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jamjar: (creepybat)
Requested by [ profile] notpoetry,

A sequel to this Jason/Terry ficlet.

He can hear breathing behind him, the thump of one of the Jokerz getting hit by someone that's not him. He's too busy with his own to do more than be aware of the bright flashes of colour behind him, yellow and the sound of someone breathing hard.

He can hear the moment when the sounds stop being the good kind of violent, and heads over into too much, so he turns around without thinking, grabs its arm and pulls it back, and is still surprised when he can feel something solid, warm.

"Enough," he says. Ghostboy, NotRobin, looks at him, angry and riding the physical high. Terry's never seen him in this much detail, dark hair, green mask and a stupid amount of skin showing. He deserves it, in his eyes and he's not even close to wrong. "That was enough," Terry says, putting some of the old man's snap into it.

Terry pulls him further back away from the groaning Joker. "We're nothing without control." Feels like the old man's words, even if he's never said them, not exactly.

The boy glares at him. "You're not him," he says. It comes out clearer than it's ever been and it's an accusation, not a statement.

Terry drops the arm and steps back, letting the shadows work. Doesn't answer, because he doesn’t need to. He knows who he isn’t and he knows who he *is*.

Ghost-boy looks at him. Young and angry and wounded, like Terry remembers from before he was in juvie, like he remembers from a hundred kids there. Jealous, too, like he sees when he goes back.

Then he rushes forward and Terry feels like he's getting pushed against a wall and no actual pressure,, double-layer of being touched and touching *nothing*, and the kid's kissing him, hard and greedy and practised.

He tastes like tea and how cold feels, and it's familiar, like looking into a mirror, because he knows this kiss from the other side.

Then he's gone, and there's just a pile of groaning gangbangers, one bleeding a little more than the rest.
jamjar: (Default)
Firstly, a little something I like to call the PreYJ OT3 Gen fic. Oh yes, it has a proper title, but I like all the little words and letters.

Young Justice (DCU):

The Case Of the Disappearing Felines.
Bart, Kon and Tim, when they were young, and Tim hadn't revealed his real name and Superboy didn't *have one*.

Next, in response to the amnesty challenge at [ profile] dc_flashfiction

Batman Beyond:
Beyond the Veil.
Bruce and Terry. Note: This at one point had the working title "big scary batgod fic."

And in case anyone missed it (and you weren't missing much),over at [ profile] weneedhelp,

DCU/Good Omens crossover madness!

Why yes, I am very suggestible. How did you know?"
jamjar: (stone cold bitch)
Title: Socialise
Fandom: Batman Beyond
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.
Notes: [ profile] buggery needed cheering up. Possibly, there are other ways to make someone feel better than Bruce/Terry porn, but neither of us could think of any off the top of our heads. Written in AIM, so unbeta'd. Comments, criticisms and pointing out of mistakes is always appreciated.

It's the kind of party Terry is only just comfortable at )
jamjar: (five buck dick)
Terry believes in a lot more than he used to.

He believes in the mission and secrets and necessity. He's seen-- not enough, which is pretty close to too much. The ghost fits into that category almost exactly.

He's not Robin. He's close, but not quite exact, and he's a lot deader than any Robin Terry knows. He's pretty sure they would have told him if one of the Robins had died. It would have come up, probably with a lot of angst and an old enemy, because that's pretty much what always happens.

It's an extra glass cabinet that isn't there and a bright flash of yellow and a pounded Joker when he turns around. Full cups of cold tea in the kitchen and the smell of smoke and adrenaline when he trains in the cave.

Sweat and need and weirdly solid body pressed against him, when Bruce is sleeping on the other side.


jamjar: (Default)

October 2017

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