elvis and jason


Jason Fine, editor for Rolling Stone, during an interview for Walk The Line: Extended Edition, talks about the morning he spent with John and June, while writing A Day in The Life of Johnny Cash,’ December 12, 2002. [x]

     “ We were walking through the house, and there was these old trunks. June told me in the ‘70s maybe ‘80s, Johnny was going through the trunks, and found all these love letters, that Elvis had written June back in the ‘50s. And these love letters made him really angry. So he took all the love letters, from Elvis, and he went out on his canoe in the middle of the lake. 

     And he ripped them up and threw them in the lake. She’s telling me this, and he’s just sort of looking and nodding, and then she looks at him and says. ‘Johnny those letters would be worth a lot of money now.’ 

Time Stops Breathing [drabble]

lionhearthell said: jason todd and bruce wayne- nightmares

Jason presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, waits until he sees the colour-bursts of blue-red-yellow-pink. He breathes in again, counts to seven.


He wants a cigarette. 

He’s barefoot in his apartment’s functional, but undeniably shitty kitchen. Pacing. The floor was cold, when he’d first come out here, but now it feels warm under his feet. Jason wonders if the warmth is from him. He feels too hot, but can’t stop shivering. Feverish in too-tight skin.

He tries again to count to seven on an inhale, but loses his place. Thinks, fuck it, and gives up on the meditative breathing. It’s not like it helps.

He hasn’t slept– not properly, not solidly, for days. But every time he closes his eyes… 

He presses his forehead into the cool steel of the refrigerator door. Lets his shoulders drop, slowly. He wants to cry and smoke and trash the place, smash every piece of crockery, break all the furniture, tear apart his books and put his foot through the TV. 

But he’s running low on cash and he’s trying to quit smoking again, and there’s this part inside of him that is reaching out desperately for something, but he doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know what will help. 

He’s already ruled out patrolling. 

He stands up again, pushing off the refrigerator door. And he stands in the middle of his kitchen in the middle of the night; his life is a goddamn punchline.


“I have a door,” is what he says, instead of get the fuck out

The pool of shadows in the corner by the window resolves into the shape of the Batman, and he says, “Batman doesn’t use doors.”

Third person. Not a strong start. “Isn’t it a little late for patrol,” says Jason. Too tired to be sharp or cruel. Too tired to be anything but honest. “Didn’t think anything big was going down tonight.”

“It’s not,” B says, stepping further into the light. In spite of the suit, he’s walking like Bruce, like Jason’s dad. “I’m headed home now, but I was close by. Thought I’d catch up with you. It’s been awhile.”

And Jason lets him have the lie. His patrol is nowhere close to this part of town, which means he came here specifically for Jason. And the man’s gauntleted hand is hovering, indecisively at the cowl.

“How have you been?” B says, after a moment. 

But Jason knows he looks like hell, red-rimmed eyes and wild-tangled hair, three day scruff on his cheeks and jaw. He doesn’t answer, just drops his arms to his sides and leans against the cabinet.

It’s kindness or maybe pity when Bruce says, “… you headed to bed?” like he doesn’t know, like he wasn’t watching Jason from outside for the last half hour, trying to decide if he should intervene, and Jason says, 

“One of those weeks,” which isn’t even close to an answer.

But B nods. Another moment of indecision and he takes off the cowl, runs a hand through his sweat-stiff, cowl-flat hair and offers Jason a tight-lipped, tiny smile. 

Something about his gaze, without the lenses, makes Jason feel acutely uncomfortable. And he looks away, says, “If you’re really in a parenting mood, I’m sure Dickie-bird’s game–” but his voice is flat and not at all as biting as he’d like. 


Bruce crosses the kitchen in two strides, takes Jason’s wrist in his hand. Rubs at the skin there gently. The gauntlet feels cold, and he says, “Jay.”

It’s not a hug, but it’s as close as Jason would allow just now. And he hates how easily Bruce can still read him, hates the apology in his voice when he says,

“I can stay, if you want.”

He hates it more that he wants to say yes. Wants to close the short distance between him and Bruce, press his face into Bruce’s shoulder. Wants Bruce to put his arms around him and tell him he’s safe and pet his hair, the same as when he was 13 and afraid. And. He knows Bruce would let him, would do it in a heartbeat. If Jason wanted. 

“Don’t bother,” he says, instead, pulling out of B’s grip. Walking past him, their shoulders brush, and he goes straight into his shoe-box bedroom, pushing the door but not closing it completely. Dark rooms and all.

He lies down on his mussed covers, curling up small on his side. As small as he can make himself. He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t hear footsteps, but he still knows Bruce is outside the door. Surprising. Jason had expected him to go; already, tonight had gone better than most of their interactions. He figured B would quit while he was ahead.

The man doesn’t open the door, doesn’t even knock. But he says, “I split my knuckle before, and my gauntlet’s feeling. Tacky. You mind if I fix it here?”

“Go crazy,” Jason says, not sitting up. “You know where everything is.”

Bruce makes an affirmative sound and goes, and Jason lays still for a minute, two, until guilt and his Alfred-upbringing intervene. He sits up, calls “… You need help?”

“I’m good,” Bruce replies, from the kitchen. 

Jason lies back down, eyes half-closed. He hears, after a moment, the sound of his radio, the one he keeps plugged in at the kitchen bench, crackle to life. Settle, after a minute, on… the oldies? Elvis. Jason feels his lips pull up fractionally, a reluctant, tired smile.

“Can you turn it down,” Jason says. And Bruce doesn’t respond, but the radio drops in volume. Still audible, but faintly. Comfortably, drifting in through his open bedroom door.

He hears the kitchen faucet start up. Run for a minute, longer. Long enough for the hot water to kick in. 

The sink shuts off, and Jason tracks the shadow of movement beneath the door. 

He can track Bruce’s progress through the kitchen with sound– hears the cupboard over the refrigerator, where he keeps his first-aid kit. The sound of the cape, the distinct and entirely familiar non-sound of the heavy boots on the linoleum floor. The creak of Jason’s kitchen chair. 

And. It’s probably a trick of his imagination, but he thinks he can smell Bruce’s aftershave from here. Not a lot, just very faintly, mingled with kevlar, and for a moment Jason is thirteen again, listening to that gramophone Bruce had set up in the Cave, that was “totally vintage, B”, Bruce making a show of rolling his eyes, but his hand is warm and heavy on Jason’s neck. But it only lasts a moment.

Jason half-sits, to draw the covers over himself.

His eyes are heavy. He lets his lids fall closed, still listening to B in the kitchen. The faint rustle of plastic-and-paper on bandages. The cli-ick of his child-resistant antiseptic. 

And Jason rolls onto his other side, pressing his face into the sheets. Listens. 

And drops, at last, into a dreamless sleep.


Love Me Tender

Jason Todd x Reader

So this was initially going to be part of the Christmas Challenge, but I decided to change it up. This is a birthday present for my bestie @hey-haylee. She wanted slow dancing to Elvis with Jason at Christmas. 

Words: 771

Christmas time at Wayne Manor has always been breathtaking, and this year is no exception. You wonder how long it takes to actually get all of the trees and lights and garland put up, as everything is so perfectly placed.

This year Bruce had decided to host a Christmas gala on Christmas Eve. The guest list is smaller than usual: Bruce’s children plus some of his friends from the Justice League, all of whom you had become friends with in the five years of your dating Jason.

Jason’s hand is wrapped around your waist as you walk into the ballroom. “I still can’t believe you managed to get out of patrol tonight,” you look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, since I missed our anniversary, Bruce owed me a favor. So I took Christmas Eve off,” he looks down at you with a sincere eyes. “I’m still sorry about that.”

“It’s fine now. Just know that I’m not sorry for kicking you out of the bedroom for a month afterwards,” you laugh.

“Not at all,” he laughs with you and sweeps you on the dance floor just as the song ends. The band starts to play a song you recognize, and Jason starts to sway in time to the music.

“Love me tender. Love me sweet. Never let me go,” Jason sings low enough that only you can hear him and stares deeply into your eyes as the band plays. For a moment it feels as though it’s only the two of you in the ballroom. “Never let me go. You have made my life complete, and I love you so.”

You smile up at him. It’s not unusual for him to sing to you—he has a surprisingly beautiful voice. But somehow it seems different this time. More sincere.

“Love me tender. Love me true, all my dreams fulfilled,” he pulls you closer to him so he can sing softly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “For my darling I love you, and I always will.”

Suddenly he stops dancing and starts frantically patting his suit coat.

“Jason! What are you doing?” you hiss and eye the giant Christmas tree beside you. “We are in the middle of the ballroom.”

“Take me to your heart. For it’s there that I belong, and we’ll never part,” the band keeps playing.

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t find my phone,” he says with a furrowed brow. He keeps sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat and pants in search of his phone.

“Why do you need your phone right now? We were dancing! And having a beautiful time!” you ask in exasperation.

“Roy is out on a mission. I need to call and make sure he hasn’t levelled an entire city block,” he answers. He still won’t look at you as he keeps searching for his phone.

“Jason Peter Todd, this was supposed to be a nice evening where you leave the Red Hood at home. That includes Arsenal,” you fuss and scan the ballroom. Nobody seems to mind that the two of you have stopped in the middle of the dance floor; they just keep dancing around you.

“For my darling, I love you, and I always will.”

If you weren’t so frustrated, you would laugh at the irony of Barry slow dancing with Iris. Bruce is having what appears to be a cheery conversation with Clark. Next to the buffet table you spot a familiar red head with a baseball cap wearing a suit. You narrow your eyes at the man. “Jason,” you say looking back at your boyfriend. “Roy is over there—”

You gasp at the sight of Jason on one knee holding a small black box. He takes your hand before you can say anything else. “Y/N, I was a mess before I met you. You have fulfilled my dreams and completed my life. You will always belong in my heart, and I hope I belong in yours. Will you marry me?”

You nod when words fail, happy tears blurring your vision. “Yes,” you manage to choke out. “Yes, of course!”

“Tell me you are mine. I’ll be yours through all the years till the end of time.”

He grins and slides the ring on your finger before pulling you into a tight embrace. He kisses you with more love and passion than he ever has before. The audible “Aww” from all of your friends doesn’t register in your mind. Right now the only people in the world are you and Jason.

“For my darling, I love you. And I always will.”

Christmas prompt: Home

Omg holiday request ☺️💓 Could we do a song holiday request: “I’ll be Home for Christmas” by Elvis Presley Jason promises the reader he will be home for Christmas & she’s excited to spend their 1st Christmas w/ him & his family. Right before patrol ends he sees a child in need & ofcourse he helps them, but when he gets home it’s already Dec. 26th & he missed Christmas. The reader however is still awake, looking @ the tree lights & he feels bad, but she’s just happy to have him home. - for @daisyboobear


Jason held his breath as he opened the door to the apartment.

He didn’t know if he was coming home to a blanket on the couch or your bags packed next to them. It was the morning after Christmas night, 1am.

He had promised you he’d be home, in time to meet your family. After all he owed you that after years of the crap he put you both through.
Whether it was Roy’s obnoxious wake up calls or his own from a jail cell asking for bail, you were there. And somehow it had only been a year
Whether it was his body cut and bruised or he needed to be held, you were there.
And tonight, when you needed him on arguably the most important day - he wasn’t there.

He didn’t know why Christmas was such an important day for you to be around family anyway, you could have seen him any other day right? But he understood, you were excited, and with the apartment all decorated he had a hard time not being either.

And so many times before

She left that candle burning

Oh, too many tears have fell

My soul filled with yearning

If I had any sense at all

I’d just be on my way

I’d be on that train tomorrow

Be home on Christmas day

Whether it was the flashing lights on the tree or the cookies aroma, he felt a little excited to be home at you but he knew he couldn’t leave that little girl behind.

The thought of you nagged at him, he knew Nightwing or Red Robin could be with this child, but he stayed. They needed him, even if you did and if you didn’t understand - he would.
Hell he expected you to be gone after this.

Every time I think about her

All the love I left behind

Memories still linger in my troubled mind

I could set aside my pride

And I’d be on my way

I’d catch that train tomorrow

And be home on Christmas day

Snapping back into reality, he made his way over to the couch that was illuminated by the  tree. A pile of presents with his name was sitting on the table, and he looked under the tree and sighed that yours that he had gifted to you, was still there.
“Whats wrong?” Your voice startled him and he looked at the couch, to see you sitting there.
“What are you doing?” He asked astounded and sat down next to you. This isn’t a dream right?
He’s not in a coma?

“Watching the christmas lights.” You replied simply, and smiled at him. It’s definitely a dream.
“I’m sorry.” He brought himself to say and looked at the ground. “I bet your parents were disappointed.”
“Nah.” You chuckled “Screw them. I didn’t even invite them”
“But i thought you said you to be around family.” He looked up at you with his confused expression and you picked up one of his  presents off the table, clearly the smallest and passing it to him.
“Open it.” You smiled and watched him open it slowly.
“You’re too good to me.” He shooked his head and opened his gift feeling his heart drop.

“Is this?” He asked as he looked into the box and his heart jumped out of his chest in.… joy?
“I told you, i wanted you to be around family.” You smiled and he brought your lips into a kiss.

If I had any sense at all

I’d just be on my way

I’d catch that train tomorrow

I’d be home on Christmas day

I said I’d catch that train tomorrow

I’d be home on Christmas day