasoning for crying hasn't been fully thought out yet. I was thinking that she was having trouble putting on her make-up and ribbons.. maybe that was something the Koopalings mom would help her with before she.. well.. :( (Also, I do intend to finish/expand on that comic/idea very soon! :}} )

As for Iggy and Lemmy, they're not twins in my AU! Though they are close, they are very apart in age. I don't know what "older lore" you're talking about.. if you're referring to a game or a show, I have never seen it. :( All the Koopalings personalities and dynamics are just going to be made up/decided by me :)

As for their closeness, what brings them together is their eyes and their love for magic/Kamek.

I had this idea that Iggy was born blind, and Lemmy was born with a lazy eye/cross eyed. Kamek was able to use his magic to restore a fair bit of Iggy's sight and reposition Lemmy's eye. The result is their eyes and faces have unusual colors and patterns.. but they can see! And they are very thankful to Kamek for that.

Also that exposure to magic at such a young age has really drawn them into it.. they're both supposed to be really interested in magic and learning how to use it. Thus their closeness with each other and Kamek!

@tallchest13-blog (Sent after this post I believe..?.. orr was it this one-- maybe this one??)

XDD Thank you so much!! I'm glad to see so many folks are interested in my interpretation of the Mario bros!! :DD And good luck with your discord RPG! :}

Well since there are a ton of pirate/seafaring cookies in the game, I assume water isn't a problem. :0 Though it is for Louis becuase he cant swim- (His claw arm is very heavy so he sinks-)

(Link in question)

GOLDEN FREDDY??? XDDD

Tbh that gets a bit of an eye roll form me. I miss the old days when Golden Freddy was just a terrifying Easter egg in the first game.. things were so simple back then.. 😭

@jaybleu25 Ah no worries, I understand. Here, take a look at my 1:AM red scribblings XD

And if its not clear, the last 4 images of that post are all Roy and Wendy :} Hope this helped!

(Post in question)

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD And yup yup! That's Wendy! :DDD

(Link/video in ask)

Oooo :00 what a beautiful song! :DDDD

(Post in question)

I can see the braid refusing to stay together and eventually unweaving itself. Its all flowy and free~~💫💫

<XDD ?? Huh??

I suppose in the actual games the treasure is like that. But I like to imagine my crew finds actual gold treasures 🤩✨✨

The only version of Robin hood I'm familiar with is the Disney Fox version. I'm not sure what you mean by his "merry band".. 😅

Hmm.. I don't think so. But maybe Tuna has..? Or maybe that's how Louis could have lost his original arm-

@raven-bearden-the-interviewer42

Probably Seafoam's love.. 🥺💙

(Link in question)

I feel like Coco would be the one to get pied trying to protect Red. And Tuna would have been the one to set up the trap XDD

@couchwow

XDD All I could think is of how terrifying the brown creature in the second image is. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM!-

WHAT IS THAT??? XDDD

@neo-metalscottic (Mario bros post in question) (Princess post in question)

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :D I'm glad you like them! Though I wonder what about the old designs I would combine the new ones.. I fixed/altered all the flaws I saw with the old designs. I'm not sure what I'd keep-

As for Luigi and the Poltergust, he doesn't ever get that. Since Mario is never captured by the Boos, why would he need it? And I haven't decided what to do with E.Gadd yet, if anything at all..

As for Mario and Bowser.. I was thinking that Mario kind'a just said that in the heat of the moment. But he would be willing to take him down permamntly if he ever showed his face again.. but right now Bowser is definitely not causing any more problems for a while.

Mario and Luigi scared the daylights outa him. The hero's of Legend are real, and they're here. Bowser is probably scrambling for means of defense atm and wouldn't dare send anyone over there to cause trouble.

As for the Chain Chomp.. even if Bowser wanted to release it and wreak havoc on the bros/the mushroom kingdom.. I don't think he could. Kamek was unable to control Petey Piranha and rein him back in when he escaped. What make's him think they'll have any control over the Chain Chomp if they release it? It'll probably just turn around and eat Bowser's castle instead- and once its out, how will they trap it again?

And oh yeah, they could beat it. All they'd need is 1 super star and the Chain Chomp would be flattened in a matter of seconds. ⭐💪

@yoylecake420

I know absolutely nothing about him or the game he's from. :( He's made of wood I think..?

@astaherussy (Post in question)

WAAAHAHAGH THAK YOU!! :DDD

And don't worry! I don't intend to rush anything <XDD --I'm trying to take my time thinking the lore through and filling in plot holes-

(Post in question)

<XD Well I don't wanna ramble about the lore until its a little more set and stone. I don't wanna say "this is my idea!" and then 15 minutes later go "well actuallyyyy...."

Maybe so! XD I wonder if its like that in the games.. 🤔

Ooooo I could see that! :00 That could be Urchins weapon maybe!

(Post in question)

XD I guess great minds think alike? That, or Rosalina is just really cool-

@sparkdrawsstuff

I'm sure they've faced all that and more! :00 Also thank you!! :))

#my response #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #super mario bros

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hikari-ni-naritai · 3 months

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3 6 10 11 12 18 21 23 26 27 29 30 31 36 45 50 52 54 55 57 58 59 60 62 69 (nice) 74 76 86 87 90 95 97

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

man . theyre both kinda. painfully sweet. bubblegum i guess? i also like cotton candy tho its just hard to pick

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

i dotn know what like. most of these words mean. how are half of these related even. tomboy.

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

man i fucked hard at dodgeball

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

these days shredded wheat

12. name of your favorite playlist?

the fuck is a playlist

18. ideal weather?

yknow, cloudy, warm, smells like its about to rain

21. obsession from childhood?

warriors cats babeyyyy. and bionicles

23. strange habits?

man i KNOW ive got some but i cant think what they are. i do this wrist flick manoeuver to crack it.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

if im actually out in the warm weather? take a nice walk maybe.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

yknow. i havent done it in ages but i really like doing jigsaw puzzles. maybe put some jazz on.

29. best way to bond with you?

i dunno honestly! i dont have an answer to this one. it takes a lot of time and effort i think.

30. places that you find sacred?

the woods. the woods the woods the woods you have no idea. the woods. its the woods.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

i would die if i tried to do either of those things

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

like...... charlie the unicorn i think.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

fantasy obv

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

god there was something that destroyed me but idr what it was. the hardest in recent memory was me trying to tell a REALLY really stupid joke that wont make sense to any of you. i did not manage to say it bc i was laughing too hard.

52. favorite font?

i absolutely do not have an opinion on this

54. what did you learn from your first job?

you know at mcdonalds in order to work the grill you have to be willing to put your arms under a hot piece of metal that drips boiling grease on you? thats what i learned.

55. favorite fairy tale?

what IS my favorite fairy tale....... we'll go with red riding hood bc her modern interpretations are always the cutest

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

damn what. uhh ok, having to rebuild my entire social life after the shit that happened a couple years ago, the several year process of going from hyperconservative christian to a . whatever the hell i am now. some kind of far left girl. and uhhhh. figuring out i was trans i guess? idk

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

four??? im good at ff14 raiding, im good at writing, im good at.... uhh... im pretty funny i think, annnddddd uhhh. i dont know that its a talent, but i like to think im good at making people feel safe talking to me.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

heh... guess i shotcha... uhh 'god im fucking tired'

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

ISEKAI OBVIOUSLY specifically something like slime 300 but ill take almost any of them.

62. seven characters you relate to?

SEVEN............ god.... uhh hanako ikezawa, hikari finalfantasy (im cheating), (god i got to ONE and already had to start cheating...) yumiella dolkness, man im tappin out. look at my list of ocs i put way more of myself into them than there could ever be in any other character

69 nice. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

i feel like i know how i know most of my fun facts bc if i didnt i would not really know if i could believe them or not.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

like 8 or 9 probably. i dont really go below a 5 so. its gotta be like migraine or vertebral artery dissection bad before im like 'i should really get some meds'. unless im doing it preemptively which ive done for like when ive got raid later.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

man fuckin SCALLOPED POTATOES BABEY

86. cookies or cupcakes?

the amount of qualifiers this question needs.... cupcakes tho probably.

87. your greatest fear?

dying.

90. luckiest mistake?

i mean most of my mistakes havent been lucky, the best i can think of is when i accidentally followed my girl @handinvampirichand and now we're mutuals with wildly different taste in things but we're cool.

95. favorite app on your phone?

i like tumblr

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

uhh mine, my moms, my moms house, my brother's, my dads. jg wentworth 877 CASH NOW. so thats 6

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scorchedhearth · 2 years

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jaykyle at a coffee shop? (it's 100% a date but only one of them knows it lmao)

congrats on followers!!!!

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To be quite honest, this entire situation is on Kyle. That’s on him, he should have known, should have been clearer, made his intentions more straightforward because Jason may be smart but he somehow manages to be such a moron when it comes to relationships. He admitted to having no friends as a kid and after spending a few months hanging out with him Kyle can believe it, it shows. He should have said it out loud.

“What do you mean this is a date?” Jason blurts out, staring at him as if Kyle had just grown a second head.

“I mean I thought we were on a date, we’re in a coffee shop and I bought you pastries, don’t know what else it could be. But obviously, if one party has no idea what’s going on I'm not sure we can call it that.”

“Does this mean-” Jason squints his eyes, and stares at him some more. “Last month, when we went to the exhibit.”

“A date too, yeah.” Kyle confirms “At least, I thought so. I don’t know about you but I don’t go buying ice cream to eat in a park when I’m just hanging out with friends.” And Jason has the decency to wince at that. Kyle really wants to believe it's because of Jason’s obliviousness when it comes to genuine human interaction but a part of him can’t help but think he’s losing his game. He used to be able to charm anyone with a smile and a few words but if he can’t even get a proper date now… He should reconsider spending months away in space and try to get some human contact when he’s down here, outside of other heroes just as out of the loop as he is.

The silence stretches between them and grows heavy, Jason squirming in his seat. And honestly? This would all be almost worth it just for the sight of the Red Hood looking like a wet cat in the middle of a New York cafe, a hard frown and sad look somehow both pulled on his face at the same time. If only Kyle didn’t feel so embarrassed.

“I-” Jason starts but closes his mouth so fast his teeth click, Kyle hears it above the shop’s background noise.

“What?” He wants to get over with this, the faster the better. It’s never fun to be told off, no matter how carefully you chose your words.

“It’s my first date. In a long time.” Jason pulls a face then, twists his lips in a frown and looks away for a moment, eyebrows pulled together. “But I liked it.” Kyle allows some hope in his heart.

“Yeah?” He relaxes his hand around the now empty cup in front of him, drums his fingers on the ceramic. Waits for more out of him.

“Yeah.” Jason nods and looks back at him, and any sign of discomfort or doubt is gone from his face, he looks like a man with a plan. Determined, and a too pleased grin plastered on his face. “Should have told me you liked me, Kyle.” He says and Kyle snorts.

“For your record, I did. I explicitly told you, and I quote, ‘I like you Jason, do you want to come to this exhibition with me?’ The implications of that were more than clear”

“That’s too vague. Up to interpretation.” Jason waves his wrist around and Kyle is back to wanting to strangle him. He never stops with this know-it-all stick, it’s infuriating. Kyle almost still hates it. “Anyway, I know a great spot in Gotham, if you’re up to seeing the city up close.”

“Depends on what you got, birdie.” He raises an eyebrow at the challenge in his voice.

“Well, glowstick.” The grin is back on. “There’s this place downtown, best burgers you can get in the country. On me, to make up for the failed dates. I’ll show you my favorite statue too.”

“Your favorite statue, seriously?” What a nerd, Kyle thinks with a huff of laughter. “Alright, deal. That’s a date.”

“That’s a date,” Jason repeats, and under the puffed-out chest and satisfied expression, Kyle can see a more timid but just as sweet smile, pink over his cheek. Yeah, it can work out, if Kyle makes sure to have as much subtlety as a sledgehammer.

#not used to writing more fluffly thing like this hope you liked it!#dc #jaykyle #kyle rayner #jason todd #asks #queen-of-ice494 #*myfic

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veinsandknuckles · 2 years

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Brad Bakshi x inexperienced reader?

This was a fun challenge, I haven't written an inexperienced reader insert in a long time! I chose to play it like the reader kind of gave up trying because of at least one not-so-great previous encounter but everything else and all the details are up for interpretation. Let me know what you think!

Oh, Wolfie (pt 1)

Brad Bakshi/f!reader Rated mature (for now) Not BETA'd Warnings: mentions of bad previous sexual experiences, slight D/S dynamics, Brad can be interpreted as being a decent person An office party is the perfect place to make some bad decisions and a Halloween costume is a wish your heart makes. --------- “And what are you supposed to be?”

“Brad from monetisation.”

The annual office halloween party was getting into full swing, you’d had a couple of drinks and they had convinced you it was a great idea to screw up your courage and finally try to catch Brad’s attention. You leaned (casually, you hoped) on the doorframe to his office where he’d spent most of the party behind his desk. The few times he’d had to leave to use the facilities or grab some coffee, he’d made a big show of how embarrassing this whole thing was. You knew, because your eyes always followed Brad.

“Not scary enough for you?” he asked and you shrugged, noncommittally. He certainly scared you, in the best possible way. “What about you?”

You looked down at your outfit. Wasn’t it obvious? You put the hood back up, just in case. “Little red riding hood.” You’d opted for safe rather than daring, but it was still pretty cute. The dress could have been longer.

“Babe in the woods, huh?” Brad looked you up and down and you had to tense all over not to shrink away from him. “Yeah, I guess I can see it.”

You quickly raised the sticky single-use cup to your lips to hide your embarrassment.

“So why are you bothering me?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be out there getting into trouble?”

“I just wanted to check if you wanted anything.” Oh no, that was too broad a hint. You were really floundering here... “I don’t know. A drink or something.”

Brad gave a little laugh. “Right. Well, I have a drink.” He lifted his mug of coffee. “Thanks, though.”

You did your best not to look too disappointed and nodded to him. “Alright then, I’ll... let you get back to work. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

Brad watched you with an amused look and gave a lazy wave as you turned to leave.

It had been worth a shot. Up until just now, you’d kept your little crush a careful secret and since you never really had to interact much around the office, Brad had probably barely noticed you. Silly to think you could entice him to join the crowd with just a word.

You knew it was for the best and tried to let that be some comfort. When Brad took an interest in anybody it usually didn’t do them any favours... but he was so handsome, so confident and so self contained. Whenever he was within your arm’s reach, you felt weak and lightheaded every time. You couldn’t help thinking a few bruises could be worth it if they came from him. --------

There was a stairway to the roof. No one was supposed to come up here, but you’d been let in on it a few weeks ago as the perfect spot for a quiet lunch break or a hideaway when work got a little too intense. Someone had gone through the trouble of carrying up a mismatched set of of lawn furniture and a couple of old flowerpots to use as ashtrays. A part of the jutting roof protected the seats from the worst of the weather and tonight, a string of lanterns were wound around the railing, competing with the stars and the city lights for twinkling beauty. This little spot was fast becoming a very open secret - after tonight, it probably wouldn’t be much of a secret at all. When you’d opened the door and stepped out here to cool off, you’d caught two lovebirds almost in the act and tactfully turned your head to let them slip away unrecognised.

You leaned on the railing now and looked out at the skyline. Right now, it felt less lonesome to view the world from a distance than to see people up close - it was just turning into that kind of party. Your coworkers were fine, most of them were as kind and well adjusted as people ever got but you couldn’t help suspecting that if you stayed up here all evening, none of them would notice your absence.

Logic reminded you there were lots of lonely souls out there, but tonight you weren’t in the mood to be comforted by logic. It wasn’t just your impatience talking, it was disillusionment as well. Honestly, you didn’t want to date around and learn to settle, you didn’t want something grounded and reasonable, you didn’t want someone safe and normal, you wanted... oh, it was silly.

The sound of the door swinging open behind you nearly made you jump out of your skin. As if in answer to your wish, Brad stepped quietly onto the roof and sauntered over to stand beside you. His smile was almost warm.

“Nice view up here,” he said without taking his eyes off you.

It might mean nothing or it might be a joke he didn’t want you to be in on, but you couldn’t stop the longing from welling up inside you. You probably couldn’t help it from showing, either.

It had been such a long time since someone had touched you and the few times it had happened, the experience had left you so empty and rotten you felt as if you could happily go the rest of your life without it. But it couldn’t always be that bad, else why did anyone ever bother? With someone you really wanted... You hoped despite yourself. So, let him see it.

“Hey, Brad.” You cleared your throat. “I didn’t expect to see you outside of your office.”

He shrugged, then leaned on the railing and joined you in watching the city. Whatever reason had brought him up here, he seemed to be in no hurry.

Eventually, you just had to ask. “If you hate these parties so much, why do you still show up?”

Brad looked over at you and smiled again. “Why do you think we host them?”

“I don’t know. To keep up morale, bring people together, let them blow off steam...”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“What’s your way?”

“The way I see it, you’ve got a whole building full of people who spend all day every day driving each other crazy - I can guarantee you that every single person down there has at least one coworker they obsessively fantasise about killing. Or fucking, or both. We know that, and we still let them back in after hours, dim the lights and ply them with alcohol.” Well, at least Brad didn’t seem to have any trouble being honest with you. That was something, although you weren’t sure what. He went on, sounding pleased. “The last thing you want from an employee is a clear sense of boundaries.”

You wondered who Brad fantasised about fucking and/or killing. You might have assumed he was above it, but it didn’t sound as if he was really above anything. “But why do you show up in person? Is it just to watch the carnage?”

He shrugged. “If you wanna get dirt on your colleagues, there’s no better time than an office party.”

Another characteristically cynical take. Did he ever think about anything else? You scratched some of the paint off of the railing and watched the flakes float down like confetti. “You’re not going to find much dirt up here.”

“No?” Brad seemed to be watching you carefully. “There’s no one you’d like to... introduce to the copying machine?”

You met his gaze and held it. When you replied, your voice sounded very small. “Maybe there’s someone.”

He wasn’t going to break away either - your nerve held out another couple of seconds, then you lowered your gaze and took another sip of your drink.

“...how many of those have you had?” he asked and his voice was lower now, too. You thought you heard a promise there.

“It’s just water,” you replied.

“Still...” he seemed to deliberate. “Are you sure you know what you're asking?”

“Please, Brad,” you whispered. It slipped out before you’d had a chance to think it through.

He could deny you, that was fine, but you just couldn’t let him believe you didn’t mean it. You had no power around here, nothing he could want to use. What you did have, he was welcome to. As long as he knew that, right now nothing else seemed to matter and you just couldn’t make yourself care whether things got awkward or whether or not he’d treat you right.

Your hand trailed across the railing and found his, slim and strong and warm. He took yours and his thumb traced a lazy pattern across your palm. That was enough to make you shiver, and Brad laughed.

“Wow, you’ve got it bad...” He tugged on your wrist, and you took a step closer. His voice was almost a whisper. Perhaps he was speaking more to himself than to you. “Yeah, I could have fun playing with you.”

You gasped. “Please...”

“You said that already.” Brad slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, then brushed his nose against yours to make you look up at him.

It was a wonder you didn’t fall to a puddle at his feet. That wasn’t just your attraction to him, although that was strong enough. He was older, he was gorgeous, he was cruel, he had no reason to care enough to be gentle or patient with you, and you’d never expected this little hope of yours to stand a chance - how could you ever keep up with him? How was it not painfully obvious you didn’t know what you were doing?

Before you could warn him, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and teasing, once, twice, until you let yourself go soft and pliant in his arms and parted your lips to let him in. When his tongue grazed yours, you moaned, a weak and needy little sound. That seemed to do it for him because he pressed you against the metal bars and his next kiss was rough. Whatever you’d stirred in him, you liked it and prayed he wouldn’t reign it in too much. After a moment or two, Brad pulled away to let you breathe and his teeth raked across your bottom lip.

“Oh God,” you gasped. Even with both hands clinging to his clothes, you felt in danger of collapsing.

Brad tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled back, slow but hard. It didn’t even cross your mind to complain or resist, you just whimpered and bared your throat. He grinned at that and it looked beautiful. And then you felt his other hand, hot and greedy, trailing up your leg and slipping under your skirt and you gasped again, shivering all over.

It was too much, too soon. At least, it would be if you didn’t tell him, not because you were scared but because you wanted it so badly and you needed him to know what it meant. Being honest with him would make you vulnerable, and you wanted to be vulnerable. You wanted him to hold all the cards, take charge, lead you and know exactly what he was doing to you. The small part of you that was still thinking somewhat clearly also reminded you that he might be frustrated with your inexperience - or even worse, he might be into it in a way you couldn’t be comfortable with.

You had to know. Better to know now than later.

You grabbed his wrist and held him in place.

“Brad, I’ve got to tell you something.”

He leaned out and eyed you apprehensively. “...What?”

“I... I haven’t really...” God, what a time to become tongue tied.

“You’re not about to tell me you’re a virgin, are you?”

“No. I mean... no, not technically.”

Something in his look softened a little. “Alright, I get the picture.” He sighed and watched you, trying to gauge what you meant and what you wanted. Either he was being more of a gentleman than you’d ever expected him to be or, more likely, he was recalculating the odds of you becoming clingy afterwards.

“I know this is just for tonight,” you insisted. “I’m happy with that, just...”

“You want me to go slow and make an effort.” He snorted, but didn’t seem annoyed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

#brad bakshi #brad bakshi imagine #brad bakshi x reader #mythic quest fanfic #mythic quest #mythic quest: raven’s banquet #my fics #most of part 2 is finished #I'm just trying something new and want to get it right

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aalghul · 2 years

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Honestly People who say Winick has the best interpretation of Jason and Jason should just be a villain are grossly misunderstanding something. Like Under the hood was a decent story but Winick did misunderstand a lost of Jason's character and shouldn't really be a Jason writer. What he needs is somebody who understands Robin!Jason and a good story of him attempting to move on. Cheer as a meh start but I think that it was good for his character.

I agree on Winick's writing and his lack of understanding when it comes to Robin Jason! I disgree that Cheer was any good for his character, though. It perpetuated the "Robin Jason was violent, reckless, and only wanted to punch people, not be a detective" thing that DC likes to push. And it also made Red Hood Jason just like that (like he would need Bruce fucking Wayne to remind him to be kind to addicts, hello?). I also viewed the theme of trust between Jason and Bruce being wrapped up as something that Jason was misunderstanding, since he was the one saying they didn't trust each other, which was then proven wrong in the flashback to Riddler trapping Batman. As a whole, I was not a fan of that garbage.

Back to Winick. The idea that Jason would go around shooting goons and killing people lower on the power scale will never sit right with me. Not to mention that Winick didn't feel the need to mention Jason's own experience with the Gotham underground? It's like he didn't get that Jason is a character outside of Bruce. To Bruce, all the entire East End boils down to is crime, dead parents, (dead? alive?) son. That part makes sense; it's made sense since Batman #408 brought it up! But that's not the extent of Jason's relation to it. Meeting Bruce is one night out of the entire life he lived there! All of which Winick just does not see fit to mention (along with Stephanie, considering Jason's takeover happened on the base of the results of War Games, but whatever, Winick. I already know you don't care about women).

Beyond just its misunderstanding of Jason's character, I think UTRH was always very surface level and lacking in several ways, as a story. The conclusion was so out of character for Bruce, we don't even need to debate it (or the many other ways Bruce was OOC that entire storyline). But it wasn't even a good conclusion because he was clearly just trying to achieve the goal of "dead/assumed dead" rather than writing a story that actually led up to it. One thing that I think Winick did fine with was including some details on Jason's part that showed emotional investment, but not enough and it really did go "I care only about Crime Alley, apparently for fun since I have no investment in anyone's safety" to "this was all about Batman". Jason's insistence that no one involved kids was like...the one good and consistent thing. It doesn't hold up if he doesn't care what happens if the goons he just shot dead have kids, though!

In conclusion, no one understands my blorbo like I do, but especially not Winick.

#turtle mail

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swordatsunset · 1 year

Text

its like uhhhh. im a big fairytale folktale guy and like when you read about fairytales a lot you really have to reckon with the fact that like, these cool stories often come from a place of regurgitating harmful ideas and concepts but also as reactions to the world in relation to their material existences because, like, fairytales change lol the folktale is a Changing Entity etc

like idk let's talk little red riding hood (i wrote a paper a couple yrs ago on how environmental issues affected the Grimms Brothers fairytales and I used this as a 'case study')

That story is about a lot of things and it is used for a lot of things and I won't talk about modern interpretations bc this mini-post essay is not relaly About That but like this is a story that concerns itself intimately with the divide between The Wild and Safety and it posits that the wild is always always encroaching upon the safety of the civilized world. the story has changed over time of course and there are little nuances to every story and telling of the story so I won't get into that but at the same time that this specific story is being written down there are massive environmental changes occurring (as there always are) and so the huntsman comes into being, not created by the Grimms brothers ofc but like recording a story is just as important as writing one. Anyway

Little Red envelops a story about how the huntsman is the arbiter of order and so we see adults as unequivocally in the 'right,' of course. This is also easily read as a story about sexual assault. This is also a story about trying to tame the wilderness and how you can, truly, never actually be safe from the wild outside. And so on. And like not all of these are 'good messages,' lol! And stories do not need to be about good messages but the vehicle of the fairytale (caveat that this is a specific kind of a fairytale, a specific geographic area- that is, The West/Europe, and it is absolutely not the rule of folktales and folklore. DUH.) is NOW known as the vehicle of 'Good Lessons for Children' (ergo, the huntsman) and we must acknowledge that the fairytale is about morality. And that those morals are often wrong

AND ALL THIS IS TO SAY that if you are in a season that is about fairytales and being trapped in the narrative it is a really uninteresting move to mostly pretend that the issue is not like, generations of internalized morals and understandings of the Status Quo being passed down through story, but some amorphous blob that is The Authors, whatever they may be. But also don't quote me on any of this I'm not even fully sure if I agree with all of it

#my post #if the horror is not horroring (and it is not) then i will simply fall back on my analytical skills of the folktale as genre instead

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eloquent-vowel · 3 years

Note

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

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The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

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

Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

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

It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

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

You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

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bloodraynebeast · 3 years

Text

Since I love to take things in fiction apart and analyse, let’s finally talk about the unexpected pairing of Yashiki / Mashita from Spirit Hunter. May also be writing this because I’m hyped for the third game Shibito Magire and I miss them both. First off, this series is severely underrated. I wish it had more spotlight and can only hope it gets more love. It’s honestly a hidden gem in the horror genre. There’s going to be a lot of discussion about the first game’s main story and DLC, the sequel and some other details so if you want to check out the games yourself, warning that there will be SPOILERS below.

Going in to Death Mark (死印) completely blind, I didn’t know what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect to ship anything. At first glance it’s not really the setting for it, but horror and romance is a combination that should be explored more actually. And Yashiki and Mashita’s connection and chemistry just really shines in the game.

In the first chapter, the protagonist is a clean slate because of the amnesia but appears tender-hearted whereas when Mashita is first introduced, he’s cold and shady as hell, and despite the circumstances, he seems to be intrigued by Yashiki. Throughout the story it’s subtly shown that their bond is slightly different to the rest of the cast. They have more focus and development. While they may have their disagreements, they bounce off each other, have a deeper understanding and are even more relaxed around one another - although not at first. And Mashita’s disdainful, sardonic attitude, though caring more than he lets on is a perfect contrast to Yashiki’s kinder, empathetic nature. A detail I also noticed is that even their Marks are opposites. With the protagonist’s Mark on the back of their right wrist, while Mashita’s is on the underside of his left wrist. They mirror each other. Interesting. Meanwhile Mashita states he sensed his own Mark as soon as he saw Yashiki’s? I mean... I’ve heard that sort of line used as a set up for a lot of romances.

Later on, the dialogue options for scenes with Mashita and his reactions to any sort of affection or appreciation from Yashiki such as telling him he’s grateful for his help or that he’ll miss him when he leaves speak for themselves.

Leading into Chapter 2. Mashita is the first Mark Bearer to stay behind and willingly - even though his Mark had been cleared, unlike other characters. Of course his reasons are motivated by what Mary said and later revealed when appeasing Shimi-O. But there may have been another reason hinted. Mashita states before finally leaving that continuing to stick his neck out for Yashiki has grown too dangerous and apologizes, with the small detail that he clenches a shaking fist. Interpreting that, I think a tiny part of Mashita wanted to try and help the man as much as he was able, considering he was up against something way beyond them. Perhaps he saw an echo of his old mentor in Yashiki considering he is several years his senior, or he was just a little soft on the guy who desperately wanted to prevent any more victims of the curse as well as his own demise. At least a drink was on him if Yashiki lived through it. Also if you take Mashita along in the first investigation in this chapter, it gives a short but sweet moment of him catching Yashiki grinning next to him in the van.

After the events of the main story, it’s revealed that Mashita brings up the idea of Yashiki joining him as a partner as he becomes a private eye. It also won’t be the last time he brings it up. It’s interesting for someone like Mashita to try and persuade someone to work with him and to be a little persistent about it and the fact that it’s Yashiki specifically, makes you wonder. He obviously doesn’t mind his company.

The Red Riding Hood DLC holds one of their most memorable moments. As usual Mashita doesn’t act as brash and rude towards him like he does with the other Mark Bearers and the two have their back and forth interactions when they team up. Mashita protects Yashiki from a possessed Shou ambushing them and when he is forced to confront Red Riding Hood alone, about to plummet to his death.

We get this screen -

Very dramatic. Mashita being the one to save Yashiki like this and being the knight in shining trenchcoat aside, it’s more emphasis on them. It’s the game once again showing that their relationship is something just a little more than the others. Eventually the case comes to a close with the two returning to the mansion, talking about Hyakki Yagyō (Monster’s Parade) - A big implication of them working together again, Mashita giving Yashiki some advice from understanding his mindset and once again saying he could do some good with solving such cases. By this point, it’s pretty transparent that Mashita has a soft spot for him and has his own concerns for his well-being. In addition, even the alternate Blue End CD Drama with Concept! Mashita refuses to give up on Yashiki when he becomes possessed.

The sequel, NG takes place five years following. Since it’s an all new cast and story, they are only briefly referenced. However it’s shown that they continue to work together, such as the two travelling with other members to Rabbit Island and another occasion where they took care of a spirit that killed Ban’s son. Also during the events of the game, Rose mentions that Yashiki is abroad on a business trip with a friend. It’s not confirmed whom he was travelling with but we know the high possibility of who it could be considering.

Overall, despite the small fandom, a large amount of fans also caught onto their subtext. It’s a popular - if not the most popular - pairing and receives a lot of attention in the form of fanarts / doujins / fanfictions / animatics. I have a feeling the creators have at least seen how well received the duo are. I personally haven’t seen that many ship dynamics like this with older, maturer characters particularly in horror and this one works so well, which is mostly why I find it so appealing. These two paired together would certainly be refreshing to see.

All this bases a really special friendship, but it could also be something more underneath. Like any, it’s all up to the player’s interpretation but more than enough the focus is on what they easily could be. Even if the creators were to give Yashiki a completely different love interest, their relationship, these two tired men, for me makes for one of the best things to enjoy about Spirit Hunter.

#死印 #shiin #death mark #spirit hunter #kazuo yashiki #yashiki kazuo #satoru mashita #mashita satoru #yashita

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 2 days

Note

Was wondering who's your favourite Jason Todd writer. (Maybe least favourite too)

Oooh this is a tough one! In part because I'm not entirely sure who to count as a Jason Todd writer, and in another part because I'm trying to pick someone other than Winick bc saying it's him feels too obvious lmao

The joke answer is Bruce Jones, because I genuinely adore Nightwing: Brothers In Blood, though I uhhh- look I GET why other people do not xD

But really maybe I should just bite the bullet and say it's Judd Winick. I do love what he did with the character and I can say with confidence that I'm not just listing him cause of Under the Red Hood. Seeing Red in Green Arrow (2001) is like my favorite comic run ever. Jason's appearance in Outsiders (2003) is great. Streets Run Red in B&R was solid. Lost Days remains my favorite interpretation of the time after he came back, despite the fact that I have some criticisms.

That being said, I do think I mildly prefer him in an anti-hero role rather than Winick's sympathetic villain who can sometimes be reasoned with, and I quite like what Rosenburg has been doing with him.

It feels like Rosenburg has a really solid idea in his head of who Jason is and why/how he clashes with the other bats. I enjoyed The Man Who Stopped Laughing way more than I thought I would. Taskforce Z has definite merits. Gotham War was a complete clusterfuck and horribly organized, but I do think I see what he was going for there and was interested even though it clashed badly with what the other writers were doing.

So yeah, I guess that's my answer. Rosenburg is my fav modern Jason writer so far and Winick remains the heavyweight champion of Jason writing overall.

My least favorite on the other hand isn't any of the usual suspects (Starlin, Morrison, and Lobdell)

Starlin seemed to want to write vicious, seedy thrillers about realistic serial killers and the worst that humanity has to offer and was instead stuck writing Batman and Robin lmao. Should he have just found other employment instead, or knuckled down and written to the tone of the material at hand? Probably! However, putting Batman and Robin in a world that was patently unfit for their type of heroics was interesting to read for me, and frankly, most of what I love about Jason wouldn't exist without it.

Morrison was certainly unfavorable to Jason, but using Jason and Dick as opposing ideas of what it means to be Batman is honestly really cool, and idk I think if you can get passed the aesthetics this version of him works.

Lobdell... might actually just be bad at writing entirely? But! Lobdell has a lot of good ideas and can write something that's fun. There are several more competently put together stories that I can't say the same of.

So yeah, it's none of them, because Cavan Scott was the one who wrote the worst rendition of Jason I've ever had the misfortune to read.

Even mother fucking Battle for the Cowl did a better job with Jason! Just by giving him character motivations and a reason to be in the plot! Titans United Jason is a complete asshole to everyone around him despite having reasons not to be. Like, not even for no reason! For negative three reasons!! There are many different roles he could have taken in this comic that would have been interesting, but instead he is "thug who insults Connor Kent and is generally useless and incompetent".

Though to be fair to him, Titans United was a tie in for a TV show that has very, very different histories for all of the characters involved. It was basically a commercial and as far as I can tell this author wasn't involved in the show or any of the characters outside of this one comic. It might honestly be unfair to call him a Jason Todd writer at all.

And if we don't count little one offs like that then... yeah I don't really know who my least favorite would be *shrug*

Anyhow I feel like I've rambled more than long enough, hope this was an interesting read and thank you thank you for sending the ask :3 !

#jason todd #damian's tomfoolery

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doomstypewriter · 3 years

Text

Excuse me while I panic

New chapter, yay! Didn't I tell you I'd be faster?

Thanks for all of the lovely comments and interest, it really motivates me to write more.

Word count: 3041 | AO3 | <<Previous

Summary: Roman gets to work. Wooing Virgil will be a piece of cake!

Right?

CW: Swearing, anxiety, mild angst, maybe unsympathetic Janus (I don't really think so but it could somehow be interpreted as such because of Virgil and Roman talking about him, so I might as well give a warning). I don't think there's anything else, but, if you spot it, do tell.

Be yourself and let things develop naturally... that's just boring

Once he returned to the main living area, the noises of arguing and Logan’s screams could not be heard anymore. They were instead replaced by the clicking of spoons against teacups and mugs.

The moment the three noticed him they looked upwards at the same time. Patton, Logan and Janus were sitting at the table, drinking hot chocolate, coffee and tea respectively. The lights in the kitchen were on, illuminating them partially.

Logan nodded at him.

“How did it go?” he asked.

Meanwhile, Patton smiled and Janus stared at him inquisitively.

Roman went fully downstairs, hurrying to move a chair back. With his hands still on the backrest, he began to speak.

----

“Haha… I actually wanted to ask you…”

“Did something happen?” Virgil held his breath. “Is it about me?”

Roman could not stand the tension emanating from every pore of Virgil’s body. Thinking optimistically, he probably had no idea about his real motivations to come there, still, the thought of it eliciting such a reaction made Roman feel even more frozen in place.

“No!” he answered all too fast.

His body language went even stiffer with worry, to the point where he raised a hand to his mouth and began to nibble on the sides of the tip of his thumb.

“Then…”

“Everything is fine, Pierce the Nerves, I promise”.

“Okay… hmm what’s up with the rose?”

“It’s… uh…” Roman looked at it and began to felt ridiculous. “I just picked it up and it’s the same red as my sash!” he laughed as he placed it on the lapel of his suit.

“No comments. What did you want to ask me?”

----

Janus looked at him with a mix of horror and disbelief as Roman finished his recollection of the events.

“So I panicked and then I said that you had decided to help Patton bake something and now we need to make cookies this instant because Virgil will suspect something if we don’t!”

For a moment there was silence. Then, Janus ran his hands over his face.

“Roman, please take a seat already or put the chair back in place”, said Logan.

“Yeah, right” Roman sat down.

“Brilliant idea, Roman, there’s no way Virgil won’t buy that I’m making cookies and, of all things, invited him to try them. Why would you get me directly involved in it?”

Roman stood up, earning an exasperated eye roll from Logan.

“I drew a blank! I cannot come up with perfect stories on the spot while under pressure!”

“So you thought putting me in it would just magically fix how terrible you are at talking to your crush?”

“He’s not my--” Roman went deadly quiet, rethinking his life in a matter of microseconds. “Look, if I can trust you to do something is lie. So when Virgil comes down those stairs you need to help me fix this! You were the one who insisted I talk to him, so it’s your problem too”.

“Can I trust YOU not to mess up any of my--”

“Hey”.

“Aaaah!” Roman and Janus screamed in unison.

One sigh later, Virgil added:

“You invited me to have cookies”.

“Oh, yeah, well… about that…” Roman began saying. “Patton and Janus haven’t started--”

“Kiddo, we already got them ready while you went to call Virgil” Patton interrupted him. “They’re cooling in the kitchen” he pointed.

“If you had paid attention you would have noticed the bowls in the sink” Logan added without bothering to look at him.

“Roman, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies” Janus finished the series of comments directed at him.

----

Virgil’s chair moved back as he stood up.

“Well, uh…” he said. “Thanks for the cookies. Hmm…”

A frown appeared on Virgil’s face as he was leaving. His feet stopped all of a sudden and he turned around.

“Janus?” it sounded like saying the name itself pained him.

The side in question raised his head, looking openly confused. Or was it an act?

“Yeah?”

“Hmm… Roman told me you invited me. And that’s… em…” he bought time, wondering what to say. Whether to lie or not. “Suspicious. So, a word?”

Janus raised his eyebrows, not buying it, but he followed him nonetheless.

They left the room, both walking at a distance from each other. For a second, Roman thought he saw worry in Janus’ face.

“What the hell was that?” Roman asked no one in particular.

“He’s trying to be nice” Patton smiled. “I’m so proud of him!” his tone was ecstatic.

“I guess… hey, padre, how did you know I’d ask you for the cookies?”

“Patton anticipated a few outcomes from your confession attempt and decided cookies would serve as a suitable response for either” Logan replied matter-of-factly.

“Yes…” he grimaced apologetically. “I thought that if everything went well we could celebrate, and if it didn’t… well, we’d be there for you, so the cookies might cheer you up”.

----

A few days after the confession fiasco, Roman decided to try again and woo him a little before pouring his heart out.

He popped into the living room, only to find Virgil and Janus sitting six feet apart. One was listening to music and, presumably, checking out Tumblr, while the other read a thick book.

With the volume of the music, Virgil didn’t notice him, Janus on the other hand…

His face stopped being obscured by the wing of his hat as he looked up at him.

Janus shook his wrist, making Logan’s watch appear on it. The other side wouldn’t be happy about that, but if Janus had survived stealing his crofters, Roman figured he could get away with pretty much anything.

“Well, look at the time!” he said theatrically as he stared at the watch. “I need to take care of other things, pitty to miss out on your company”.

Virgil moved his headphone to the side, managing to listen to the last part of what Janus had said.

“At least he doesn’t make it awkward”.

“What?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, you’re still angry with each other, right? I can ignore him, but having the two of us in the same room with him would be like asking for an argument”.

One short stare later, Virgil spoke again, a bit unsure.

“Do you want me to move so you can sit here too?”

“No”

“Oh, okay”

“I mean, I didn’t come here to be on the couch, actually I came to see you”.

“Miss me that much?” he teased.

And it was too good of a bait to just let go without reply.

“Terribly, I’ve been swooning and mopping because I didn’t have someone blasting Paramore around me!” Roman answered draping a hand over his forehead.

“Truly tragic”.

“I know. Anyhow, I was wondering…”

Virgil raised one of his hands to stop him right there.

“If you want me to do something stupid and dangerous in the imagination with you, I’ll pass”.

“Afraid you won’t be able to keep up?”

“No, it’s more like I don’t want to have to drag your ass back here when you get hurt”.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m the best swordsman in there”.

“So is it like, empty then?”

Roman gasped.

“Tss. It seems like it is”.

“No it’s not!”

“Well, if you keep inviting me, I guess it isn’t, even if we are the only people in there”.

“Virgil, you have seen my servants”.

“Hmm… yeah” he looked to the ceiling playfully, then back at Roman,

“I don’t seem to remember about it”.

“Okay, well, I guess I won’t ask the royal artisans to frame your painting, since they don’t exist”.

“What painting? Are you also hallucinating art?”

“No. I was about to ask you if I could paint you!”

“Wha-- really? You want to paint ME?” Virgil pointed at himself as if to make it somehow clearer.

“If you’re willing”.

----

The whole painting idea had gone well. Still, Roman wasn’t able to get the right atmosphere to confess with Virgil constantly teasing them. To be honest, he ended up forgetting about it once they began to get caught up in the conversation.

He had tried other things, of course.

None had gone as planned.

Writing poems would just make Virgil uncomfortable or even correct him, because, apparently, listening to all of those lyrics from obscure indie bands had made him a better poet than him.

Then there was the whole incident with the ukelele.

Roman had been trying to play something to catch his attention, set the tone and just tell him, but the string snapped and hit him in the face. Now he had an ugly cut and some bruising on his cheek.

He felt stuck.

Worse than all of that, Janus kept lurking around Virgil. Pretending to be nice and reformed.

But never mind about everything else. He needed to keep trying.

Eventually, Roman would manage to get it right.

-----

Finally, he had a plan!

The last time Roman had gone to Virgil’s room to confess, he had panicked and let the effect of the room get to him. But, none of that could happen if he didn’t speak.

This would be perfect because Virgil would love it. Roman had recorded a playlist of their favourite songs into a vinyl record, just to make it a bit fancier. He’ll gift it to him and Virgil would understand.

Maybe he’d even ask him to dance to it!

Roman crossed the darkness of the entrance almost running.

This could work!

His mood deflated instantly when he emerged into the room.

Virgil was sitting on his bed, knees to his chest, hiding all of his upper body inside his hoodie. He left the vinyl on Virgil’s desk and walked up to the bed, making sure to be a bit noisy so Virgil wouldn’t be caught by surprise.

The other let a long breath out in some kind of acknowledgement.

Eventually, Roman sat next to him.

“What’s wrong?”

Virgil sighed and let his face come out of the cocoon of his hood.

“It’s not that something’s wrong per se. I…”

Without thinking, Roman placed his hand on top of Virgil’s. The contact made him feel like nothing bad could happen to Virgil as long as he held onto him.

Roman got the sudden realisation that he would be willing to protect him from anything. Which wasn’t too groundbreaking of a concept. He’d try to save pretty much everyone if given the chance, but that was his need to be the hero, to be “good”, whatever that eventually entailed. With Virgil, though… he just didn’t know what he’d do without him.

“Whatever it is, I’m here and I’ll make sure you’re okay” Roman promised.

Virgil chuckled. It stung a little.

“You can’t just say those things so seriously when I’m feeling bad, Princey, I never know how to react when you’re being so…”

“Annoying?” Roman tried to complete the sentence.

His head turned to the other side. He still didn’t let go of Virgil’s hand, but he could afford to, at least, not let him see how self-conscious he felt right now.

“Princey, look at me”.

“I’m not sure I want to, Virge”.

“Hey, I’m the one who’s feeling low. Don’t try to steal the spotlight, it’s kind of an asshole move…”

Hearing that only made him feel worse, now adding guilt to the mix.

“Especially since”, Virgil continued, “I was about to say you’re nice”.

“I’m sorry I reacted poorly” Roman finally managed to stare at him, “here you are, feeling like crap and I’m only thinking about myself. I can be very selfish sometimes. I apologise”.

Virgil frowned.

“Okay. Fuck off”.

“Did I--”

“No. Listen to me. Whatever you’re thinking I’m thinking right now is wrong. I know what you’re doing because I do it all the time. I’m not mad. And you’re not selfish. Not one bit. You’re self-centred, very much so, but not selfish”.

“Virge, I’m pretty sure those are the same thing”.

Virgil shook his head.

“You can be annoying when you make everything about yourself and try to be the centre of attention. But you never ignore people when they need you, even if that doesn’t benefit you. You’re willing to give up things you want just to do what you think is right. Hell, Princey, you let go of your pride just to be friends with me. How could anyone think you’re selfish when you’re so stupidly wonderful?”

“I--”

“Don’t get too smug about it” Virgil cut him.

It got quiet for a second. Roman savoured the moment and squeezed Virgil’s hand. His smile began to return to him a little bit.

“Thank you. It means a lot, you have no idea” Roman muttered.

Virgil visibly relaxed. He slumped a bit more, letting himself fall against Roman’s side. The dark hair tickled his collarbone, but Roman wouldn’t ever dream of complaining about it.

“Yeah I do” Virgil whispered, so quietly Roman could have imagined it.

Having Virgil’s head on his shoulder made sense. Like it was meant to be there all along.

“What were you sulking about?” Roman asked.

“Not sulking”.

“Sure thing, All the time low”.

He felt Virgil muffle a laugh against the shoulder pads of his suit.

The laugher died down soon after a long sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about doing something”.

Roman stayed quiet for once, leaving him room to breathe and let things out at his own pace.

“I… I am considering forgiving Janus”, Virgil paused, twisting his neck to see Roman’s expression. “Maybe be friends again if it comes to it”.

A sigh.

His thumb started to move in circles, caressing the back of Virgil’s hand. Roman swallowed.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked tentatively.

“You’re not mad?”

“I don’t know. Should I be? It’s not like I’ve exactly forgotten about all of the bad blood between us. But… he makes Patton very happy and it seems like he’s trying to help, so I don’t know what to feel about it”.

“Roman, I know he hurt you”.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

“In part. There’s more to it. But I can’t just go and bury the hatchet with him if that would hurt you again”.

A small part of Roman felt good knowing Virgil would keep on being angry with Janus if he wanted him to. In a way, it showed his willingness to stay by his side.

That’s why Roman couldn’t ask him that.

Besides, Janus had been helping him too. It wouldn’t be right for him either, as much as it stung to admit it.

“If that makes you happy, I will be happy too”.

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m asking. I don’t want to know if you would ignore your issues with Janus for my sake”.

“I really don’t mind--”

“And I know that. But… fuck, Roman, you shouldn’t be constantly forced to put everyone first just to make things better for everybody else except you”.

That was… a lot to take in. Roman didn’t know very well what to respond. Eventually, Virgil must have interpreted his silence as him doing something wrong.

“You’re my friend. I… I care about you. I won’t do something you’re not okay with. You’re more important”.

“No need. It’s okay. Getting over my stuff with Janus is my own

problem. I also care about you, a lot. If you want to be friends with him I’ll support you, it has nothing to do with my problems. You won’t hurt me. I promise”.

“That’s good to hear. I mean, I’m still struggling with the decision and I don’t think I’ll be making up my mind anytime soon. But knowing that helps a lot”.

“Do you want to talk about it more?”

“Hmm. It’s… it’s so confusing. I thought nothing he did could rub off how angry I’ve been at him, make me want to trust him again. Before… well, no need to get into the specifics, but it made me feel very betrayed” his voice trembled a little. “The problem is, he didn’t exactly betray me, so I guess the doubts about whether or not things could go back to what they were, remained”.

Virgil swallowed, trying to compose himself.

“And it sucks because there’s a part of me that can’t tell if this is all part of a big scheme and he’s just trying so hard to be nice to me because he wants something, or because he actually cares. I’m scared of letting my guard down and have him ruin everything I’ve tried to achieve. What if I go back to how I used to be?”

“I won’t let that happen”.

“How can you be sure? How can we be sure of anything when it comes to him?”

“We can’t. But I have no doubts that, no matter what happens, we’ll figure it out. Even if it gets to the worst, you know me and I know you. Most importantly, I believe in you, Virge. I’m not going to tell you, of all people, that there’s nothing to be afraid of. But if you’re scared, know that you can trust me and you can trust who you’ve become. We’ll be fine”.

“Roman…”

For a second, it seemed like Virgil was going to cry, or worse, do something like hug him AND cry.

“To be fair, though”, Roman went back to his usual self. Both would welcome the respite after… well, big conversation to unpack. “I honestly don’t think Janus is planning anything. He’s even trying to get on my good side just to make you happy. I’m not the best side for him to manipulate anymore, not after everything, and he isn’t that stupid. So I’d say the bitch is being sincere. That being clear, it would still be a pleasure to punch him if you asked”.

Virgil shifted a bit.

“Ouch!” Roman shouted after Virgil elbowed him. “What did I do now?”

“You’re dumb”.

“So are you, emo, what’s your excuse?”

“I’m friends with you and I think it might be starting to affect me”.

“Well, it’s about time. I knew even you weren’t impervious to my dashing good looks”.

Oh. Perhaps he had let on too much. Roman tensed up the slightest bit.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever lets you sleep at night, Princey”.

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness.

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual.

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s.

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness.

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it.

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike.

Click.

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not.

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

~oOo~

One month is all it takes.

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

Click.

Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them.

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows.

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

Click

Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why.

That’s a big concept: why?

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand.

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—).

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it.

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again?

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click.

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage.

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire.

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him.

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?”

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself.

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so.

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things. Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?”

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.”

Why is too big of a word.

Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one.

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy.

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even.

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain.

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many.

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”.

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe.

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?”

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”

#dick grayson #jason todd #spyral #agent 37 #nightwing #red hood #hurt/comfort #bad things happen bingo #what have i done?#part 2 #my fic #fanfic #txt #yes there will be a part 3!! i am not leaving this unresolved- this was just another conversation i wanted them to have

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shyuwe · 3 years

Note

How are we feeling about titans s3's jason after that last episode (lazarus)?

Oh man I'm so glad someone asked me about this!! I've been trying my hardest to not convert into a Titans blog, but since there was an ask...

The episode was everything that it said it would be and it delivered in putting perspective to the motive behind Jason's actions. Of course, I don't think he'll be fully redeemed anytime soon (I'm hoping that they drag his time as a villain out a bit actually! we're desperately in need of more crime lord Jason haha), and that's probably what the showrunners were going for. Not a full redemption, but an explanation as to why and how he's become so twisted. It's showing justification without justifying him, you know? I have mixed feelings about it, which I'll go into later, but there was something I thought the show got right.

I absolutely loved how the show portrayed Bruce and Jason in this episode, probably more than how the comics do it haha. They're both incredibly stubborn and broken men who have no idea how to talk to each other. You can always sympathize with both of their perspectives (Bruce desperately trying to keep his son from danger, and Jason only seeing it as betrayal due to his past). It never antagonizes either, and yet we know that they're both in the wrong.

I do feel a bit cheated though, knowing it was Scarecrow who gave Jason the hood. Of course I know why they did this since "ohh he went pit mad ahha..." does not at ALL excuse what he did and having someone as criminally insane as Crane basically groom him is a much more plausible plotline. Still, there's just something compelling about Jason putting on the hood to avenge himself! In Titans, there's just no vengeance or betrayal behind that mask, no "why did you choose him over me"s.

Lazarus was a great episode if you wanted to understand the why behind Titans Red Hood, but a terrible one if you wanted something more concrete to base his crimes in. It wasn't at all like in Arkham Knight, where there was a clear reason to why Jason took the path he did. Personally, I'm still torn on which side I'm on. It's really hard for me to look at Jason objectively (for obvious reasons) so of course I'm not 100% satisfied with how it turned out. I love villain Jason a lot and the original UTRH is my favourite interpretation of him to date, but I do think that in order to write him like that, you need more than just a "why".

Bringing up Arkham Knight again, I loved him in that of course there's a clear reason for his turn, but there's more than that--there's a sharp vengeance and sense of retribution that somehow makes us root for him, you know? It's the same for comics Jason. I wanted to see the Knight kill Bruce, I wanted Red Hood to shoot the Joker because they goddamn deserved it after all the pain they went through! Titans Jason on the other hand falls a bit short. He's suffered just as much as the other two, but his cause, his drive is just so damn ambiguous! He has the "why" but...why wage this war in the first place? Is Scarecrow the only reason Jason has to doing any of this? So yes, I have mixed feelings about this episode. Honestly I'm starting to think that the episode delivered it's promise and I was the one who wanted more from it haha.

In the end, I don't think I'll ever prefer this version of his character to his comic counterpart, but that was a given from the beginning really. It's a great adaptation, but its just that; an adaptation. Nothing will ever come close to the pure joy I got from reading UTRH for the first time.

#vinny's todd talks

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phis-corner · 4 years

Text

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist!

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go.

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him.

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room.

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago.

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. ��Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South.

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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#maribat #mlb x dc #demon's daughter au #my writing

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

dance with me

request from nonnie! “Hello! Im terribly in love with your writing! I was wondering if maybe, Charlie takes Bill, the twins an (either oc or reader insert) to a muggle party and they’re all super confused but love it and Fred is completely smitten by the OC when she danced and maybe did something weird/special of your choosing. I hope it isnt much, lots of love for u and Mischief Managed! ♥️”

pairing: fred x muggle!reader

word count: 2.2k

A/N: my dudes i don’t even know what the fuck this is but i loved this request so much, didn’t mean to make it sad, sry, also you can interpret this how you will.. personally i think they’re both too vulnerable rn to ~get it on~ but i like to think that maybe fred would open his heart again after this and she’d mend his heartbreak..... brb making myself big sad !!!!!! but listen if you wanna imagine him pinning her against the wall and having the time of his life then go for it, man i'm just...... big into angst;;;;;;; pls reblog & leave feedback & things of the like, thank you loves

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @parker-potters @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 | message me to be added!

The foggy, wet streets of the city were unappealing compared to the very comforting, open landscape next to the Burrow. The very last thing that Fred and George had wanted to do was follow their two eldest brothers in the frigid, rainy weather to some silly Muggle party in central London.

Especially Fred.

He didn’t want to be forced out of the one place that made him somewhat happy, especially when he was still nursing the heartbreak that had been causing him so much unpleasantness.

But they’d obliged, because Charlie had nearly pounced on the two of them about it, and they’d much rather go to this than be forced to sit inside the Burrow with pompous Percy -- although, since the war, he had admittedly gotten better at not being a self-righteous git.

The twins had a ton on their plate; not to mention, Fred wasn’t in the mood for any of it. They were dragged out of their business shop by Bill, who was adamant about the fact that they’d both needed a night out, and when they’d tried to persist, telling their eldest brother many times that they had too much to do before the newest shipment of magical inventions came in, Bill had nearly hexed the pair of them, causing them both to shut up almost instantaneously.

But now, as bright, fluorescent lights hit the middle of the room, highlighting you, your smooth and effortless dance moves, and the very lazy grin on your face as you sang along to the booming music in between sips of your drink, Fred wasn’t so huffy about being here anymore.

His heartbreak didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

At least right now, it didn’t.

Admittedly, Bill was right. They really did need a night out. They’d been so bloody busy working that they hadn’t even been to the pub in a few weeks’ time. Ever since the war, business had seemed to escalate, which was really saying something, considering it was incredibly busy even before all of this had gone down. The two of them hardly ever had a moment to breathe. Which, they supposed, was good for Fred. Kept him occupied, kept his mind at bay. But they reckoned they probably needed to hire some more help. Ron had reluctantly agreed to lend a hand. It was Hermione’s idea. A brilliant one, at that.

George thrust a beer frustratingly into his twin’s hands. “We’ve got so much to do, mate.”

“Yeah,” Fred replied breathlessly, truly not listening to a word George was saying.

Fred Weasley had always had it easy when it came to the ladies. They flocked to him, really. He didn’t like to admit it so as not to come off like an entitled prat, but it was true. It was probably due to the fact that he was always making everyone laugh -- something that came equally as easy to him. Perhaps it was his bright red hair that the girls ogled over. Maybe it was his wicked sense of adventure, and the fact that he was always landing himself in questionable situations more often than not. But that was school. He could easily impress those girls at school. He hadn’t had too in a while, though. He’d been happily tied up with the same person for years — that is, until he wasn’t. Until she’d picked someone else.

This was different, though. This was a Muggle party, in the middle of central London, in someone’s sweaty, sticky flat with a bunch of people he didn’t know. Fred couldn’t do magic here. He couldn’t impress someone with his inventions or with his stories about adventure without giving away the fact that he was a from a magical background. He couldn’t use his usual tricks in front of all of these Muggles or he’d be in a ton of hot water.

He also couldn’t let his very intense vulnerability and his rusty flirting get in the way.

But he wouldn’t be Fred Weasley if he didn’t try, right?

It was always easy for Fred to be able to flirt absentmindedly with women. But with his heart in a fragile state, he wasn’t so sure it would be easy tonight.

Bill, picking up on his younger brother’s locked knees and fingers gripped tight around his beer, stopped in front of them. “You alright, Fred?”

“Yeah,” Fred said again, clearing his throat and swigging a bit of his drink. He then thrust the nearly full beer into Charlie’s hands, who furrowed his brows in a confused look. Fred continued, “More than okay. Hey, you guys have fun -- I’ll catch up with you in a bit, alright?”

He left his brothers standing at the other end of the room as he pushed through tons of people. When he’d finally made it to the middle, you were gone. He casually swerved around, peering all around the room to try and meet the gaze with the eyes he felt like he’s known for years already. He then spotted you toward the corner, pouring yourself another drink. His feet began moving before he could register exactly what he was doing; so quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even heard the obnoxious exchange of words and laughter from behind him from his brothers.

“Merlin, can we go anywhere without Fred picking someone up?”

“Give him a break, mate -- he hasn’t seen anyone since everything unraveled with the last one. It’s been almost two years. Reckon this is good for him — for me, too.”

“Wish it was that easy for me to pick someone up, bloody hell.”

With his heart pounding unnaturally against his ribcage, Fred slid next to you and too began to pour himself a drink, glad to have gotten rid of that beer that Charlie was now undoubtedly guzzling. He opened his mouth to speak, but much to his surprise, you spoke first.

“Ahh -- a whiskey man, are you?”

He was taken aback at the sultry sound of your voice; maybe it was because the music was pounding in his ears, or the fact that you were this foreign person he desperately found himself wanting to know, and very quickly. He looked down at his drink, and then up at you. You were already sipping yours. “That a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily -- though I haven’t decided yet.”

The slight eyebrow raise you gave him made his insides twist. It was too early in the night for nerves. He swallowed them down as he took a swig of his very strong drink. “Haven’t decided, hm?”

You turned to him and then around to face the rest of the party. You inched closer and crossed your arms over your chest, and nodded. “There are three different types of men here tonight, you see. Those, over there,” you pointed with your pinky finger to a bunch of very frat-like men sipping lazily on their beers or glasses of wine, “they’ve come looking for something casual. Not so casual as far as one nighters go, but a fling. Something of the like. Those over on that end,” Fred followed your finger over to a very messy looking group of men who were dancing far too close with some women in the middle of the dance floor -- they looked like they all needed to get rooms. Separately. Merlin. “You know the type of night they’re looking for.”

Fred couldn’t help but snort a bit as he sipped casually.

“And then there’s you. Sipping your whiskey. Cute as ever.”

You turned back toward him and he raised an eyebrow. He was now feeling a bit self-conscious — he was both thrilled and equally embarrassed at being called “cute” by a woman as stunning as you, way out of his league and probably having quite a laugh yourself. He didn’t even know your name. What would you say next? You’d already deemed him the “third type of man” in the room, but the fact that he was a standalone, and not lumped in with another group, made him feel both overwhelmingly relieved, and also slightly terrified. But he tried to play it cool.

“What about me?”

You brought your hand to your hip and wet your lips, pondering this. A small smirk spread itself across your face, the fluorescent light flashing across your eyes. “I dunno yet,”

He liked that. He liked that you didn’t know anything about him. He liked that he didn’t have to be the bloke who made jokes to lighten the mood, the guy who loved messing with people, or the boy who got his heart broken by a girl who’d never really cared for him at all. He didn’t have to be any of those people. He could just be Fred.

“Haven’t decided, I reckon? Like the whiskey?”

You smiled; it was bad enough that Fred was losing his mind solely at the perfume you were wearing, and the fact that this conversation was going absolutely nothing like what he’d planned. Your eyes met his and your voice was soft when you leant in closer, “That’s what makes it so bloody dangerous.”

He didn’t know what the bloody hell you meant by that but he didn’t seem to mind, especially when you grabbed him by the shirt and led him to the dance floor again, slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him close to you as some slow song he’d never heard blared through the speakers in the corner.

“And to think — I was just going to come over here and see if I’d even be lucky enough to have a chat,”

You laughed at this, shutting your eyes whilst doing so, and Fred noticed something sparkly painted on your skin toward the edges of your eyes. “What can I say? You’ve intrigued me.”

Perhaps he could do this without any magic. Bloody difficult to not talk all about it, though.

Perhaps his vulnerability would subside, and he’d be able to talk and flirt and dance without thinking back on his own overwhelming heartache that had rendered him nearly useless the last few months.

But after a while, he stopped worrying. The music was so loud, your laughter so infectious, that he’d forgotten all about all those stupid jokes he’d wanted to make about his shop, about Hogwarts, about the magic he’d learned growing up. It wasn’t until you’d asked him to be in the moment with you that he’d truly remembered them.

“Just,” you’d started, tugging gently on the collar of his shirt and biting your bottom lip as another song played loudly, “just be here with me, okay?”

Fred wondered, as glassiness seemed to fill your eyes through a grin at him, if you, too, were in need of this night out.

Maybe you were nursing some kind of heartbreak, too.

Maybe you were also trying to find some type of normal.

It was in your tone — in the way your voice trembled slightly when you’d said be here with me. He didn’t think you were looking for something like a fling, like those guys you’d pointed at before. And he definitely knew that you weren’t looking for one night and one night only, like those sloppy people he’d kept trying to avoid on the dance floor. Maybe, like you’d said, you just needed him to be here. In the moment. Just the two of you, shoes heavy against the hardwood floor, eyes sparkling underneath the lights.

He realized, when he peered down at you and felt some type of warmth for the first time since his own heart was crushed in its vulnerability, that he just needed you to be here with him, too.

So when you leant forward slowly, trying to read his expression, to see if it was okay to do what you wanted to do, he leant in too, pressing his lips gently to yours in a spark of electricity for the first time in Merlin only knows how long.

And what he tasted on your lips sent him spiraling.

When you pulled apart, he raised an eyebrow and smirked at you. “What?” You asked nervously, biting down on the bottom lip, desperately trying to hide the smirk that was growing on your face.

“A whiskey girl, eh?”

You shrugged casually, as if it meant nothing. But you both knew it meant everything. It was just strange, he thought — your first interaction just hours ago, the conversation you’d held, and how you were here, now, entangled together. You wiggled your eyebrows at him — and he was surprised that he found it both innocent and incredibly alluring. “Told you it’s dangerous.”

You sipped the very last of your drink before tossing your cup into the waste bin. Fred reckoned he could stay here all night, forgetting about all of the things that kept him up at night, the things that had been making him so bloody prone to unpleasantness for such a long time. He wanted to laugh again. He wanted to smile again. He wanted to love again.

When you cocked your head to the side and smiled softly at him, beginning to mouth the words to the music, he reckoned he might just be able too.

Then you tugged on both of his hands, placed them delicately across your waist as you locked your arms around his neck again, you said over the booming of the next stupid song you’d undoubtedly sing every word too,

“Just dance with me, Freddie.”

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