Scribblings

I did it a little bit, yeah. Writing. Fanfiction, to be precise. I'm in many fandoms, though I write for few. Feel free to drop a prompt or request, or even if you just need clarification or want me to expand on something in a story.

[gothamiteprince]

Jaegerhund: 9

Verse: Pacific Rim/Jaegerverse Characters/pairings: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne; JayTim, JayDick Rating: PG except Jason’s mouth. TW: Character death; pseudo-incest; graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD and depression (none in this chapter though).  Word count: 1066 Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t own anything DC or PacRim. Snippet: Jason’s not sure he’s been this fidget-fingered, piss-your-pants scared of human contact since maybe the day he looked up from the tires he was jacking to see Bruce Wayne’s chauffeur raising an eyebrow at him. 

A/N: Guys I am so sorry this took so long and I am so sorry if you thought I dropped the story, I DIDN'T. PROMISE. My life pretty much exploded after school let out and my summer has been like a crazy runaway train but I'm getting everything back under control now.

---

Jason’s not sure he’s been this fidget-fingered, piss-your-pants scared of human contact since maybe the day he looked up from the tires he was jacking to see Bruce Wayne’s chauffeur raising an eyebrow at him.

“Why are we here, again?” he asks, staring at the dark, rich wood of the door in front of him and gripping Tim’s hand hard enough that it probably hurts. Tim doesn’t protest, just lets him cling. Tim’s good like that.

“Because you ‘re going to talk to your father,” Tim replies blithely, patting Jason’s knuckles. “He has a right to know that his son is okay.”

“He’s not okay,” Jason mumbles to himself, because Jason was never his son, nobody will ever be Bruce’s son like Dick was and Bruce shouldn’t have to deal with getting the defective one back. “I dunno. We should just go back. This is stupid.” He’s already halfway to turning around, walking down the stairs, but Tim squeezes his hand hard enough that it hurts and yanks him back around.

“Jason,” the kid says, and something in his tone forces Jason to look at him. “Ring the doorbell. You’re already here, you can’t just decide not to and make a sandwich this time.”

“Could use a sandwich,” Jason says weakly – he didn’t eat lunch and he probably should have – but Tim blinks and somehow makes it threatening. Jason takes a deep breath, reaches for the bell-

-and nearly falls over backpedaling when the door swings open almost immediately, revealing a smiling old face. “God damnit, Alfred!”

The old butler’s smile just widens, and suddenly Jason feels like maybe he might cry. Dimly, he feels Tim’s hand slip out of his; before Alfred finishes saying it’s been a while, Master Jason, he’s got his arms around the old man’s shoulders and his face buried in the collar of his eternally crisp suit.  It’s a long moment before he can let go, before he can pull back from the scent if Earl Grey and safety, but Alfred doesn’t let go until he does. “Is- is Bruce…”

“He’s in his office.” Alfred takes Jason’s elbow, guides him inside, and Jason sort of disconnects a little when he pauses to just look around. It’s been years but the memories all crash down on him at once like he’s just been dropped into the drift – Dick taught him how to slide down that banister without killing himself. Bruce had a conniption when he tripped and spilled Neapolitan ice cream all over that Oriental rug. Up the stairs and to the right, that’s where Dick’s room used to be. Jason wonders what it’s like in there now, if Bruce packed everything away or if he kept it exactly the way it was. For a second it’s all so strong that Jason feels like he’s going to turn around, going to look up, and there Dick will be, but then Tim’s slipping a hand into his and Alfred’s saying something and the bubble bursts.

“…go on and wait in the sitting room, boys, and I’ll fetch Master Bruce.” The butler is smiling, watching Jason like he knows (just like he used to), and Jason just nods. He knows the way, and he leads Tim down one hall while Alfred leaves down another. Tim waits until they’re settled on the couch to speak.

“Your house is huge,” he says quietly. Jason just nods, taking a deep breath and fidgeting his fingers in his lap. “You okay?”

“I mean, I’m not having a panic attack,” Jason observes, and when he looks up they both crack a smile. 

Except when Bruce walks in, Jason thinks he damn near might, because the man looks exactly like he did the last time Jason saw him nearly half a decade ago – give or take a few grey hairs. His eyes are the same when they land on Jason, and somehow he finds himself standing, like he’s gravitating.

He’s- Jason’s grown, but Bruce is still taller. He’s still bigger, and when his arms come around Jason’s shoulders he still smells like the same cologne, the same aftershave and his chest is still huge when Jason wraps his arms around it but Bruce isn’t so big that he dwarfs him, not anymore. They’re nearly the same and it’s jarring.

“Hi,” he manages, and his voice rasps a little on the way out but Bruce doesn’t show any signs of noticing. He pulls back and he’s looking at Jason like there’s no one he’d rather see, like he’s gotten a piece of himself back, and- and Jason chokes. He reaches back, snags the epaulette on Tim’s jacket so he can pull the younger man up to stand next to him, take some of that attention off of himself so he can regroup. “Bruce, this- this is Tim. He’s, um-”

“I’m his copilot,” Tim cuts in smoothly, and Jason could kiss him for how collected he seems right now. He steps forward, putting a hand out and Jason’s struck all over again by how tiny Tim actually is when Bruce looks down at him and shakes his hand. But he’s smiling, and his eyes are doing that crinkle that’s so very Bruce, and Jason can remember the tells that say he already likes Tim.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

---

It all runs like clockwork. The suit-up, the sensation of being reassembled, remade. They lock in at the same time, shoot each other twin grins as their helmets pressurize, and then they drift. Technical term is neural handshake. Dick calls it a mind-hug, because he's... disgustingly corny like that.

 Everything drops, everything ceases but the two of them, the feeling of his brother's mind washing over his. Of knowing himself as Dick knows him, and knowing Dick has the same sensation. It's a lot like flying, he muses. 

"Yeah, it is," Dick says beside him, and Jason opens his eyes to see his brother flexing, aligning. His smile is lit by the helmet's system, and his eyes are so bright Jason can't help but grin back as Dick continues.

 Jason opens his eyes, hears the machinery filter back into his awareness. Tim is watching him with a strange look, going through the motions to align himself as if on autopilot. 

"Don't worry, kid," Jason replies, feeling the traces of his brother's smile still lingering on his lips. He's aligned before he's aware of aligning, feeling the strength of the Jaeger -- and of his new copilot -- flow through him. "Just watching it go."

---

[gothamiteprince]

I'm not sure if I've taken the time to actually say how much I love this AU of yours. It's just DC and Pacific Rim, two of my favourite things and the flow of the writing and dynamics, I'm so into it. I want to thank you for your time and dedication, it's always great seeing it updated.

Oh man, thanks! Honestly, every time I update I feel really bad because the gaps are so long — but I guess that’s a hazard when you’re writing around school… I’m glad you’re enjoying it though, it means a lot.

[gothamiteprince]

Jaegerhund: 8

Verse: Pacific Rim/Jaegerverse Characters/pairings: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Conner Kent; JayTim, JayDick Rating: PG except Jason's mouth. TW: Character death; pseudo-incest; graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD and depression (none in this chapter though). VERY vague, brief allusion to underage prostitution/sexual activity. (Blink and you'll miss it.) Word count: 1175 Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t own anything DC or PacRim. Snippet: "Hey," Tim says, and Jason catches himself staring at the inside of his helmet. Tim's is already on. "We okay?"

---

Tim wakes Jason up at three in the morning by hitting him in the face with a pillow.

"Up, Ranger Todd," he proclaims as Jason is flailing and groaning, "our planet needs us!"

Jason just groans more, almost rolls off the bed before he manages to sit up properly. "The fuck are you talking about, nerd?"

Tim lowers the pillow -- he'd been poised to strike again, the little fucker -- and his face is bright with contained excitement.

"Category two Kaiju and it's got our name on it," he says, and well, that wakes Jason up fast. He kicks off his blanket, rolling out of bed and digging through his footlocker to pull out a bagel. When he looks up, mouth full of bread, Tim is staring at him.

"Are you hoarding food?" the kid asks slowly. Jason gives him a narrow look while he chews and swallows.

"Old habits," he says shortly. "Don't just stand there gawking, Timbo, let's go."

By the time they get assembled and into Nightwing, Jason can tell Tim's envying that bagel. He takes a deep breath as they lock into the stirrups, and maybe one day he'll be able to do this again without touching on the edge of an anxiety attack. That day… it’s not today.

"Hey," Tim says, and Jason catches himself staring at the inside of his helmet. Tim's is already on. "We okay?"

We. Are we okay. Jason's... not sure why that's so significant.

"Yeah," he says, and locks in. He knows, intellectually, that they've run several simulations and he and Tim are amazingly compatible, like, only nudging a little out of phase once or twice in a dozen drifts compatible, but there's still that anxious pull at the base of his sternum.

Unfortunately they drop into the drift right as he's mulling on that, and he can feel Tim's disapproval through the haze of empty brownstones and cold, dirty alleys and absent fathers (strange men looming because a fifty goes a long way on the street, and Jason veers away from that direction before Tim can figure it out).  Disapproval that brings up the notion of a raised eyebrow, and It's almost like you don't trust me.

Jason falls back and trusts him.

And actually, it goes incredibly well. Tim's a natural at the controls, and he's able to pick up on Jason's lead. The Kaiju's got a face that could win awards for ugly -- Tim laughs when that pops into Jason's head -- and by the time they're done with it it's got no lower jaw and its ribcage is blown open.

And the savage satisfaction Jason feels as they sink one last blast into the gore? Well, he's not quite sure that's all his.

"So how'd you like your first drop, kid?" he asks as they're unsuiting, though he knows exactly how the kid liked it. Tim's thrumming, and the smile he gives Jason over his shoulder is brilliant.

"I definitely liked it," Tim replies, and Jason means to sock him on the arm as they leave the hangar. Except somehow the leftover adrenaline must scramble the signal from his brain and he ends up leaning down instead, slipping a hand up to the nape of Tim's neck and catching him in a kiss. It's light, tentative, but Tim murmurs a soft oh and grips his sleeve, then there are arms around his neck and Tim's molding himself to Jason in a way that leaves no choice but to pull him in and keep going.

Then the kid's stomach makes a muted sort of creaking noise, and Jason pulls back with a helpless chuckle. Tim's ears are scarlet and it's spreading rapidly to his cheeks.

"Let's go see about a snack," Jason murmurs, and Tim reluctantly detaches himself.

"G-good idea."

 ---

It’s almost surreal how well things go after that. Jason does his best to shake off the rust, constantly dragging Tim and sometimes Roy or even Cassandra down to the training rooms to spar. Roy’s no pushover, but Cass fights mean. Jason loves it.

Tim’s the only one who holds him down and kisses him when he pins him, though. He’s also the only one who, after they’ve beaten each other into a gasping, tangled heap on the mats, drags him back up to their room and into a gasping, tangled heap there, too.

Something about no longer being such a lone wolf seems to make Jason less unapproachable, as well. Aside from the Bat girls and Roy, he meets Roy’s friend Wally and Wally’s uncle Barry, copilots of the Scarlet Speedster. He gets to know Donna and Kory as well, and almost immediately appreciates why Dick and Roy both adore them. Especially Donna. Donna is amazing.

He even contemplates calling Bruce – and if he’s honest with himself he’s a little surprised someone hasn’t tried to spring them on each other secretly yet, but he has a feeling it might be partially due to the fact that Tim can be terrifying sometimes – but his chest closes up at the first ring and he ends up disconnecting and dropping the phone. Maybe next time.

One day he’s looking for Tim, and Vic – the head of the engineering division – points him down into the bay where Nightwing’s left hand is getting repaired after being chewed on. Jason follows his directions, wandering through mazes of scaffolding and wiring until he hears Tim’s voice. He finds the kid sitting cross-legged next to a muscular teenager with a tablet computer, who looks like he should be wrestling something somewhere.

“See, the issue is that she’s still got the old shock system in the joints,” the kid is saying, showing Tim the screen and pointing to something. Tim’s nodding along; he’s smart enough to actually understand when they talk about the mechanics of this stuff, whereas Jason has always just sort of let himself glaze over.

The boys glance up when his feet enter their line of sight, and Tim smiles brightly. The engineer just gives him a look, one eyebrow raised. Jason immediately doesn’t like him.

“Jason!” Tim greets, beckons him closer and tangles their fingers together, yanking him down to sit. “This is Conner. He’s on the Nightwing maintenance team, he’s one of the first people I met here.”

“Charmed,” Jason says drily, raises an eyebrow back over Tim’s head and he and Conner silently agree that they don’t like each other. What’s this kid’s deal? He’s pretty sure he’s never seen the guy before, but he looks at Jason like he just walked in on something – oh.

Tim’s gone right back to rattling questions off at his friend, asking about shocks and tension and hydraulics and apparently completely oblivious to the glances Conner occasionally shoots Jason. Jason’s content to lean back against the wall, letting Tim pull his hand into his lap and play with it and tuning the engineering babble out to white noise.

Maybe he’ll tell Tim later that his little engineer buddy has a crush on him.

---

[gothamiteprince]

Jaegerhund: 7

---

It's all a mess -- confusion and the scent of ammonia. He can't tell which thoughts are his, what fear is his, give him back and he hears screaming as Nightwing's fist disappears down the Kaiju's throat but it takes him a moment to realize it's him-

"-Jase, hey, Jason-"

Jason wakes as he usually does -- in a cold sweat with a scream lodged in his throat. The only difference here is that he's not alone -- he's staring at a collarbone exposed by a gapping t-shirt collar, thanks to the fact that he has a new roommate. Tim doesn't have to break in now.

"You 'wake?" the younger man asks drowsily, on his knees next to the bunk with his chin resting on his elbow. His fingers comb through Jason's hair to scratch behind the ear; Jason nods and tries not look too much like it's hard to breathe. His hip feels like there's a railroad spike being driven into it, muscles fluttering and twitching and when Tim mumbles "shove over, then," and climbs in with him, Jason has to bite back a pained whimper.

"What hurts?" the kid immediately asks, curling up against his chest. His eyes are too blue in the dark, and every day he reminds Jason more of a cat.

"Hip," he grinds out, easing over onto his back and blowing out a breath. "Three guesses why."

"I saw when we drifted," Tim murmurs.

"We saw a lot when we drifted," Jason retorts, then jumps out of his skin and reaches down to grab Tim's wrist. "What are you doing."

Tim huffs a laugh against his neck, wiggling free and cupping Jason's hip. "My step-mother is a physical therapist...I might be able to help."

Jason's skeptical – there’s no physical damage there – but Tim's fingers are already skimming along the curve of his hip, digging into the tender crease at the joint and making it jerk.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you," Tim mumbles, curling more comfortably against his side, and Jason hisses quietly.

"I dunno if it can hurt any more than it does right now," he grunts, but Tim's hand is kneading into the soft parts of his hip and thigh, working out tension Jason didn't even realize was there. The pain ebbs and flows under careful pressure.

"And nobody could identify any damage?" Tim asks, pressing the heel of his hand into the dip of the joint until Jason's hips are rolling away reflexively. His eyes are closed, and Jason's nose is a hair's breadth from bumping his forehead, and there's something going on in Jason's chest that he's not so sure he understands.

"Uh, no," he says, realizing abruptly that Tim actually expected an answer. "They said it was- oh shit, ow, right there- like, psychological trauma."

"Unlike your arm," Tim murmurs, then pauses. "What about the scars?"

"Don't hurt much," Jason replies, lets out a low whine when something releases in his thigh. "Mostly just gets numb sometimes. And my hand doesn't always... work right. With the twitching and everything."

Yesterday at mess they had been eating, and Jason's arm decided to short out; he ended up dropping his fork. Roy asked him, discreetly, if he was okay while he made a painful fist in his lap, trying to make it stop shaking and twitching. Tim just quietly ducked down to retrieve the utensil, giving Jason one of those sad looks.

"Nerve damage," Tim remarks, and Jason hums an affirmative. The careful kneading is starting to leech away some of the pain, and he doesn't find himself curling into it anymore; the relief piled onto the poor sleep puts him in a bit of a daze, and some amount of time passes before he opens his mouth to say something -- only to promptly forget it when Tim looks up. He can feel the kid's breath on his chin, see the question in his eyes turn to... something else.

They're very close.

"Can I..." he starts, not sure how to continue, but Tim shakes his head quickly and ducks down to hide in Jason's shoulder.

"No," he replies firmly, and something in Jason twists.

"O-okay. Sorry."

"No, it's- I mean- not yet, not yet." Tim takes a deep breath, pressing his lips to Jason's neck for a moment in a way that makes him shiver. "Not until you can without hating yourself for it."

Jason blinks, looks down at the black mop of hair and the one scarlet ear that he can see. That's... Shit, but Tim's right, if the tangled, nasty things that have made a living in Jason's chest these past few weeks mean anything.

"Okay," he says, and Tim sighs.

---

"You should really call your dad or something."

Jason chokes on his green beans, meeting Stephanie's earnest look with a half-wild one. Connor thumps him on the back helpfully.

"Hell did that come from?" he splutters, and Stephanie pulls a face, reaching over to take a forkful of mashed potatoes from Cass's tray. Cass, entirely unfazed, steals a chunk of chicken from her partner.

"Well I mean he should know, shouldn't he? Like, that you're back."

"I agree with the lady," Oliver says, sliding onto the bench next to Connor as Roy plops his tray down next to Tim's. "What were we talking about?"

"Absolutely nothing," Jason says, in the exact moment that Cass is saying, "Stephanie wants Jason to call Bruce."

Jason sends the woman the most betrayed glare he can muster, and Cassandra gives him a small, self-satisfied smile.

"Then I definitely agree," Ollie says, manner sobering up in an instant. Jason shakes his head, and he feels Tim's foot hook around his ankle under the table.

"I really don't," he says decisively. That is a huge, ugly, slimy can of worms that Jason's nowhere near prepared to open up and, in all honesty, probably won't ever be. "I just. I mean, not right now. I'm sort of taking baby steps."

Oliver clucks and starts to say something, but Connor cuts in with a hand on his father's arm.

"I think Dad just means you should at least let him know you're around and okay," the rookie says gently. "You are his son, and it might help you both to sort of... cope?"

Jason makes a face. Stupid Connor and his peace-love-chilidogs attitude.

"I understand your concern," he says carefully, laying both hands flat on the table, "and-" Gardner and Rayner walk by in that moment, and Rayner waves amiably at them but Gardner's fixing Jason with a death glare out of his blacked eye. Jason just smirks a bit before continuing. "And I'll take it into consideration. But I honestly don't think I'm prepared to see Bruce in the flesh just yet. And if I do, I'll need to brace for the demon child as well."

"That is not a no," Roy points out brightly to the table at large, and Tim chuckles quietly. Roy proceeds to redirect conversation to other matters, but Cassandra gives Jason a lingering look and Tim's foot stays where it is.

---

[gothamiteprince]

Young Avengers scribble

Billy loses control of his powers again and this time makes a crater the size of a house, nearly killing his own teammates. Frantic, he runs, but their faces are on high-def replay in his head and he ends up hiding, repeating “IwanttoforgetIwanttoforgetIwanttoforget” until he passes out. He wakes up in someone’s bed with a tired-looking blonde boy sitting next to him, and doesn’t understand why the boy looks so upset when he asks where he is.

Bonus: He doesn’t understand the nightmares he has about green aliens and the blonde boy and surgical implements and women in red and children in green. He feels odd that they keep calling him “Billy.” He doesn’t feel like a Billy – he doesn’t feel like their Billy. They tell him his name is William Kaplan. He asks them to call him Will.

[gothamiteprince]

Jaegerhund: 6

Verse: Pacific Rim/Jaegerverse Characters/pairings: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon; JayTim, JayDick Rating: Pretty PG-13, mostly just for Jason’s mouth. TW: Character death; pseudo-incest; graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD and depression. (none in this chapter though) Word count: 1193 Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t own anything DC or PacRim. Snippet: "Ready?" Tim asks, giving Jason an appraising once-over, and he swallows the blockage in his throat.

---

Sometimes he forgets how pretty Barbara is, until he’s sitting next to her and the glow of the computers is casting pearly light over the curves of her face. Then he remembers that she is, in fact, drop-dead gorgeous and he can’t figure out why she and Dick ever broke up. Probably because she was too smart for him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she remarks, pausing in her typing (all she does is work on the computers, literally, Jason can’t even remember ever having seen her ingest anything more substantial than coffee or salad since he got back) to give him that odd look of hers that’s at one fond and searching and disapproving and lovingly exasperated. “Spit it out, little wing.“

“I’m not little,” Jason grouses reflexively, ripping an admittedly sullen bite from his sandwich. He chews it, thinking very hard about how to word his thoughts, and when nothing coherent presents himself he just goes with his usual approach.

“I slept with Drake last night,” he blurts out. Babs’s eyes go round and he nearly drops his sandwich. “Wait-”

“Wait, what, it’s seven in the evening, why was I not made aware of this-” Babs starts, rapid-fire, but Jason waves his hands frantically to halt the interrogation.

“No, like, sleep slept! Fuck. Next to each other! In clothes!” he corrects quickly, heat burning in his ears and washing down over his cheeks. “Oh Jesus, no, stop looking at me like that!”

“But your personal bubble is more like a flight radius,” Barbara points out suspiciously, and then she seems to pick up on something in Jason’s expression that he’s not aware of himself. “What happened, is he okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, mom,” Jason huffs, slumping back in his chair. “Just. Apparently I’m a pretty damn loud sleeper.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There’s a beep from the computer, and Barbara taps a few keys in response.  

Jason just shrugs, eyeing his sandwich. “I was… having nightmares. And he kind of heard me and ninja-freaked his way into my room to make sure I was okay, I guess?”

There’s a long pause, and Jason glances up to see if Barbara’s attention has been captured by her computer – but he’s just sitting there watching him with this smile on her face.

“What?” he asks, defensively, but her smile only widens.

“That’s adorable.”

---

It's his first time back anywhere near the drift since Mia, and since Maui before that, and Jason refuses to admit he's fucking terrified. His hands shake in his gloves, he can feel it -- and he's not sure if he appreciates the new suits or hates them with a passion.

The armor is the same, a few minor modifications that allow for a wider range of movement than the original Nightwing suits. The paintjob is similar, too -- the same satin-sheen black over deep charcoal, but the detailing- the detailing's different and it keeps catching him off guard.

Where there was blue, everything is now red. A harsh red V sweeps in from his shoulders to the base of his sternum, barbed and flowing out down his arms to create the same finger-stripe effect that he and Dick wore. Where there had been electric-blue arches along the crest of the hip now lie crimson slashes, just as vivid as the blue.

There are some new touches, though, as with the structural upgrades. The soles of his boots flash red as he watches his reflection walk away from a darkened window, and his throat is bracketed with the same red slashes as his hips. The entire collar section is more streamlined, allowing him to roll his neck and crack it like he couldn't before.

The helmet under his arm is pure crimson, with gunmetal accents, and Jason thinks that maybe red suits him better now.

There's a hiss of pneumatic doors, and Jason turns to see his new copilot step into the room. For a moment he wants to just turn and run, seeing that still-familiar suit, but he focuses on the differences: Tim is small, and the streamlined design does nothing to hide that. If anything it accents his slim hips, the slender length of his neck, the downright daintiness of his ankles and wrists where the armor thins and gaps for mobility. The stark contrast of black and red bleaches his face, making him look sharp and pale and dangerous somehow. He's startlingly composed; Jason finds himself clinging to the hope that this won't be another Dearden.

"Ready?" Tim asks, giving Jason an appraising once-over, and he swallows the blockage in his throat. He wishes he could feel as confident as Tim looks right now.

"As I'll ever be, I guess," he mumbles, and pulls on his helmet.

Everyone is tense as they lock in, Jason can feel it. Out the front panel he can see people gathering curiously, can see Roy and Oliver leaning against a rail.

"No pressure," Tim says, with a nervous little huff, and Jason turns to see him watching the onlookers. He leans back into the feeling of the cradle latching on. The familiarity makes him mildly nauseous.

"Nervous?" he asks, and Tim shakes his head. He looks small and a little fragile, hooked up to the spine and levers and lines.

"I guess you'll find out," the kid replies -- sassy -- then looks at Jason. "You?"

There's a lot that Jason wants to say, be he doesn't because he doesn't know how to word them. He thinks about it for a moment, then settles on what's fast becoming his catchphrase.

"I'm fine."

"Initiating neural handshake," Babs says over the intercom, and they look at each other as she recites the countdown. Jason guesses Tim'll see what he doesn't know how to convey pretty soon.

"Don't chase the rabbit," he reminds, and Tim nods solemnly.

"Three... Two... One..."

The yank takes him by surprise somehow, and Jason plunges into the drift like cold water. The images flit by and he carefully navigates away from anything that could pull him in. He sees Gotham, deep and dirty, Bruce’s paperwork all over the counter as Dick tries to find room to make them breakfast. A pretty woman arguing with a professional-looking man over the dinner table. Tim wasn't lying about the poster on his wall and it brings up a wash of memories of Dick, and-

"Jason."

Tim. Tim's face when they first met and he didn't even like him and Tim had such high expectations. Jason was a hero – but he'd fallen so far and he’d looked so sad and now he's falling again, and coming back to himself feels like falling into that water again.

"Left hemisphere calibrated," Barbara says almost immediately, and she sounds giddy. He can hear Ollie in the background, muttering "yes, come on, boy, come on," but he feels himself sinking still so he zeroes in on Tim's carefully steady breathing and yanks-

"Right hemisphere calibrated, Nightwing is back!"

Roy and Stephanie are whooping like football fans. Tim looks at him and the kid’s face is a shade too pale, but his grin makes Jason's cheeks sore.

[gothamiteprince]

PSA

-Was informed by a delightful little bird that my askbox was down, so I fixed that. 

-Finally figured out the issue with my Office download, so I now have a word processor! All my documents are no longer locked up and held hostage. 

-Which of course means I'm writing instead of doing work for my online class.  ╮(─▽─)╭  sorry not sorry

[gothamiteprince]

Jaegerhund: 5

---

"They talk about me."

Barbara looks up from her computer, eyes tracking down Jason's body like she still can't quite believe he's back. Maybe she can't. Sometimes Jason has trouble with it.

Maybe she looks at him and wonders why he's not his brother. God knows he does.

"Who?" she asks cautiously, hitting three keys and turning her chair to face him where he sits on a bench.

"Fucking everyone, Babs," Jason replies shortly, leaning his head back against the wall. He hears her wheel over to him, and when he looks down from the ceiling she's watching him with her elbows on her knees. "They stare at me when I walk in a room, and they whisper to each other before I'm even gone. Why do they even care?"

Barbara smiles her wise little smile, patting his knee. 

"You're sort of a celebrity, Jaybird," she informs him. "A lot of us knew you when you were a scrappy little kid, trailing after... Well. Everyone knew Team Nightwing. What's not to talk about?" 

"So what does it matter that I disappeared for a while?" Jason presses. "Why do they have to fucking stare?" 

"Because you lived." 

Jason goes for a sharp retort, then blinks.

"It's... not unheard of," he protests weakly, but Babs shakes her head, picking up his twitching left hand. He finds himself swaying in when her voice drops. 

"Jason," she says, squeezing his fingers. "Your copilot died and you still killed a Kaiju. Mauled it. With one arm and no help. You brought Nightwing to shore, to a point where the PPDC could retrieve her -- and you. You went into shock while piloting. The strain should, by all rights, have killed you."

"Yeah it should," Jason mutters, but Barbara yanks on his hand. 

"You're a hero, Jay, you're something to look up to. Gardner beats up on you because yeah, he's a jerk, but he's also intimidated. You're..." She sighs, brings his hand into her lap and he shivers when his fingers trace the network of scars up his arm. "You're what we call a Jaegerhund, here in Ops."

Jason frowns, tilting his head and calling upon his high-school level German. Hunter... Hunting dog.

"Wouldn't it be... Jagdhund?" he asks, but Barbara shakes her head.

"It started as a joke, just a slang term ‘cause of the Jaegers. By the time anyone who spoke proper German tried to correct it, everyone was already saying Jaegerhund and nobody gave a crap about petty things like conjugation." She pauses, wrapping both hands around his and giving it a brief squeeze. "The point is, you were meant for this. If your entire career as a pilot didn't prove that then what you did, what you were capable of when you were utterly alone and practically  catatonic, what you did on instinct alone -- that does."

There's a dangerous pressure building in his throat, and Jason blinks several times in quick succession. 

"I felt him go," he blurts out, then slams his mouth shut. He's never talked to anyone about it, tried not to even think about it, but he forgot how good Barbara's always been about coaxing things out of her bats and birds. "I. Babs, we were still drifting." 

He wants to take it back for the look on her face, but then she's hauling him forward and his arms are around her waist and she's sighing into his hair. She hasn't held him like this since he was hospitalized, and before that since he was a kid, but he feels small all over again. He thinks maybe it's just a Babs thing.

"It feels like coming home, being here." His voice is muffled, but he doesn't want to move. "I keep feeling like he's gonna be waiting in the mess hall, or around the next corner..."

"It's strange seeing you walking around alone," Babs admits, long nails scratching lightly at the base of his neck. "It hurts a little, like something missing. The two of you were so inseparable before."

Jason nods, and he knows she understands. It feels like everything kept going and he stopped, like Dick Grayson’s memory has been tucked away in a cabinet somewhere and gotten over. Jason just wants climb into Nightwing's cradle and drag a Kaiju to the base and paint the walls with its blood, drown all the new recruits and trainees in the stinging scent of ammonia and say this, this is what happens, this is what killed my brother. Still wanna be a Ranger, Drake? Is this what you want, kids? 

Instead he takes a deep breath, gives Babs's waist one last squeeze before pushing off. The pneumatic doors are opening to admit a Jaeger team, and that’s his cue to leave.

---

The waves crash around him, furiously confused, and Jason understands the feeling. He's deep in the drift, struggling to stay afloat in a wash of memories -- Dick's and Mia's, and Mia's not even here, she doesn't belong in his head. He can hear the screams of his brother, the screams of the Kaiju, but there's no one. There's nothing here. 

The ocean is empty except for Jason, and he knows he's the only living soul in Nightwing's ruined hull. He's alone, and bits of metal crash into the sea around him as the Jaeger crumbles. 

He calls out into the oncoming storm, feels Nightwing buckle and try to pull him apart, and the oceans shift around him. He was wrong, he's not alone, the Kaiju is still here and he can't do this alone, Nightwing's too heavy to move on his own, he's utterly paralyzed and the thing is rearing up, category four at least-

"Jason! For Christ’s sake, wake up!" 

The Hawaiian shore shatters around him, and Jason finds himself thrashing under small hands. He wrenches himself free of the grip, back slamming against the wall as he rolls -- it's Tim, he recognizes vaguely, and the kid is in sweats and a t-shirt. He looks like he just woke up. 

Jason's stomach rises and he bolts off of the bed. He barely reaches the toilet in time to heave into it, shaking fingers gripping the seat and acid burning in his throat. Tim sinks down next to him, somehow making space for himself in the tiny room and keeping Jason from smacking his forehead when he retches. 

"The fuck are you doing in my room, again?" he rasps, when his stomach finally backs down. Tim's on his knees, ready with a damp towel for Jason to wipe his face with. 

"You woke me up," he says simply, and Jason squints at him in confusion.

"I woke you up," he repeats slowly, and Tim nods. He drops his eyes to his hands, fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt.

"You were screaming." The smaller man's voice is soft, and there's a note in it Jason can't quite define. "I was wandering around, I… heard it. I came in and you were thrashing, I was worried you'd hurt yourself. Here, you've got-..." He takes the towel out of Jason's hand, carefully wiping the corner of his mouth.

"Your little crush is getting out of hand, kid," Jason mumbles sarcastically as he reaches for the flush lever with trembling, twitching fingers. When he gets no snarky reply he stops, looking back at Tim to see the kid clutching the towel in his lap and staring metaphorical holes in it.

"Oh my God," Jason says dumbly, arm falling limp. "You actually have a crush on me. I'm a fucked up pile of scars and anger issues and I just puked and you have a crush on me-"

"Jason, calm down," Tim says, cutting off his rambling, and the kid really seems a little too okay with this revelation, or at least, much more okay with it than Jason is. "You still look a little grey, and I don't think you want to stress yourself into throwing up again."

Jason makes an unintelligible sort of noise, smacking his hand on the lever and watching water rush into the bowl. "Sorry, but I'm a little thrown. Just. Why? Since you met me I've given you about five hundred death-glares, been crazy depressed, beat a guy up, beat you up, practically given a girl a stroke just by drifting with her..." He shakes his head, scrubbing at his face as a helpless chuckle leaks out. This kid’s so much better than he is, what the hell. "Fuck, I want whatever rose-tinted glasses you wear."

"I don't wear any corrective lenses," Tim says primly, folding the towel against his knees and deliberately avoiding Jason's gaze. "I have perfect vision."

Jason scoffs, then jumps out of his skin when someone knocks on his door, chest squeezing so tight for a moment he feels as if his pounding heart will crumple.

"Fuck," he wheezes, just as a muffled voice is saying, "Jason?"

"I can-" Tim starts, but Jason's already up -- painfully -- and limping for the door. He pulls it open, default scowl already in place, to see Roy standing there in pajama pants with his arm raised to knock again.

"Jason!" the redhead exclaims, grabbing him by the biceps and fucking studying his face. "Are you okay? We heard doors slamming and screaming -- Jesus, you look awful-" Fuck, did he wake the whole wing-

"Roy." Jason's rescuer is one of the bombshell pilots of Gamma Starfire, Kory Anders. It takes him a moment to register that she's clad in nothing but the shirt that goes with Roy's pants, but she wears it like an expensive dress as she wraps an arm around Roy's. "Ease up, you're going to break the man."

Jason lets out a relieved breath when he's finally released, absently rubbing his left arm.

"I'm fine, Roy," he says earnestly, tacking on a serviceable (if somewhat bitter) smile when Roy looks dubious. "Everyone has bad dreams sometimes."

Roy opens his mouth to reply, but glances over Jason's shoulder and Jason follows to see Tim slinking out of the bathroom. He gives Roy an awkward wave, then folds himself into the desk chair and starts fiddling with a pen. Jason shakes his head a little -- the kid's like a mildly embarrassed baby bird or something -- and turns back to Roy, putting a carefully steady hand on his shoulder.

"I promise I'm okay," he says, and manages to sound so damn sincere. "I'm not gonna have a heart attack or anything, you two go have your fun and I'll still be here in the morning."

"I just wanted to be sure- I know, but-"

Jason groans, leans his elbow on the doorframe and rubs his eyes. "Chrissakes, Kory, take him."

Kory smiles in a way Jason would almost call dangerous and proceeds to tow Roy back in the direction of his room. Jason, for his part, barely manages to keep his leg from collapsing as he closes door and turns to lean on it, eyes closed and head tipped back against the cool metal.

"I didn't first meet you when you got here," Tim says out of nowhere, and Jason drops his head to look at him.

"That's creepy, give me more," he mumbles, and limps over to flop onto his bed, carefully keeping his eyes away from the pictures on the wall. Tim just smiles a little, turning the chair and reaching over to push Jason's hair out of his eyes. His fingertips are cool; it’s nice.

"I was like... twelve, thirteen," he says, and Jason finds himself tipping his head into the touch. Tim humors him. The little shit's digging his claws into him and Jason's too tired to care. "You guys were on TV. Ellen."

"She was a sweetheart," Jason muses, pulling his knees up. He'd been floored at the time, utterly starstruck at just being in her presence. Tim hums an agreement, fingers working out the knots in Jason's hair.

"You guys came out afterwards and there was a crowd," he continues. "You were rockstars, with your leather jackets and ripped jeans and the way they played Dick's charm off of your rough edges. I was there with my parents -- we didn't know, of course, but we figured it out. I was freaking out, y'know, I was a kid, and my dad shunted me through people's legs to the front-"

Jason sits up abruptly, cracked memories filtering back in.

"You were that one kid," he says, in a fit of eloquence, and Tim smiles again.

"Smacked right into you," he confirms. "My dad came up behind me and asked for a picture, and you and Dick got right down with my shrimpy self, already grinning. And you said, 'keep your chin up, kid, we'll have those Kaiju assholes cleared out soon.'"

Jason can feel the smile forming, pulling his cheeks into an unfamiliar shape. "Dick smacked me right upside the head for swearing around a kid," he murmurs, and he lets the memory sit for a moment before it starts to hurt and he resorts to less painful bitterness. His smile twitches and collapses. "Cut to... what, six years later, doin' real hot on the Kaiju front."

Tim sighs, shakes his head and his hand buries itself in Jason's hair again. Jason, for his part, is finding it way more comforting than he probably should, even when Tim tugs. "Cut to now, and I'm living across the hall from a guy I had a poster of on my wall," he corrects. "I don't particularly mind if he's a little ripped around the edges."

Jason scoffs and shakes his head, but he has no answer to that -- at least, none that don't stick in his throat. So instead of replying he just returns to his half-curled position, absently rubbing the scars that trace up his left arm and shoulder. Tim plays with his hair until Jason's eyes slip shut, but when the feeling stops they snap open again. Tim's setting his feet on the floor, making to stand.

"You gonna be okay until morning?" he asks, and Jason realizes he's starting to panic already at the thought of being left alone, so he reaches out to latch onto the kid's skinny wrist, holding him until Jason can figure out how to talk. Wow, he’s being pathetic tonight.

"No," he says truthfully after a moment. He pauses again before continuing, hesitant and halting. He hasn’t talked to anyone about this shit, except maybe a little bit to Barbara. "I. Usually after a night like this... I get wasted and hit things and choose poor coping methods." Points for self-awareness though, right?

"Well," Tim murmurs carefully, "you can't really do that here, particularly the former." At Jason's nod he settles back in the chair, covering Jason's hand with his own. "You want me to... what, stay with you?"

Suddenly Jason feels like a colossal idiot, and he pulls his hand back, rolling onto his back.

"You don't have to," he says, ears burning. "I mean. It's not really that big of a deal. I mean, I got by three years without a cuddle buddy, y'know? Doesn't-"

"Jason."

"...Yeah?"

"God, you can be high-strung."

Tim shifts, rises, then he's pushing Jason over and curling up next to him on the mattress. He really...doesn't take up much space, does he.

"I'll stay," he says quietly, ignoring Jason's dumbfounded blinking, "but I'm tired. And I'm not gonna sleep on your floor like you did mine."

Jason swallows back a nervous little laugh at that, but then Tim is tugging at the pillow and they're trying to arrange themselves in a way that's convenient for sleeping. Tim ends up on the wall side of the bed with his head on Jason's bum arm, letting Jason keep the pillow and allowing him to curl his back against Jason's side, and it's weird how easy it is. Tim's got astoundingly soft hair, and it smells a little like rain somehow when Jason turns his face into it.

"Thanks for waking me up," he murmurs, and Tim traces a fingertip over a long scar on his bicep.

"Thanks for not calling me a fanboy," he mumbles, and tugs the blanket up a little higher.

[gothamiteprince]

help i'm alive

and i'm writing oh man

[keyboardsmashwriters]

Finding Unique Character Traits || Part 2 Exercise – Take a character. Put them in a conversation with someone they absolutely loathe – a coworker, a family member, an arch nemesis. Focus on their body language. Why? Dialogue is more than just the tone of voice. Speech is physical. Speech alters chemistry and manifests in our bodies. The way a character acts as they or someone else is talking tells a story beyond what’s being said, and it also defines a character beyond outright telling the reader “She was shy” or “He felt sick” (although there are certainly times where this is necessary). Goal – Does your character have any habits? Does she fidget with or bite her nails? Does he usually pace when he’s on the phone and shift from foot to foot when he’s in public? Does she need to fix things or grab something and spin it around? Does your character have any typical mannerisms that they fall back on? Raising the eyebrows? Gnawing or pursing the lips? Wide or slight hand gestures? Squinting or crinkling around the eyes? Tilting the head? Now, how does this change if they’re talking to someone who makes them absolutely uncomfortable? How do they physically react to the words of this person that they so deeply hate? Do they tense up? Do their fingers curl or palms squeeze? Do they sweat or shake or feel their stomach burn with nausea? Capitalize on how the loathing manifests physically in your character. If you’re up to the challenge, write multiple characters and capitalize on how different their body language is from each other. Make sure to tag your posts with “ksw exercise”! Helpful References –

Body Language Reference Sheet

Tips for Writers: Body Language

Body Language Cheat Sheet for Writers

Further Understanding Body Language

Five Things You Should Know About Body Language

[heartstexts]

[gothamiteprince]

In the night

Verse: Canon, or canon convergence I suppose Characters/pairings: Jason Todd, little bit of Batman, Gotham.  Rating: G Word count: 502 Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own Gotham. Snippet: She comes to him in the night.

The first time, he was a child and he met her in the street. In the dark of Crime Alley, her slim black dress seeming to melt into the shadows, sharp beauty looking out of place in the grunge and the scum. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and she silently bent to press a kiss to his forehead.

That was the night he met Batman.

A few times after that, he saw her – once at a gala with Bruce, pale skin and blood-red lips and eyes like cold steel. None of the socialites paid her mind, but Jason couldn’t take his eyes off of her all night. She found him, though, as he was finishing a cigarette he’d snuck out to the balcony for.

“You’re not gonna tell me these things kill?” he asked, daring, shy, and she simply smiled.  He flicked his butt into the darkness, opened his mouth to speak, and she was gone.

One night Robin was flying across the rooftops, and he stopped to catch his breath on a rain-wet lamppost. He slipped, hit the ground and found himself looking up at steel eyes and a bloody knife smile. The hand that took his to pull him to his feet was long, slim, bone-white skin with long, crimson nails that bit his wrist a little. He stared at her for a moment, and she opened her mouth – but then Batman was calling and Jason was running.

He thought he saw her in Ethiopia – when the crowbar was descending, each time his vision blacked out he thought he saw her hovering just behind the next crate – just around that corner – watching him. I’m waiting, she seemed to say. Gotham is waiting.

It wasn’t until later – a long time later, when he was back in Gotham and he was standing at his own grave site early in the foggy morning, touching the damp granite and desperately feeling nothing at all. A cold rain started up and dribbled down his collar, but then there was a rustle and a large, old-fashioned umbrella opened above him.

“Welcome home, my prince,” said those blood-red lips. Her voice was deep and rich; she hadn’t aged a day, and those knifeblade eyes looked straight through his.

Gotham took his hand, folding his fingers around the handle of the umbrella. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and disappeared into the mist.

Now, she stands in front of him on the rooftop as he holds a duffel full of the heads of drug dealers who sold to children. Her dress skims the sidewalk, so black it seems to suck the light from around her, and her skin glows in contrast. He’s seen her smile in his knives, seen her eyes in the bullets he loses in his adversaries. She doesn't look like someone who needs saving at all. She looks like someone to save people from.

“I’ll save you,” he says, and Gotham just smiles.

[tylermorningwood-deactivated201]

Reblog if you're not afraid to write lesbian or gay smut or plotlines. Let's see who's not afraid to be honest.

[gothamiteprince]

Tim's cold and Jason's wearing a dumb hipster sweater

so Jason takes off his sweater and puts it on Tim like whatever

and Tim's just like o-oh

swimming in it

bonus: Tim in nothing but Jason's sweater

[keyboardsmashwriters]

One of the strongest bonds that link us to our favorite stories is the emotional tie, or books that sink a fist right into our guts. When you finished a book where you couldn’t let go of after the last page, chances are, the author successfully punched you in the...

[abyssickly-deactivated20150313]

Just keep writing words n shit

My friend who doesn’t write (via sickandgifted)

[gothamiteprince]

School's caught up with me. But a few Jaegerhund headcanons under the cut.

The Jaeger Project has sort of become the unofficial Wayne family business. Bruce was initially a big part of the R&D aspect, as WayneTech had phenomenal advances in technology. He was also one of the first with enough balls to test out the uplink hardware. Dick, enamored with the idea of being a knight in giant robotic armor, followed in his father's footsteps. Jason was a natural fighter from birth, and in hindsight Bruce really can't see him ever having taken a different path -- not when there are battles to be fought; Jason has always been one to bleed. Everyone sort of secretly hopes that Damian, still a kid, will grow up to take over WE and not have to deal with the world as it is now. Dick used to talk about how he could see Damian, once he grew up and let off a little steam -- "don't look like that, Little Wing, you were almost as bad at that age" -- could be the one to help rebuild America after the Kaiju were defeated.

Barbara entered the Jaeger program around the same time as Dick, and they had some dalliances for a while. She was in an accident (which had, incidentally, very little to do with giant robots) though, during training and never made it past a dry run in a mech. Instead she chose to apply her impressive brainpower at the computers, guiding the pilots. She sort of adopted Stephanie when Steph stumbled her way into the program, teaching her the ropes and retaining that Team Betgirl relationship from the comics. This means that by extension she also took on Cass -- so when you think Team Batgirl in this universe, you think all three of them.

Tim's story is similar to Mako Mori's, in that the Kaiju are directly responsible for a lot of his pain. He and his parents were on the coast of California when a Kaiju attacked, and the resulting carnage took his mother and paralyzed his father. The last thing Jack wanted was for his son to be directly in front of one of those monsters again, but Tim pursued it. He was all set to become one of the great minds of the project, but he really wanted to get in a Jaeger -- and when Jason came along, well, that just lined up perfectly, didn't it? Tim took a huge risk, and (spoilers) it totally payed off.

Roy and Oliver have been a team for a while. Their original mech was Green Arrow, but it underwent such massive damage at one point that she was pretty much rebuilt from the ground up, and she was given a lot of prototype weaponry to play with (which Roy loved. There are some remote volcanic islands that are a little less mountainous now.), and renamed Arsenal more fittingly. Oliver's starting to get Old Jock syndrome though, joints and such not working at their best, so his son Connor is training to take his place -- usually you'll see Roy with Ollie, Connor or some women. 

Big Blue, Clark and Bruce's Jaeger, is exactly as it sounds: big and blue. She's a tank, a heavy-hitter, and relies mostly on strategy and brute force. Nightwing was built with more flexibility in mind, which was wise because once Dick got in her she started moving in ways that baffled a lot of people. Black Bat is small but her equipment is intense. She was built with populated areas in mind -- to minimize collateral damage, even if just a little.

The Lanterns are actually a patrol corps. They're mostly defensive and usually stationed in high-risk areas. If possible, when there's a situation that calls for multiple Jaegers the PPDC would prefer to send the Lanterns because they work together more easily than other, non-affiliated Rangers, but things are tarting to change. Rangers are stating to reach out to each other -- people are making friends instead of just working together. I like to think this is partially due to the fact that Dick and Roy probably liked to drag Jason around and meet Every New Person Who Ever Showed Up and lunch with them and make them feel welcome. Because Dick and Roy are saps.

That's pretty much it for what's going through my head right now; hopefully I'll get a break to work on more of the actual story.