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kazoosandfannypacks · 5 months

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summary: to boost morale, hera lets her crew pick out a treat when they make supply runs. as a former streetrat, ezra's used to going without food, and rather than pick up another box of crackers he won't eat, ezra decides on a much better plan for his treats. word count: 1.4k a/n: two of the best parts of christmas are giving gifts and eating cookies, so i decided to polish up this discord message i sent to @laughingphoenixleader and turn it into a fic to keep us in the holiday spirit this december! shoutout to the hilarious and encouraging @kanerallels for betaing! taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @accidental-spice @kanerallels @piraterefrigerator @jedi-nurse @dootchster @lucasbridger @redroverrider @light-umbra @commander-tech @jedimandalorian {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

The Molasses Mission

Captain Syndulla recognizes that her crew isn't just soldiers or rebels or heroes. They're survivors. They're kids who had to grow up so fast, they never got the chance to be kids— and the youngest of them were kids even still.

So she tries to find ways to let them have fun while still sticking it to the Empire, and one of them is to boost morale by letting them get treats. They don't get them very often, but sometimes, after a big mission, the ones that are hardest to complete but come with the most payoff, she lets them each pick one snack on the next supply run, a snack to be their own personal snack, one they don't have to share with anyone.

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Ezra Bridger grew up on the streets, and when you grow up on the streets, you don't refuse an offer for food— free food, all yours, something you wouldn't normally get yourself— so naturally Ezra's initially very excited when asked if he'd like a special treat on this week's supply run.

The problem he runs into is when you grow up on the streets, and suddenly you find yourself with a crew that may as well be family, and as such cares about your health and general wellbeing, they're insistent on things like "eating at least two meals a day, if not three" and that's two more meals, if not three, than you were ever guaranteed on the streets. As such, Ezra's not really all that hungry these days.

So, the first few times this happens, he's ecstatic over his own personal snack, but pretty soon he realizes he's without the time to eat them, or he'll save them for a "special occasion" that just never comes, or he's just not even hungry, and he starts to feel bad that he's not eating them.

That's when he gets an idea.

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Chopper doesn't like doing supply runs as is, but he especially doesn't like when Hera sends him with Ezra. The kid's constantly asking him what's on the list, he stops to chit-chat with all the merchants, and his haggling skills are not as great as he thinks. This would be so much faster if Hera would send him by himself— but, of course, the way this galaxy is run, an astromech can't make a supply run themselves, and once again he's forced to rely on these stupid organics.

He protests when Ezra grabs a second box of Molasses Cookies. Today's supply run includes treats, but Sabine is the only member of the crew who eats them.

"One of the boxes is for me," Ezra explains, but Chopper protests. His memory banks aren't that erratic, and he distinctly remembers Ezra's vocal dislike of the cookies that "ought to be sweet instead of tasting like dirt" and "are too dry" and "should come with a warning label before being jam-packed with that many nuts."

But, Ezra insists that that's his treat for the week, and frankly, Chopper couldn't care less. It was one less thing to have to track down here, and maybe Ezra's tastes have just changed.

Organics could be weird like that.

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Sabine had always been very protective of personal property. She didn't want anyone touching her weapons, her paints, or her food.

Especially her food.

Especially her molasses cookies. Everyone on The Ghost knew to stay more than a parsec away from her molasses cookies.

Even still, she counted them every time she grabbed one out of the pack. If someone had taken one, it'd be a nice chance to let out the pent-up anger she had at the mere thought of someone eating her cookies.

Which is why it was weird that, over the last week, every time she'd counted, she'd had exactly seven cookies left, despite eating one each time. At first, she thought she just miscounted, but soon she realized that, no, her cookies were somehow never running empty.

She didn't ask questions— don't look a gift strill in the mouth, right?— even after she opened the box one day and found eight cookies. What could she possibly ask, anyways? "Who's been giving me more cookies?" Like some kind of crazy person? There was a war going on, she had more important things to worry about than how something good was happening to her for a change.

��•🍪•🍪

It may as well just be a regular part of his Jedi practice now. Always staying on the alert for when Sabine was eating one of her cookies. Training himself to wake up in the middle of the night. Sneaking out of his room and into the galley with a cookie from his secret stash. Placing the cookie and getting back to his room. And the most important step, watching Sabine's reaction the next time she went for a cookie and found the same amount left.

But what did not feel like a regular part of his training was what happened this time: finishing the job, turning around, and seeing Sabine sitting at the table, watching him.

"SABINE!?" Ezra exclaimed, backing up against the counter behind him by instinct, then remembering the stealth part of these missions and lowering his tone, "it's not what it looks like! I mean maybe it is what it looks like, if it looks like what it is, but, uh... what are you doing, anyway? Do you normally wait up in the galley to scare unsuspecting spectres? Huh, that was fun to say."

"Let's just say my curiosity got the better of me." Sabine stood up and walked over to him, "After all, what is it they say back on Lothal? 'Curiosity catches the Loth Cat?' And it looks like," she pointed an accusatory finger at Ezra, poking him in the chest as she stepped forward, "that's exactly what I just caught."

"Uh," Ezra said, and even though he thought Sabine might be a little upset, he also noticed how lovely she looked in the low lighting of the galley, which actually made him all the more nervous, "technically, I think the phrase is curiosity killed the Loth Cat. You're not, uh, planning to...."

"Of course not," Sabine said, and there was a bit of a laugh in her tone, "I just wanted to know."

"Well," Ezra shrugged, "now you know."

"No," Sabine said, "I know who, not why. What's your angle?"

"Angle?" Ezra asked.

"Was this an attempt to bribe me or something?" Sabine asked.

"If I wanted to bribe you," Ezra asked, "don't you think I would've let you know it was me?"

Sabine nodded. "Not even you are that stupid."

"Right," Ezra said, "I just. I'm still trying to finish my second box of Loth-Crackers, so on the last supply run, I grabbed a box of cookies instead, and gave myself this secret mission to sneak them in here— Jedi practice, that's all."

"That's all?"

"Yeah," Ezra's feet shuffled, "That, and I noticed how happy you always are over something as small as cookies, and I, I don't know. It's the only time you smile unless something's blowing up, and I, I don't know…."

As he'd been talking, Sabine had turned and stood next to him, leaning against the same countertop. He turned to look at her, and noticed a bittersweet expression, and thought it might be wise to stop talking and start listening. After a moment, his listening finally paid off, and Sabine spoke up.

"Uj'alayi."

"What?"

"Uj'alayi," she crossed her arms, though not gruffly, "one of my favorite cakes. When I was little, my dad would make it for us for special occasions. I haven't had it since before...."

Sabine shook her head, and Ezra nodded for her to continue.

"It's a secret Mandalorian recipe," she explained, "those molasses cookies don't hold a candle to it, but it's the closest you can get when you're... when you don't know the recipe. Taking a bite of one is like...." she smiled a little and shook her head again.

Sabine had never said this much to him in one conversation, but Ezra didn't want her to stop. He wanted to keep hearing more about her, getting to know her more, but realized she'd closed herself off again, and respected that.

"That's," Ezra shrugged, "thank you for sharing."

"Thank you," Sabine said.

Much to Ezra's surprise, she wrapped an arm around him in a hug, so quick it was done and over before Ezra even realized it's happened, though he could still feel its lingering warmth, even as she said goodnight and left the galley.

Ezra watched the smile on her face as long as he could as she left, then smiled to himself in return as he tucked her box of cookies back where they belonged in the pantry and whispered, "best mission ever."

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#fanfiction #sabezra #ezrabine #sabine wren #ezra bridger #headcanon #kazzy writes #kazzy writes fanfic #swr #cw food #sabezra fanfiction #star wars rebels #star wars rebels season 2 #canon compliant #hera syndulla #c1 10p #otp: im counting on you

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miqojak · 10 months

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Send 🏅 to see a screenshot or gpose of which you are especially proud.

Obscure Screenshot Meme

I've been AGONIZING over this, since I have a ton of old screenshots of which I'm proud - I'll look at a photo-shoot and be like 'this is my favorite'... then I'll say the same thing about the next one! The first ones here are because I just...the lighting/shadows just get me (a character half in shadow is just a sweet spot for me, especially when it's thematic for them), the door's colors tying in with the outfit - and really, because I kinda accidentally made this outfit all on my own and fell in love with it! It's mostly Solona's stuff, except for the shoes, but all from different outfit packs... and I just like how the high-waisted skirt works so well with the Hilda shirt! (I also can't help but love the very subtle middle-finger Jak is giving in the first one - as if to say 'eyes up higher, pal!') Plus I just can't stop using Reshade's 'magic border' feature that makes screenshots pop, and I'll never not love that.

These beach ones are because once again, I'm in love with vivid colors!! Plus it's really, really hard to get a picture with the fireworks and time it just right - no matter what tools you're using, it's just about timing and patience, and... the ADHD means I'm not the most patient person when I'm excitedly waiting on something, so this was an endeavor...and then I ended up with several good shots with different color-bursts of fireworks, and was like... well, you can only cram so many shots on a post before it's cluttered, so I picked one with the green/yellow color burst because that's the color of her eyes! Here, I can toss out a couple other contenders - the double burst of fireworks for cool factor, or the almost-bi-colors for bein' heckin' gay! (I came very close to using that one, but the tie-in to her eye color was too good!) PLUS it has proven quite difficult to find a swimsuit that I feel good putting Jak in... one where it feels like she could feel sexy - but it's not just thin strips of cloth that make me feel like she's a piece of meat on sale. She doesn't mind people looking, but you can't give it all away! (It also cracks me up that the lighthouse lights are like, highlighting her butt? xD She'd approve, she's proud of her assets! )

Last but not least - I love re-visiting screenshots I tried to do when I was new, and tackling them anew now that I have a lot of practice under my belt. They're usually not exactly the same, but in the same or similar vein, as an homage - and this is basically what I had in my head when I first made Jak, and I had to use the anemos jacket as her leather jacket! The Streetwear set was a godsend for her, as well as the Yorha stuff, but I've never had any qualms about most of the base Miqo racial gear - Jak likes her skirt! As a former 'streetrat' as she was so 'lovingly' dubbed by her now-partner, she learned that if people are admiring the view, they're not as likely to notice that you've robbed them blind while they let base animal instinct distract them. But here, I get to finally envision her tattoos, her style, her attitude... I've been really working on my expression-work (it's not easy), because Jak is expressive! I want to convey a little more than the base emotes give, most times (though there's nothing wrong with a /sneer most days... I just want more brow movement sometimes! XD) Also! The Yorha explorable zone is just... top notch for Gpose shots for her! I'd love more diverse backdrops (And I do mix it up at times!), but this one is so often the best suited to her aesthetic, that I keep coming back and using different areas of it.

Thank you so much for this ask! Sorry it took a bit for me to decide...then I got long-winded, as usual!

#miqo'te #gpose #gposers #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #thanks for asking!#I HAVE BEEN AGONIZING OVER THIS #and it's like picking a favorite child #I've improved so much and I'm just so proud of many of the ones I took in the last couple years #I was actually still on hiatus when I took those beach ones - but I missed Jak so bad!#I had an uncle who would always flip the camera the 'bird' - I have Jak do that a lot too xD

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upthebibliopunx · 3 years

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meaning is created, love is real

#flos feram #streetrat pack #punx and pups #anarchademiabibliopunk #tmoc

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cigarettesandramen · 3 years

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A1 since day 1 type shit

[ v in my feelins thinking about how we've both figured out how to *be* n grown up together these last four years 🥺😭💕 ]

#mylife #tigerpup #punx n pups #jakob #tmoc #streetrat pack

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

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Death Do We Part (Part 13)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 4,300+

Jason kisses you again, holding on to your face, and then grudgingly lets you go. He lies on the couch with his hand draped over his eyes as you gather your clothes and get dressed. You kneel beside his head and say his name.

“I can’t, Y/N-- If I see you, I won’t have it in me to let you walk out of here.”

So you kiss his cheeks with quivering lips and your tears warm his skin before you leave the Todds’ old apartment.

Jason’s whole body flinches at the sound of the door closing. He lets his own tears mix with the ones you left. Then he harshly rubs them away as he sits up to face the sun that’s slowly peeking over the cityscape from his window.

He takes in three deep breaths before he finally gets up and puts on his clothes, leaving the stench of Gotham on his skin along with the scent of you. It’s armor he tells himself. With you on his side he knows he can’t fail.

He takes out his phone and dials. He puts it on speaker and places it on the counter to pack his gear. The moment the ringing stops, he speaks first, “I want everybody in the bunker. Now.”

There’s a slight groan and hint of annoyance from the other side, “You can’t be--”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Jason hangs up. When its lights turn off, he can see his reflection on the black screen of his phone. His white bangs are hanging down, half covering his glowing green eyes. He touches the skin under them and wonders if you noticed. Did it scare you? As he looks into his mutated eyes watching himself, he snarls.

“Focus!”

There’s far too much at stake tonight to be daydreaming now. The sooner he finishes this mission, the sooner you can leave this town. Jason takes one last look at his phone before he leaves their old apartment.

He’s the first one at the bunker in the Arkham district and proceeds to check on the armory in the backroom. He puts on his domino mask and then his helmet. Then breathes in to give his mind and body time to adjust to his other role, his other identity.

When he gets back to the main room, there’s a couple of thugs spread out on the floor and some of the big players sitting at the big table in the middle.

“What’s the big idea calling us in so early in the morning? Most of us work nights you know!” Penguin’s nasally voice is already giving Jason a headache.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here!

Jason clams his mouth shut inside his helmet and walks up to the table.

“Are you listening to me-- or is that blasted thing on mute--”

He slams his hands on the table and waits for the echo to stop, making sure all eyes are on him. “We’re doing it tonight.”

He watches as the big crime lords of Gotham widen their eyes and turn to each other like shoolchildren.

“Tonight? Are you fucking kidding me?” Black Mask is standing now and circling the table to act like a menace but always making sure there’s somebody else between him and the Red Hood.

“Are your men not ready?” Jason asks.

Black Masks flinches and the sides of his nose twitch. “Of-of course they are--”

“Good. Because we’re taking out Batman and the Joker tonight. If you’re not ready then you’re out of the deal.”

The deal. The deal Jason’s been waving around at the noses of these dredges of Gotham City. One night. One final night to get both Batman and the Joker out of their lives.

It’s not surprising a lot of them want to get rid of the Joker. The maniac’s a loose canon that’s not fit for any alliance and if you tick him off, you won’t know what to expect.

“Have you figured out how to get the lunatic out of the asylum?” Dent speaks up from the wall he’s been leaning against. “The new vault is Wayne tech but they outsourced it from an anonymous--”

“Oh, I never said anything about me breaking him out.” Jason cuts him off because he already knows this. He doesn’t like it when people repeat shit he already knows. It was never like this when he worked with Batman. “Don’t you worry your pretty faces over it. I’ve already got the perfect girl doing the dirty work for me.”

“Right,” Penguin snorts, “Because you don’t actually do any work--”

“When do we get to kill the Bat?” Bane’s menacing voice vibrates within the room, even terrifying Jason behind his mask.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he yells out almost shakily, but your scent on him is trapped inside his helmet and it’s helping him keep calm, keep up appearances. “You, Killer Croc, and Clayface will come with me to the bridge.”

“How do you know he’ll show?” Bane interrupts and Jason wants to show them a smile that says ‘leave it to me’. Instead he keeps quiet with his eyes on Bane who only narrows his eyes with scrutiny.

“Right. Right. Of course,” Black Mask groans as he walks around more freely. “You’ve got another slutty little streetrat doing the work--”

There’s a loud bang. Everyone in the room watches as Black Mask falls to the floor with a smoking hole in his head. Jason is heaving heavy breaths under his helmet and his eyes are wide and trained on the dead man who just said shit about you, while his hand is holding the gun.

Once his composure is under control, he turns to Dent, talking to him with the gun slanted to the side. “Congratulations. His men are now yours.”

Dent stares at the crazy bastard in front of him before he grins.

As soon as the meeting is over, Jason is the first one to leave. He heads off to a small diner in the central business district, one of those small eateries at the heart of the city that are slowly dying.

Happy to have the helmet off of him, he eats his food quietly while staring at his arm that’s propped up on the table. His last words looking back at him. “What did she do-- tattoo it on her skin?” he teases as he pokes it with a fork, smiling at the thought of you reading it over and over again.

Someone slips into his booth. It’s enough to alarm Jason because he should’ve noticed anyone walking toward him. When he looks up, he finds his replacement in front of him.

“Dick rewrites it every day with industrial-strength markers.”

Jason’s other hand reaches for another weapon concealed in his jacket. Tim sits upright in front of him with both of his hands under the table. Jason only guesses he’s pointing something at him, too. They stare at each other for a while before Tim finally speaks up.

“Fuck you.”

The corner of Jason’s lips twitch. He almost wants to laugh. Heck, he does laugh. “Fucking rude--”

“You slept with Y/N and then you sent her back to Bruce to ask him to let you kill the Joker.”

Jason’s eyes widen. What were you thinking? Jason knew you were going to tell Bruce his plan that’s why they had to do it tonight. But he never asked you to stand up for him. He doesn’t want you to be involved in this. Why would you go and do that?

Tim clenches his teeth as Jason continues to stare dumbly at him. “What kind of sick joke are you playing at? She’s in love you with you and you’re--”

“Hey.” Jason’s voice is low and he’s staring into Tim’s eyes, blue like his, almost like his used to be. Did you gaze into them before you kissed him? Did they remind you of him? “You should learn to mind your own fucking business, kid.”

“You--”

“Thanks though.”

Tim eyes Jason curiously, wondering what he means. Then he feels it, the kick of a tranquilizer rapidly invading the nerves of his body. Before his head hits the table, Jason is already by his side and placing his head on his shoulder.

“You should’ve waited for the party but I guess you just saved me a lot of time.” Jason nods his head to the waitress walking by. Then he takes out his phone and calls Penguin.

“What is it now, Hood?”

“You should be happy to know that I just did some dirty work ahead of schedule.” Jason relishes the angry snort Penguin gives him before he continues. “So I’ll be helping you with the bombs later this afternoon.”

There’s a long silence on the line before Penguin finally replies, nervous. “Are you sure this will work?”

“Trust me. After tonight, when those bombs go off, you’ll be the only kingpin left in this city. No more Falcone or Dent.”

After Jason hangs up, he pays the bill for his food and drapes his jacket over Tim, making sure his face is hidden as he hauls his body over to Arkham district.

Finally, night came. Tim is tied up. The bombs are in place. The Joker is being broken out. And Batman is driving over the bridge. Jason is fighting every urge to tap his foot on the ground, or clench his fist, or rub his arm where his last words are written.

All day he’s had to fight the urge to write to you, something you haven’t done in almost a year. But the fact that you haven’t written anything to him made it easier. You understand that everything is going down tonight and you’re giving him space.

Now all he has to do is focus. Everything will go according to plan. It’s time for the theatrics, just like Batman taught him.

“Sorry, Batman! This part of the city’s closed for the day! Public execution and all!” Jason is surrounded by cheering thugs finally rejoicing at the thought of a Bat and Joker-free city. Everything will be theirs for the taking.

Jason watches his temporary alliance follow through with the plan. He whistles as Bane lands on the bridge. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

“Time for your exit, boy,” Killer Croc hisses as he passes by Jason.

Jason sees no point in talking back. He presses the button for the EMP and waits for the lights of the batmobile to go out. Then he nods to Croc and Clayface and disappears into the crowd. Once out of the frontline’s range, he uses his grappling gun to reach higher ground.

“Still bait. Need to make sure they see me.”

Jason hides among the shadows to watch Bruce and Dick work. Bane’s the first one to go down. “Taking down the biggest threat first. Efficient and predictable, Bruce.”

“Hoody! You double crossing son of a bitch!” One of the most annoying voices Jason has ever heard screeches into the comm in his ear. But it’s not really Harley he hates, it’s the other guy that always comes with her presence.

“What? Code didn’t work?”

“Oh it worked alright, you smarty shit helmet. I finally got mista J out of that stinkin place but guess who was waiting for us, huh? Guess!”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“You--”

Jason hangs up on Harley because he knows. He asked his friends from Eth Alth'eban for a couple of last favors until they can finally call it even. “Good. The appetizer’s already at the club-- Oh! Time to go.”

Nightwing had spotted him and now Batman is in pursuit. Jason leaps from one rooftop to another, making sure Batman can still see him as he turns at each corner.

Clayface and Croc never were much of a threat in an open space, away from their element. Dick could handle them with his eyes closed. But Jason busted some of his ribs so dealing with those two should keep him occupied all night.

The sound of Bruce’s grappling gun hisses in the air and Jason waits for it to wrap around his legs. Before it tauts, Jason turns mid-air and cuts the line before he free falls to the road. He lands on his feet and rolls over to lessen the impact. He whispers a small apology to you in case your body couldn’t handle it.

Bruce watches Jason run through the streets and follows from above. Jason can see his swift shadow casted by the foggy moonlight. He suddenly can’t help the stupid grin growing on his face. “Feels like old times, old man!”

When Bruce sees another bridge, he already knows which building the Red Hood is headed for. Batman perches a block away and tries to contact Nightwing.

“Status report.”

Dick nervously laughs. Bruce can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Seriously dandy. Croc and Clayface almost can’t keep up.”

Bruce can’t see it but you can. Dick is barely standing on his own two legs, busted knees, exhaustion, and you know he’s emotionally overwhelmed. You’ve monitored enough of their videos to know that Dick isn’t at his best. You suddenly can’t help intervening.

“Bruce, turn back. You have to help Dick.”

“I’m fine,” Dick interjects. “Just get Jason.”

“Jason’s not the one in trouble right now, Dick--”

“Y/N.” Dick’s voice has suddenly gotten sharp. “Batman needs to make it this time.”

Your eyes widen as you watch Dick throw himself back into the fight. He’s exhausted but his opponents are in worse shape. Finally resigned, Alfred wraps his arms around your shoulder, bracing yourselves for what’s next.

As soon as Jason walks into Black Mask’s new club, he’s met with absolutely no one. He quickly prioritizes before he panics and checks the two large boxes on the dance floor.

A phone starts ringing loudly inside the deserted club, distracting him from the cape that flies in from the overhead window. Jason answers it and he hears Penguin’s unmistakeable nasally voice.

“Hello, Hood.”

Jason grits his teeth. Something isn’t right. “Where are you and Dent?”

“Sorry, Hood,” he snorts and chuckles. “We knew something was up. Found the bombs you snuck into my place. So you’re on your own.” He can hear boisterous laughter in the background and loud music. They’re celebrating prematurely at Penguin’s club. “But hey, if you manage to take the Joker and Batman to hell with you, good for us!”

The dial tone fills up the empty club and it feels like it’s getting louder inside Jason’s head. He yells in frustration and throws the phone against the wall.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Jason is bent over, hands on his knees and hyperventilating. The helmet is suddenly suffocating. He takes it off and throws it across the dance floor. Batman stops it with his foot, making Jason look up and glare at him.

“Looks like you’ve run out of criminals to do the dirty work for you.” Batman’s voice brings Jason’s focus back to his own breathing. Things are not going according to plan but just the thought of putting this off for another day, makes his hands tremble. He wants to leave. He wants to run to you and leave this godforsaken city.

Bruce looks at his son with nothing but worry. He extends a hand to him. “Jason, it’s time to stop.”

Jason winces. He takes in one loud inhale and then lets it out in the form of boooming laughter. “Oh, but it’s just begun, and we’re so close to the climax already.”

Like a child lashing out when everything has gone wrong, Jason runs and jumps at Bruce, a fist aimed at the side of his father’s head. It’s sloppy. Easy enough for Bruce to block and secure Jason in front of him.

“Let’s go home,” he urges.

Bruce watches the trembling scowl on Jason’s face. Jason kicks off of Bruce’s chest. When he lands on his feet, he runs at him again to kick his side.

Bruce catches his leg and firmly holds it against his body using both of his hands. He glares at him, “Jason, stop!”

Jason snarls and punches the side of Bruce’s face. Then another one against the tip of his nose. Bruce immediately lets go of him, holding his nose while ringing permeated in his eardrums.

When he brings his hands down, there’s blood. “Jason, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s too bad, pops.”

You have been too mesmerized by the one-sided battle between Bruce and Jason, that you forgot to watch Nightwing’s feed. When Alfred and your face are kissed by a bright glow coming from the other side of the screen, your eyes widen and your lips tremble.

“B-Bruce!” your voice echoes in his earpiece and he can already hear the panic. “The br-bridge! Dick was on the bridge and it just blew up!”

Jason notices the slight change in Bruce’s demeanor. He watches cautiously when his father clenches his fist and looks at Jason with a snarl. He starts walking toward Jason, letting him hear his every word.

“Forgive me, Y/N.”

And you brace yourself for the onslaught of pain that’s sure to come. You close your eyes and bury your head in Alfred’s embrace. He holds you tightly, both of you dreading and waiting. But the pain never comes.

You open your eyes and turn back to the monitor. Bruce is standing still in front of Jason with a fist just inches away from his son’s face. Jason’s eyes slowly open.

“I can’t,” Bruce confesses in a trembling voice.

Jason frowns as he watches the resignation on his father’s face. But it’s quickly replaced by a scowl as he remembers, remembers why they’re here. “I should be so flattered,” his voice hits Bruce like a blow to the chest. “Too bad you extend this same mercy to your enemies.”

Jason walks away from Bruce to stop in front of one of the boxes. He kicks it in and then he drags out a tied up orange clown into the middle of the club.

“To scumbags like him!”

The Joker shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sudden disorientation. He had been hearing their family drama from within the crate. But when his eyes settle on the black cowl and pointy ears, he grins and rises to his feet. He takes a quick look at Jason and recognizes him immediately.

“Oh! Is this my welcome back party? I’m underdressed.” The Joker looks down at his clothes from Arkham and winces. “Orange really isn’t my color. Blegh!”

His care-free attitude is only making Jason angrier. Everything has gone wrong. He has thrown himself against Bruce and almost got you hurt. And now, now the clown is treating all of this like a fucking party.

Jason kicks the Joker onto the floor and keeps his foot on his back. He keeps his head down as he snarls at the maniac beneath him.

“I don’t know what clouded your judgment worse…” His foot presses harder on the clown’s back before he looks at Bruce, glaring. “Your guilt or antiquated sense of morality.”

You watch with your hand over your mouth. Jason’s breathing has been labored this whole time and you don’t know if it’s because of all the running or the emotional toll of it all.

Jason looks at Bruce and he sounds broken, “I forgive you for not saving me--”

The Joker scoffs and nonchalantly interrupts Jason, “He couldn’t have saved you, boy. The timer was a dud. The warehouse was only rigged to explode once Batman stepped onto the property.”

Batman’s eyes widen with guilt but Jason already knew that. He knew that Bruce had come for him with 10 seconds to spare on the timer. More than enough time to get him and his mother out of there safely. To save you, too.

The Joker’s eyes widen with glee as he watches the taut lines on Batman’s exposed jaw. “You didn’t know, Batsy? My my!”

Jason almost feels sorry for Bruce as he desperately looks at his son’s eyes and then to his hands, thinking he was the one who had killed him. Jason puts more pressure on the Joker’s back and shouts, “Do you see?”

Jason takes off his mask to stare Bruce in the face, to look him in the eye when he finally asks the one question that has been eating at him alive. “So why! Why on god’s earth is this psychotic filth still alive?”

Jason’s outrage and their father-son confrontation is only making the Joker laugh in amusement, splintering his lips against the hardwood. “Gotta give the boy points! He came all the way back from the dead--”

Jason harshly turns him over and slaps a gag into his mouth, pushing it down and ties it until the Joker is choking.

More aggravated now, he’s heaving in breaths like he’s running out of air. Jason turns back to Bruce, gritting his teeth. “Ignoring what he’s done in the past. Blindly stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he’s filled. The thousands who have suffered. The friends he’s crippled--!”

Jason watches as Bruce’s jaw clenches. They never talked about that. After that night, even when Barbara was released from the hospital, the family completely turned their backs on her, willing that the incidents never happened.

The memory only makes Jason’s blood boil and his heart clench in his chest. It’s so strong that you can feel it.

“I thought… I thought I’d be the last person you’ll ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp. If he had taken you from this world--” Jason pauses, surprised at the tear falling from his eye. He knows it’s not his but this has never happened before. You’ve never shared tears before.

Jason clenches his fist and yells at Bruce again, “I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell!”

Bruce’s head is spinning. He sees the man he despises the most in this world and the boy he’s failed, both in life and in death.

“Jason... All I’ve ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he’s dealt out to others. And then… end him.”

Bruce’s confession doesn’t appease anything in Jason. It only confuses him more.

“So why--”

“But if I do that…” Bruce gently interjects, “If I allow myself to go down into that place… I’ll never come back.” He takes a few steps forward and extends his hand to Jason with his palm facing up. “You’ll never come back, son.”

Jason stares at the hand extended to him before he finally snarls at his father. “Why?” he sounds like a child, broken and betrayed, “I’m not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I’m talking about him. Just him and doing it because… because he took me away from you.”

Bruce watches as Jason harshly wipes away the tears that keep coming. Jason doesn’t get mad at you. He doesn’t blame you. If he wanted to, he would let out everything as well. He almost wishes he could when Bruce finally answers him.

“I can’t, Jason. I’m sorry.”

You feel Jason’s nails dig into his palms. You watch as he narrows his eyes at Bruce and points the gun at the Joker.

“Well you won’t have a choice.”

Jason shoots the Joker in the head. The sound echoes in the silent club while Bruce stands still as the Joker’s body goes limp on the floor.

You watch as the mad clown who terrorized your dreams for over a year lies on the ground, unmoving and staining the floor with his blood. Dead. But you don’t feel a single drop of satisfaction from it as you follow the trail of smoke coming out of Jason’s gun.

“You don’t understand, Bruce,” he finally says. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand until someone spells it out plain and simple for you.”

Bruce takes a step forward with his hands up but Jason’s points the gun at him next. “You can’t protect us-- much like you can’t protect this city from every disgusting dredge that lurks at its every corner. Ra’s and your failure taught me one thing true about this world: it’s better to grab evil by the tendrils and burn it before it settles its roots.”

It feels like a hammering is slamming down on Jason’s chest. The exhaustion. The emotions. Finally everything is so close to its breaking point. You can feel it.

“This is what all this has been about, Bruce. This scum,” he kicks the Joker’s body, making it skid away, leaving a trail of his blood. Then he points the gun at Bruce and places his free hand on his chest. “You. Me. And him!”

Jason kicks open the other box in the club and harshly rips out a struggling Robin. Tim is tightly gagged and his eyes are wide open.

“Tim!”

You don’t know who shouted. You or Bruce. You watch as he struggles against Jason’s grip. He tightens his hold on Tim and presses him against one side of his body to prop him up for Bruce to see him in full view.

“Now is the time you decide.”

Jason throws the gun to Bruce, the one he used on the Joker. “If you won’t, I’ll kill him. If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to kill me.”

Bruce stares at Tim’s wide eyes and then at the gun in his hands. Tim is fiercely struggling against the Red Hood’s hold. The Red Hood. Jason. He looks at his once dead son and sees unfamiliar green eyes looking back at him. His answer comes softly with regret.

“You know I won’t--”

This only makes Jason angrier. He takes out another gun and points it at Tim’s temple, startling all of you.

“It’s him or me--”

“Stop!” You shout from the safehouse, suddenly standing and urgently looking for anything to write with, not wanting to watch anymore. But you can still hear him.

“You have to decide--”

Your soulmate.

“Think about Y/N!” Bruce shouts, making you stop and stare at your hands, a pen hovering over Jason’s last words.

Jason’s grip falters. Of course, he’s thinking of you. Every single minute of every single day, all he’s done is think of you. All of the things he’s done is for you. You and him. That’s why he has to do this.

His voice comes out like a low growl. “Decide now... Do it.”

Bruce is shaking his head and holding the gun with both of his hands, shaking. Jason glares at him and pushes the barrel of the gun harder against Tim’s temple.

“Him or me! Decide!”

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#...#ssa #superhero soulmate au #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood x reader #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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faiakishi · 5 years

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A family doesn’t need to be a mom and a dad. A family can be one (1) greasy knife dad, sixty-five poorly behaved streetrats wearing gas masks, and a pack of wolfhound rescues.

#this meme is old but fuck if i care #daud #knife of dunwall #the whalers #dad daud

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hanktalkin · 6 years

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You Better Throw the First Punch

Pairing: Michael/Lindsay Warnings: None

In the burning daylight, there were boxing gloves and sterile punching bags all over, dozens of public gyms at Michael’s fingertips, every plastic stitch present and screaming to be used. He never touched a single one. By night, Michael left, abandoning the white fluorescent lights of public exertion and descended into the worst of what Los Santos had to offer.

There was a smaller array now that he’d come to the darker side, but Michael had a favored haunt among them—down near 6th St., past the stairs, tell the man that Lionel sent you. The club was dim, foul with old blood and emptied stomachs, but the threat of violence pricked against Michael’s skin like nothing could anymore. The buzzing in his head had become part of his life now, no escape except fighting strangers in the dark until someone gave in. Or died.

He didn’t tell the crew where he went. They could all go to hell.

He put his name down and waited. No one knew him here, no one gave a shit who he worked for or what he could do. They were all equals in this shithole, all ugly reflections of one another—a bunch of fuckups who just wanted fight back. Sitting among them, Michael began to bind his hands. None of that safe, sanitary, gloved bullshit, just hard-packing of bones and muscle, protecting your knuckles by forcing them together. Making those bitches support each other whether they like it or not.

Someone signed up to take Michael on. He climbed into the ring, landing on concrete with a smack, remembering what is was like to have his head hitting it instead of his feet. His opponent was tall, broad shouldered, maybe it a bit more toned than most of the people in the club since regulars usually consisted of streetrats looking for an outlet.

Michael cracked his neck, and squared up.

Fighting here was breathing after drowning. Every twitch of Michael’s feet, every anticipated dodge, and he felt more alive than any day since he’d lost his hearing. He couldn’t rely on explosions or gunfights anymore to get his fix, couldn’t bleed Geoff dry for any chance to get his rocks off when the Boss was so determined to keep him “safe.” He couldn’t heist without comms, couldn’t make deals with comms…every word true, but every time they said comms, Michael understood they meant your ears.

A hook caught him under the jaw, and he went down. The buzzing was gone now, knocked clear out of him as he rolled on his side to watch the crowd cheer silently, a collection of grey and brown bugs swarming around him, demanding he either die or make himself useful.

Well. No time like the present. Michael staggered to his feet, spitting a mouthful of blood from when he’d bit his tongue.

Another fist hit him hard, bruising his cheekbone, but he didn’t fall this time. Instead he went back, fighting with every burned fiber in his sorry excuse for a body, the anger boiling in him and boiling over, slamming him forward until the other fighter was down on the ground. Michael waited, daring them to try him again.

They didn’t.

The crowd cheered, bets exchanged hands, and Michael heaved in the center of the ring. But the only thing that mattered now was how sharp everything was, how he was free from that fucking noise, at least for a time. Everything was real now, worth noticing, and that’s what let him see her for the first time.

Lindsay stood among them, her hands together in noiseless clapping, a smirk at the corner of her mouth. She looked like belonged, which was the most jarring fact—he’d never seen her in anything but the nines, so without makeup or heels, who could blame him for missing her in this mess?

He hauled himself out of the ring, pulling on his shirt as he melted back into his fellow degenerates. It didn’t take long to grab Lindsay, pulling on her arm and dragging her further from the lights, only stopping when they were gone from the throngs of people.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, shoving her away from him.

She smiled in spite of, or maybe because of, the fury in his voice. “Here for a good fight.”

His eyes flicked over he lips, watching the words take form. He’d learned, steadily, over the past year, maybe the only thing he’d studied hard in his entire life. Gavin had offered to teach him sign language once upon a time, but he’d refused, the idea of being so being so obvious hurting him like a stone in his shoe. Now he worked overtime, catching meaning and putting the thoughts together in a scrambled mess.

“Did Geoff put you up to this?” he snarled.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because all I do all day is suck Geoff’s dick.”

Michael snorted, but chose to believe her. No matter how much of a helicopter Geoff was, he didn’t assign tails to his own people. “Fine. Then why are you here. No bullshit.”

Shrugging, she said, “like I said. I came to watch. No bullshit.”

Slowly, he let the snake inside him uncoil, loosening enough that he started pacing instead burning like a stake. Lindsay was imbedded deep in the tertiary members of the Fakes, essential and proven, but she’d never taken an interest in Michael before. Her presence in this place was a bright red flag in Michael’s vision. At least she wasn’t here to tell him to stop.

“Plus, wanted to check out the new tattoo,” she added suddenly.

Michael stopped pacing, unconsciously rolling his shoulder where the ink still hurt. He’d got it a month ago, here in this club—a stick of dynamite in one year commemoration.

He glared at her. “Don’t follow me any more,” was all he said, before storming out, his fists clenched so hard the tape turned red.

He thought going to a different club would shake her loose. He was wrong.

“I told you to stop following me,” he said, after finding her outside the ring, hoodie pulled over here bleached hair.

“I never agreed to that.”

He breathed through gritted teeth, but his urge to hit anything was dulled by the post-match euphoria. “I don’t know what the fuck to do with you,” he admitted, and he felt his voice shake. Sometimes, he’d worried he’d forget how to speak all together—one day he’d wake up and not remember the sound of his own voice, how to make words go the right way. One day they wouldn’t be able to find any work he could do and he’d be back on the outside. “I just don’t fucking know.”

“You don’t have to do anything with me,” Lindsay said, and god why did that smile look good on such a bitch. “I can meld. Wallflower it.”

He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t a big deal. And when he got back in the ring, he told himself it was because it didn’t bother him enough to make it one.

“You don’t have to keep pretending to be a fuckup,” she told him once. It was before a fight, the two of them sitting in the corner of a filthy pit while Michael bound his hands.

He laughed. “Pretending? I’m a high school dropout who’s only off the streets because he tried to mug the right guy. I’m a cosmic accident Lindsay. Don’t try your psycho-bullshit on me.”

“No bullshit,” Lindsay smiled. She said it like a joke, even though it was a decidedly unfunny statement only worth saying for self-referential value.

Michael kept himself from laughing. “Whatever. I’m going to punch some dickwad to keep me from going crazy. Wish me luck.”

He caught her words out of the corner of his eye.

“Alas, I cannot. For you see: I am that dickwad.”

Michael gawked at Lindsay, his foot still half turned towards the pit. “What?”

“I signed up to fight you,” she said, gesturing toward the board. “Thought it looked fun.”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering what angle she was playing now, and knowing no matter what it was it was stupid. “You? You’ve never fought a day in your life.”

“I might surprise you,” she said with a wink, and Michael wondered for a hot second if Lindsay actually knew what she was doing. Then the previous combatants were dragged out of the room, and it was time for the next match to start. “That’s out cue!”

As they circled each other in the ring, Michael took in the full view of her. She was down to her tanktop to match his shirtlessness, her stance wild and unpracticed. A strange energy built in Michael’s chest, the unknown quantity different than fighting a stranger. This was something new, a challenge-

He drew back his fist-

“You’re a fucking moron.”

Lindsay drew the tissue away from her broken nose in order to look offended. “Hey! Just because I don’t have a lot of stamina doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

“You walked into the most dangerous fight club in the most dangerous city in the world with absolutely no fucking combat experience and almost died after one punch. You’re a fucking moron.”

She pressed the tissue back to her face and mumbled, “I thought you’d let me win. Like it’d be romantic and shit.”

Michael’s voice spilled out of him, and he wondered if the warmth in his chest was audible. “Idiot,” he smiled softly. “Stupid idiot.”

After Lindsay had regained consciousness, they’d come out here into the alley, the winter chill making the night just cold enough to hurt their lungs. Lindsay had gone through all the tissues in her purse by now, and blood had spilled onto her upper lip again in the brief second she’d taken the pressure away. Now she looked pathetic, bloody nose purple and swelling beneath her hand, her words obscured when she tried to tell Michael something. She said it again, and he rolled his eyes, reaching forward to tug away the gross-ass tissue.

He wasn’t sure when his hand stopped touching hers and glided against her cheek instead. His thumb ran along her lip—wet, sticky—leaving a trail along the side of her face, only stopping when she pushed it aside and leaned into him.

It was the most bitter kiss Michael had ever had, copper running down into his mouth as they pulled at each other’s faces. Lindsay squeaked in pain but shoved into him all the same, the two bodies tender from abuse and cold. Red stuck between them, an open wound in an infected city.

#ragehappy #fake ah crew #fahc #fahc michael #fahc lindsay #a forum for my musings

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