Style Credit

  • Style: draftcolourwayblues for draft from Transmogrified

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
jamjar: (World's Finest)
Title: What a swell party this is
Fandom: DCU, Superman/Batman
Notes: Title from here, inspiration from [profile] petronelle, who wanted Brucie/Clark. Well, she says it was for others, but... So Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. Nothing explicit and utterly frivolous, but arguably identity porn.
You meet such a range of people at a Gotham party.

Bruce secretly (publicly) admits to loving and loathing these functions at random. )
jamjar: (Quarentine)
Title: Participant-Observer
Fandom: DCU
Notes/warnings: Written, somewhat belated, for the lady who loves Clark/Tim.
But where has the porn gone? I asked [ profile] brown_betty for help coming up with a thinly veiled excuse plot for Clark/Tim, and she said, "Rentboy!" And I said, "Rentboy!Clark, but undercover!" and then I wrote it, and I'm very sorry, [ profile] thete1, I don't know how it happened and I tried and tried but dammit, it still turned out gen. So I guess I should put a warning for a gen plot, with undercover-rentboy!Clark and porn as a plot-device.

participant-observer )
jamjar: (jedi stuff)
Title: Stray
Notes: Gen, Supernatural/DCU, no real warnings for content. Thanks [ profile] ficbyzee for audiencing and giving it the okay.
Originally posted over here for [ profile] monkeycrackmary.

Stray. )
jamjar: (Cass is so very *much*)
Title: Gap Year
Notes: Gen, written for the fabulous [ profile] ficbyzee for her birthday, with the equally fabulous [ profile] petronelle and [ profile] brown_betty providing love, support and improvements. Cass is travelling.
No real warnings.
Comments and criticisms aways appreciated.

Gap Year )
jamjar: (Robin is *ready*)
Title: Gods Reclaim Not
Fandom: DCU, Batfamily
Warnings: Sex, het, slash and m/m/f threesome.
Written for [ profile] rubynye for the I Saw Three Ships post-christmas secret santa. Her request was Nightwing/Robin/Robin, any set of the other Robins (Robin II, aka Jason, Robin II, aka Tim,and Robin IV, aka Steph) and I opted for Dick Grayson (Nightwing)/Tim Drake (Robin III)/Stephanie Brown (Robin IV)
Thanks to [ profile] petronelle and [ profile] brown_betty for beta-reading and title-giving.
Story notes: Set as a pre-War Games AU. Steph doesn't know who she is anymore, only who she's not.

She wakes up because her leg hurts. )
jamjar: (five buck dick)
Dick throws himself forward through the air, travelling through with more grace and direction than most flyers manage. His hands catch the top of the flag pole of lightening rod or whatever it is, and he swings around, pulling himself in and sliding down it.

He leans on it, looks and Roy and smirks. He's breathing heavily, but Roy knows it has more to do with how much he enjoyed that little demonstration than actual exertion.

Roy leans on to his bow. “I feel like I should be tucking money in to your G-string,” he says.

Dick blinks and looks confused for a second. “My-- what?”

Roy shakes his head. “Never mind."

Dick's always had that combination of control and carelessness about his body, a result of working it, training it and knowing it absolutely, to the point where he can be thoughtless with it.

Dick looks at him, then back at the pole. Hesitates for a moment like he's debating rolling his eyes, then grins at Roy. "Pole dancing can be a serious gymnastic sport, you know. Takes muscle endurance and coordination."

"Muscle endurance and coordination. Those are always the first thing I think of, when I see pole-dancers." Roy thinks about Gina and Isis and Gypsy. "Actually, that might be--"

He stops talking, because Dick has grabbed hold of the pole, pulled himself up, wrapping his legs around, and is leaning backwards, holding on with his legs, back arching until he's touching the ground with his hands. He pulls himself up, swings his whole body around the pole to build up momentum, then hooks one leg around the pole, spinning around it before grabbing his ankle with one hand and leaning back. His back arches and he hold the position for a moment before adjusting his position, gripping on to the pole with both hands and unfolding his legs, spreading them out and holding perfectly steady.

He flips upright, slides and spins down in to a smooth dismount.

Roy's throat is dry. He swallows a few times before he can speak. "Batman really got you the best trainers in everything, huh?"

Dick shrugs. He gives a half-smile, deliberately playful. "I don't suppose you'd believe it's all natural talent?"
jamjar: (pretty Harley)
"I ain’t gonna do it, Red."

"Uh-huh." And if she adds just a trace more –-oh, maybe more than a trace of nitrate, because her babies deserve it-- then she can increase the growth just enough to—

"Are you listening to me?"

"Of course I am, Harley," Ivy says. And then if she lets them grow on that wonderful soil she found in the--"

"That was the last time, ever, because you never respect me after," Harley says.

"Hmm. No, of course no--" Wait, what was that? Ivy looks up at Harley’s back. Her ponytails float above her shoulder and even from behind, Ivy can tell that she has her arms crossed and her lips pouting. "Harley, what’s this about?"

Harley turns around, knocking over several valuable test tubes and sending Ivy scrambling for them. Harley, as ever, is oblivious to the chaos she causes in Ivy’s carefully ordered lab. "I’ll tell you what it’s about! It’s about respect. It’s about you showing me a little appreciation. I don’t go jumping in the Gotham City Aquarium for anyone, ya know," she says, sounding hurt. Her arms are folded under her Arkham Amateur Softball Team T-shirt and she still smells like seaweed, pacing up and down the workbench. "And I don’t get any thanks. No respect." She stops pacing and stands still, looking down at Ivy. There’s a smear of dried mud, probably gained during her scramble through Swamps Of The Worlds. "You don’t repect me at all."

"Because you were caught," Ivy says, trying to keep her voice patient. "You almost brought the wrath of the Bat on us. And of course I-- consider you a good friend."

Harley looks down at her suspiciously. "So does that mean you respect me?"

Anything to get you off my work surface and away from my-- "Yes," Ivy says. She looks Harley in the eye and makes her voice sincere, curling one hand around Harley’s ankle to prevent any more pacing. "Of course I do." She really does smell of seaweed. Ivy tugs her, not quite enough to get her off balance and Harley takes it as a cue, somersaulting down. She holds her hands together, pressed against her chest.

"You really mean that, Red?" Harley says, sounding hopeful. Her hair looks like two shocks of wheat in the sterile lights of the lab. "’Cause you’re my bestest galpal, ya know?" She’s up on her tiptoes, leaning forwards, kinetic energy in waiting. It was a particularly rare strain of kelp she dove for, distinctive in colour and chemical composition, with a fascinating potential phylogeny...

"I know," Ivy says. "And you’re..." She pauses, leans forward to wipe a smear of sugar off the corner of Harley’s mouth.

Harley beams, leans forward and kisses her.
jamjar: (glasses)
The light from the computer screen reflects off Babs' skin, turning it green and flickering blue. Babs leans forwards over the keyboard and Dinah can hear the pleasantly irregular blur of tapping, Babs typing faster than some people can speak.

When she leans over the back of Babs's chair, she can see the L.E.G.I.O.N. logo on screen and two languages,one human and both incomprehensible, flash cross the screen.

"You know, some people wouldn't take the fact that a borderline sociopathic alien general was stalking them as a cue to start flirting."

"He's not stalking me," Babs corrects. "Just my work." She smiles, one corner of her mouth twisting up. "We have overlapping areas of interest on AIs."

"Oh, who hasn't heard that old line before," Dinah says. She wrestles the keyboard away from Babs long enough to type,"Are we flirting?" before Babs can get it back.

A new window opens up on screen and incomprehensible text starts flashing across it. Dinah frowns. "What is that?"

"A section from the code we were working on together, for determining statistically significant fluctuations in crime rates amongst non-earth born immigrants."

Dinah looks at her. "And that means..."

Babs smile gets a little wider. "I believe it's saying that we're way past flirtation."
jamjar: (Nightwing and Robin)
"This is what I don't get," Tim says. "They know we've got grapples. They know there are way too many metas that can fly. They know that half the capes in the JLU have got anti-grav or wings or something. And they still never look up." He jumps on the railing of the fire-escape, changes from a crouch to a handstand and then hooks his legs into the bar above. On the street three stories below, the cops are pushing Clayface into one of the modified vans. "You think it's a criminal trait? Start stealing candy from old ladies and babies, surround yourself with two-bit thugs that make Grundy look like Luthor, and you lose the ability to look up once in a while."

Dick leans against the railings. "Not everyone takes the high-road," he says. "Most people go through life on ground level." He looks at Tim and raises an eyebrow. "And right side up."

Tim takes out a powerbar and takes out a bite. Dick can see his throat move, working against gravity. He finishes it off and, because Alfred's training is more powerful than even Bruce's, he scrunches the wrapper up and tucks it into a pocket in his belt. "Yeah? Poor bastards."

"I don't think they mind," Dick says.

Tim pulls himself up and on the way, kisses Dick. The angle is doubly strange, upside down and to one side, but Dick is nothing if not flexible. Tim unhooks his legs and jumps back on to the fire-escape, his face still red from the blood rushing to it. "That's just because they don't know what they're missing."
jamjar: (five buck dick)
Title: Triangulation
Fandom: DCU
Warnings: Gratuitous Kon/Tim/Dick pwp.
Notes: Chatborn porn, conceived with [ profile] derryderrydown who promptly did a runner, leaving [ profile] petronelle to act as the midwife or beta, as it is also known.
Anyone who can come up with a better title will be much appreciated.

It's weird having Nightwing standing next to him. )

NB. [ profile] holli wrote some excellent Booster/Beetle commentfic for [ profile] ficbyzee, [ profile] liviapenn wrote an excellent continuation of that, and I tagged along and wrote a continuation to that, and they can all be found in the comments here. Apologies to all those that went before me.
jamjar: (Uh...)
I really love writing with someone.

Title: A bird in the hand; or, How to Marry a Millionaire
Authors: [ profile] jamjar and [ profile] petronelle
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Nightwing
Summary: Bruce Wayne, playboy millionaire, has a taste for the exotic.
Rating: Adult content
Notes: Thanks to everyone who helped ease this into existence.
Disclaimer: They belong to DC Comics, not to us, or they really would be having a lot of sex.

Posted in [ profile] petronelle's livejournal.

A Bird in the Hand; or, How to Marry a Millionaire
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: (Nightwing and Robin)
Title: Play
Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to the wonderful world of DCU toons
Extra disclaimer: All [ profile] thete1's fault. As are some of the lines, and a lot of the action.
Notes: Totally gratuitous chatborn porn threesomes. I *must* stop doing this. )
jamjar: (five buck dick)
Note: It's *hard* to write Tim/Bart without Kon in there somewhere.

Tim doesn't use quiet to hurt. He's not exactly talktive, but he's not grim-and-brooding, either, or at least, not all the time. But he is quiet, at least compared to the rest of Young Justice, and sometimes Bart can be in a room with him for hours, and Tim won't talk.

But he doesn't use silence to hurt people, or to make them feel like they don't belong.

He used to talk a lot more in fights. Not just the "hey, bad guy, I'm going to say something witty and distracting so we can beat you up more easily" banter, but like, talking to him and Kon and Cassie and Cissie. Instructions and statements and criticisms.

The last fight, Tim barely said *anything* to them that wasn't a request for new information. And at the cave, he didn't ask Bart if he was okay before he got a bunch of energy bars from the kitchen, or tell Kon that his TTK was really improving before he got him to help Cissie get back in time for school.

It's contagious or something, because Cassie didn’t say a word before she made a pizza run, and Kon took the second controller for the Playstation without asking. They all do it a bit now, but Tim does it the most.

It's funny, because Bart hates being told to keep it down, or stop talking or just for-the-love-of-God-ShutUp!, but he's really starting to love the bilingual thing. He might not be so great on the oral, but he's getting a lot better at listening.

He can have whole conversations with Tim's silences.

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: (five buck dick)
I *will* write a proper crossover drabble, but this came out of my head anyway.

Bart doesn't name names, but you can fill in the blanks.

DCU/Johnny Maxwell crossover, in my head at least.

"Bart," Tim said. "How's the exchange trip going?"

"Really great! But England is really, really strange. I think that's why it doesn't have so many heroes, is just because no-one *notices* this stuff, 'cause it's happeningallthetime."

"Yeah?" And the key to successful communication with Bart, Tim had long since decided, was to make sure you had a recording somewhere so you could play it back slowly later. "Have you met anyone interesting?" He said, switching the recording function on, lowering the volume slightly and bringing up weather patterns for the Gotham/Bludhaven area.

"Yeah,but they'reallykinda *strange*, y'know?"

"Yeah?" Hmm, looked like the pressure was going to drop at around two.

"And there's this boy, he's got like--"

Was worth substituting two regular Batarangs for electro-shock ones, given the 58% chance of rain?


"Uh-huh." Of course, it could be a good time to test the new prototype ribbon shockers. Bruce had wanted to wait until Fall, and more consistently damp weather, but now might be as good a time as any.


"Really?" He could check with Oracle, see if there was anything important happening tonight.


"Weird." If there was nothing significant in the works, he could pass by the cave before patrolling and pick up the new prototype shockers.

"--TitaniajusthasissuesorsomethingsoifBatmanstartsscreamingaboutfairyringsandgrowing, like,prettylittlebutterflywings,that'swhathappenedand its *totally* not my fault."

"Oka-- wait?"


Communicators don't have a ring tone, and when Bart hung up there was nothing but silence.

Tim stared at the screen.

Testing the prototypes could wait until Fall.

jamjar: (Default)
Crosspsted from here
Well, I tried.

Also- Tim gets hugged on YJ46, page 9. Hugging him to reassure him of his welcome and that they missed him

Title: Visit
Notes: having friends over to prove the healthiness of lifestyle choices your parents might not approve of. This is a fic in which nothing happens.
Gen, Teen Titans.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never where, property of DC.
Feedback: always asked for, always appreciated, even the flames. If you spot any mistakes let me know.

There is a reason why Tim invited them over. He weighed the decision carefully, balancing the potential gains against the risks before deciding to invite Kon, Bart and Cassie first and is more than relieved when they ring the bell and his dad doesn't immediately change his mind and send Tim to his room. He looks at his dad, checking for permission, then opens the door.

"Tim, you're..." Cassie hugs him and Kon joins in. It probably shouldn't amuse him quite as much to see his father's reaction to this, but it was after all, part of the reason he invited them.

"Bart wanted to come, but he's kind of grounded," Cassie says, letting go eventually. She's still got one of his arms, in a way that reminds him of how she used to walk with Cissie or Anita, linking arms and heads close. Kon has his arm on his shoulder, his hand resting against Tim's neck. It's a mixture of comforting and disconcerting. The part of him that reacts to being on edge is telling him that he needs more space to move, that Kon should be in the front and to the side to provide a shield without impeding movement, that Cassie should be at least 5 metres away so she can make better use of her lasso. And then there's the part of him that is just *trusting* in the contact. Tangible and tactile proof of their affection.

His father is covering his reaction pretty well, but he can still see the shock that Tim is letting the contact go on like this. Even as a child, even when he was *actually* a child, before Bruce, before Robin, before the trip to the circus, Tim was never exactly touchy feelie.

It's important that he sees this and be reassured by it.

"Uh, hello Mr Drake," Cassie says, pulling away eventually. She doesn't exactly look at Tim for her cue, but he can see her trying to pick it up anyway. She steps forwards and holds her hand out. "Hi, I'm Cassie Sandsmark."

It's one of the reasons he made sure she was one of the first invited. Cassie's identity is a matter of public record. She's the image of an intelligent, well-balanced teenage girl, several steps removed the shadows of Gotham. He chose Kon for similar reasons. Kon has a public identity, with a personal name that isn't his hero one. Like Cassie, Kon often acts like his apparent age. The illusion of it will help, as much as the connection to Superman.

And Kon is less happy about meeting Tim's father. His body language is almost protective, and his has his arms crossed before Tim catches his eye.

"I'm Superboy. Kon-El." He turns back to Tim and manages a quick not-quite-hug. "You—We missed you, you know?"

"We really did." Cassie goes to back to stand next to them, and Tim shifts slightly so they look more *together*. A unit. "Bart keeps saying how you're the only one that doesn't make him feel smart, which we're trying not to take offence at—"

"It helps that he forget to put the ice-cream away the last time he did a food-run, so we ended up with two gallons of raspberry vanilla all over the floor." Kon rolled his eyes. "You'd think they wouldn't get so stressed about a little ice-cream on the carpet given all of the other junk that gets spilled there."

Kon's obvious dislike of his father needs to be taken into account. It's good in one way; it definitely shows his dad that Tim has friends that miss him, that are upset that he's gone, that feel that Tim Drake's father was not on the same side as Tim Drake's friends. It helps with the impression that Tim has *friends* in the business, the same age. It's a fine line between that and reminding Jack Drake that Tim has a large part (the majority) of his life that Jack Drake knows nothing about, is utterly apart from.

He was warned that they were only allowed downstairs, that there would be no shoptalk. Jack and Dana were always in the room when he phoned to make the invitations. It took weeks to build them up to allowing him to have his "friends" over and took careful showing of loneliness. He chose movies and pizza because they could sit down in the front room, where his parents could watch them without it being too obvious. Movies were another slice of normality and, more than that, meant they wouldn't be left reaching for something to talk about when most of their life was off-limits.

His father is still unhappy about this. Tim would like to have timed it so Dana was there to reassure him, but it hadn't worked out like that. "Tim, I'll be working in the kitchen," his dad says. "Cassie, Kon, Tim explained the rules."

Tim explained very carefully, as best as he could with his parents listening in.

"Sure, Mr Drake," Cassie says and Tim has never been so glad that she can do the reliable honour-student thing quite as well.

Kon-- doesn't say anything for a moment. Cassie has to glare at him and Tim raises one eyebrow, before Kon nods. "We'll behave. And you'll be able to keep an eye on us pretty well from the kitchen." Which is a direct challenge, but Tim's dad nods.

"Yes. Just... Try not be too loud," he says, which is actually the opposite of what he means. What he means is "try not be too quiet, I don't trust quiet, I don't trust you not to have secrets hidden in it.

Tim gets the message.

The front room was set up for this by Dana, who supplied large bags of popcorn and brand-name soda. It's a way of being supportive mixed with deep relief at the normalcy of it.

"I'm not staying if you're making us watch Monty Python again," Cassie says. She grabs the popcorn. "I like it as much as the next girl, but there are *limits*." She goes to the sofa and sprawls out across it. It's not quite her normal position and Tim can see that she's figured out at least part of the motivation for this visit. The body language is all about familiarity and comfort and her words are a verbal cue to get Kon to bring up the past.

"Do you remember the Monty Python marathon?" Kon says. "When we were stuck in the cave for the weekend?"

Cssie rolls her eyes. "And someone said we should play Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who got to pick the movies."

Tim smirks. It's more a Robin expression than a Tim one.

"I still don't get how you could beat Bart every fricking time," Kon adds. He goes to sit on the other end of the couch, picking Cassie's feet up and replacing them on his lap once he's seated.

"League of Gentleman. Extremely strange British comedy," Tim says holding it up.

Cassie takes the DVD and looks at the cover before passing it to Kon. "Fine, but I reserve the right to switch to Die Hard if it blows."

"We don't have it," Tim says. He opts to sit on the floor in front of the couch and uses the position to his advantage. He sits with a careful use of casual Robin body language. He hopes his father can see the difference.

"I brought a copy with me," Cassie says smugly. She gets it from her bag and throws it at him. He catches it without looking. "As someone not a million miles away once demonstrated, it's good to be a control freak, over-planner who covers all the bases." She draws an imaginary mask around her face.

In two weeks time, he'll mention Anita and her parents and how it bothers him not to see her. Sometime between now and then he'll get Bart to come around, probably with Cassie or Kon.

He can feel his hair rustle and knows that it's Kon's TK checking he's still there. It's probably subconscious and Tim has to bite his tongue at stare at the screen to stop himself discussing using the TK as an extra sensory thing, like sonar, or having Kon test how different gasses feel when he touches them. Not yet. Dad is still listening from the kitchen and he estimates it at three weeks before he can bring up that sort of thing in front of him. He needs to prepare the ground, hint at how he feels being unable to help his friends when he could.

Kon's TK tugs his hair a little and Cassie shifts. The opening credits roll and he can see the TV screen light making strange shadows on their faces. Knows it's doing the same to him.

Tim ducks his head into the shadows a bit more and smiles.



jamjar: (Default)

October 2017

123456 7


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags