crafting a beautiful world where incorrigible playboy roy metamorphoses into incorrigible wife guy roy. i'm talking "eviscerating oliver "never shuts up" queen in a never-shutting-up-about-my-wife competition" levels of wife guy. roy's out there beating up goons telling them "you're lucky My Wife isn't here tonight. My Wife would be putting the fear of god in you right now. she's so dreamy like that..." he's checking out at the store going "oh yeah this tattoo? yeah it's actually for My Wife". a villain is about to strike the final blow upon him and he wriggles out at the last second like "sorry to burst your bubble, unfortunately i'm only willing to die via My Wife's Thighs". on a space mission with the titans and getting back is taking forever and he's sitting there crankily tapping his foot grumbling "i miss My–" "WE GET IT. WE FUCKING GET IT, ROY. YOU MISS YOUR WIFE. WE KNOW."
you know that communal headcanon we have about Lazarus Pits giving whomstever got dunked lifelong (well. second-life-long) boosts to how fast they heal, regain stamina, or...uh...refract? because as one does i was Pondering the Implications, and came to the conclusion that in this version of the Pit's capabilities, your hair would definitely be growing back quicker.
so imagine utrh-era jason except he has a haircut he gave himself with a kris in the bathroom at 5am after a hearty night of tormenting batman.
imagine jason pissed-the-hell-off that he needs a haircut every fucking week, are you kidding me?!?! so he just starts doing buzzcuts because he's sick of craning his neck in the mirror trying to make sure the back looks even-ish.
imagine later down the line he gets sick of even that and just. just lets it grow. and yeah brushing it is a pain and he has to buy conditioner now, but that shit lasts forever and he...he kinda likes how it looks. it feels silkier than he ever would've expected any part of him to feel, because his body and the soul inside it is coarse and scraggly and acerbic. it shouldn't be able to grow something that feels...nice.
once it grows past shoulder length he runs out of ways to tuck it all inside his helmet and just lets it pool around his shoulders. before patrol he separates his white streak and bobby pins it. it's an identifying detail. he ought to keep it hidden.
except. one afternoon, he's in civvies picking up takeout and the cashier compliments his dye job. most people aren't pulling that trend off, she says, but it really suits you!
it grows long enough that jason finally has to admit to himself he can't patrol without tying it up. buying hair ties feels weirdly embarrassing. so does attempting to fashion his hair into a ponytail, which turns out is a lot harder than seeing steph do it in three seconds flat had led him to believe.
bruce is the first to ever braid his hair. his asking and jason's acquiescence were stilted and awkward, but as bruce's fingers separate inky locks into sections, he explains that he taught himself how when cass came into the picture — but he'd never ended up needing the knowledge, since she likes keeping her hair so short.
jason contemplates learning how to braid himself, he really does. but every now and then he'll whinge about needing to do his hair and someone nearby — kory, roy, donna, whoever — will beg him to let them try, he has such beautiful thick hair and they haven't had a chance to flex their styling skills in ages.
whenever he gets split ends, or the length is simply beyond practicality (even in a braid, hair below his ass is a pain-and-a-half), he lines the ends up on a butcher block board and takes a cleaver to them. eventually, he can't help but wonder whether he could maybe possibly do with getting a real cut. from an actual salon. just once. just to try.
the stylist is in her fifties. she has bright green hair, a septum piercing, and one of the warmest manners of anyone jason's ever come across. there's nobody in the shop but them, and he can't help but wonder whether he should feel lucky or grateful. he suspects the latter; she seems very attuned to the shyness pouring off him.
she puts some layers into his hair, explaining that because it has a naturally wavy texture, a cut like this will help with definition. and maintenance. she mentions that bangs and a little face-framing would fit him very nicely; her tone suggests off-handedness, but jason can tell she's keenly watching for his reaction. it feels like it did with the hair ties, weirdly embarrassing, to mumble out that i wouldn't mind trying that, if you think it'd look good. he reasons that it'll grow out fast enough, if it doesn't.
when she swivels his chair back to face the mirror, the person looking back at him looks...
looks...
the mirror's fogging up all of a sudden.
"You like it?"
"How...um. How do you think it looks? O–on me?"
"Oh, sweetheart. Honest opinion? It's lovely. Not to toot my own horn."
jason thanks her profusely, tips triple the cost of the cut, and all but sprints back home.
hello to my favorite jayroy mutual c: i come to you with an offering: imagining jayroy in these shirts 🤲
hello to my favourite jayroy mutual :3 thank you for the offering and ooh what a positively sumptuous offering this is!! <3
like the inclination naturally is of course roy being in the left shirt and jason in the right one. that's his insane girlfriend!!! who he loves so much!!! and i like to imagine the hammer in question is strategically placed in roy's back pocket, so that oh nooooo when it's kill-you-with-a-hammer time jason simply has to cop a feel of roy's ass in order to retrieve his murder weapon. oh nooo. what a travesty...
but. simultaneously. very funny to me is the idea of roy having a terrible awful horrid ghastly bitch of a day and jason just...takes his shirt off. and look, the view of jason's tits is already drastically improving roy's spirits, but then jason's holding out his shirt for them to switch and it's such a sweet little gesture that roy's heart bursts with even more love for his insane girlfriend. and then he proceeds to commit an unspeakably beautiful act of hammer violence and jason is consumed by such overwhelming adoration that when roy turns back around (jason was correct. hitting ne'er-do-wells with a hammer did make him feel better) jason's shirt now reads "I ❤️ My Insane Girlfriend Wife"
transfem jason being very attached to her current nicknames so she changes her name to jaye. plus, telling people "it's jaye with an e" is just too fun for her to pass up
thinking about jaye and cass sisterisms tonight...they have so little and yet so much in common; so much bad blood between them but it could be under the bridge. they both know what it's like to feel like weapons first women second. or third or fourth or...maybe neither of them wear nail polish. maybe they paint each other's nails anyway.
“Oh, baby.” Roy surged forward, driven by the need to bundle her into his hold and kiss the tears from her cheeks.
Jaye matched his pace, stepping backwards and raising a hand in front of her. She glared at him, but any malice that might’ve been intended (Roy had his doubts) got washed away by the still-streaming tears.
“You gotta make sure it’s me, asshole. What if I was…” Mirage, she didn’t say, but Roy heard it anyway, “…some kinda miscreant.” She sniffled, and harshly wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Roy struggled to suppress a smile. “Right, because my darling wife isn’t any kind of miscreant.”
“Don’t tell the shapeshifter she’s your wife! Now she knows exactly how to exploit you!”
Roy raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He stepped backwards again, into the doorway so there was a decent few feet between them. “Hello, extremely naked woman in my bedroom, who is possibly my wife and possibly a shapeshifting miscreant.”
also t4t jayetim. jaye cradling this sweet boy against her chest while he sits in her lap, caressing him all over, from his silky hair to his milky thighs. timmy all floaty and fucked out, warming mommy's cock while he lazily suckles her tits, not a single thought behind those glazed eyes
