#29. Meeting the Family - Jason Todd x Reader

It’s day 29 of the 30 day challenge! For the full list of the prompts I will be doing for this writing challenge and the ones I have already completed, go here. Enjoy!

You were a bit taken aback when you parents asked you to bring your new boyfriend over for dinner. They wanted to meet the boy who stole their little girl’s heart but Jason was a little hesitant to meet them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he was just afraid what they might think of him.

“They aren’t going to like me [Y/N].” He insisted running his fingers through his hair nervously, his brow furrowed in distress. You strode over and pulled him into a hug, burying your head into his chest.

“Well I like you. If they can’t see that they can shove their opinions so far up their asses they’ll need three years of therapy and surgery to remove them.” You leaned up on the tips of your toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. He laughed and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“So … I’m going to meet your family?” He asked gently stroking your hair.

“They’re not that bad.” You insisted. You couldn’t have known how much of an understatement that would turn out to be.

Your family’s initial meeting with you and Jason was very amicable and friendly. They welcomed the both of you in with open arms. It wasn’t until you all sat down for dinner that they started to focus their attentions on Jason.

“Are you two being safe? I’m too young to become a grandmother, [Y/N].” You mother said. Your face flared up in a deep blush and you let your fork clatter onto the plate.

“Mom!” You warned. If Jason didn’t appear to be so intimidated by the look your father was giving him he might have started laughing instead he slipped his hand into yours underneath the table.

“What [Y/N]? We just want to make sure that you don’t get yourselves into a situation that you’re not prepared to handle.” She continued. Your blush deepened. While you were happy that they cared so much, this is not what you wanted to talk about over dinner.

“Mom. It’s fine. We’re fine. We have it covered. Please don’t worry about it.” You insisted wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. Jason’s firm and steady grip on your hand was the only thing keeping yourself together at this point.

“If I may Mr. and Mrs. [Y/LN], I care for your daughter very much and I would do anything for her. I give you my word that I’ll never force her into doing anything she doesn’t want to do. I want nothing but the best for her.” Jason confessed to your parents. You smiled warmly at him and gripped his hand softly under the table to show your support. You mother beamed brightly at the two of you.

“Oh I like him, [Y/N]. Much better than the last schmuck you brought home.” She commented taking a deliberate bite of food.

“Mom!” You said with a laugh, shaking your head at her lack of filter.

“All joking aside, if you ever hurt our daughter I’m going to rain hell down upon you faster than you can say ‘Oh shit’. You understand me son?” You dad warned staring Jason down with his best intimidating look. In reality you knew that Jason could probably handle himself against whatever your father was threatening but Jason did his best to look intimidated by your father’s display.

“Loud and clear, sir.” Jason nodded with a deeply serious look on his face. He and your father stared each other down for a few moments before your father broke the tension with a booming laugh and a firm clap of his hand on Jason’s shoulders.

“Welcome to the family, son.” Your father smiled and all of the tension that you didn’t realize had been building up in your body vanished when you let out a deep sigh. Jason glanced over at you and gave you a small smile.

“Jason, did [Y/N] ever tell you about the time she -” You mother started telling her go-to embarrassing story about you.

“No!” You interrupted quickly but that did nothing to hinder her as she delved into some of your most embarrassing moments of your childhood.

The rest of the night went as smoothly as could be expected. You mother told Jason stories about you and showed him old childhood photos of you that you wished had been burned long ago. Your father pulled him aside for a little heart to heart while you and your mother were catching up. You wanted to ask Jason what they talked about when he returned to you but he simply shrugged and told you it was just a bunch of ‘guy stuff’ which warranted an eyeroll from you.

“I’m sorry about my parents. They can be a little much sometimes.” You apologized in the car ride back home.

“They care about you [Y/N]. They just want you to be happy.” He shrugged your apologies off.

“They like you, you know.” You offered with a smile. You parents seemed to get along great with Jason and you couldn’t be happier about that.

“They like that I make you happy.” Jason responded. You let your hand slip into Jason’s and you intertwined your fingers with his.

“Do I make you happy, Jason?” You ask softly.

“[Y/N], you make me happier than anything else in this world.” He confessed. You picked up your interlocked hands and placed a kiss on the back of his hand.

“Good.” You replied.


Imagine: Watching a movie with Crowley.

(Crowley X Demon!Reader)

Prompt is bolded below:  #spn hiatus writing challenge @one-shots-supernatural

Quick shout out to @ilovemesomemoose for inspiring my new Imagines header photo! Thank you!

Hell possessed an elite team of demons with a particular set of skills. These skills tended toward assassination, but the few who utilized them were volatile delicate types that dissuaded the head of Hell from using them to their full potential. In short, they were foul tempered elitists and Crowley simply had no desire to play to their egos. Today, however, he made the tactical decision to try. A certain witch bitch mother of his was dancing on his last nerve and he wanted his options open. He pushed into the lower dungeons, dark eyes surveying the room until he found you.

You were curled up on a blood stained threadbare couch, a pale blue light flickered over your face as you stared straight ahead twirling a knife against your thumb. Crowley straightened his shoulders and strode towards you. Your body language didn’t scream bloodshed, so he imagined you were in a slightly more agreeable mood than usual. He closed the distance between you with easy nonchalant strides. He paused at the edge of the sofa waiting for you to notice him, but your eyes remained fixed ahead. He followed your gaze with a quick glance, then froze with disbelief.

“Are you… watching a Disney movie?” He exclaimed. A sniffle brought his attention back to you. “And… you’re crying? What the bloody-”

“Who wouldn’t?” You gestured towards the television dramatically. “Sh-she thought he was her true love!”

You voice trembled into a bawl, tears making wet lines down your cheeks. Crowley stood utterly satan-smacked. His finest tool, sharpest weapon was blubbering over a cartoon. Insult to injury, it wasn’t even a cartoon in a franchise he had a finger in, despite the general public’s opinion. You sniffled rubbing your eyes, your sleeve dipped and a single feignt red pinprick caught his eye. He reached out stealing your wrist with firm gentle fingers. The heat from his skin stirred something beneath yours. A dark nostalgia crawled below your conscious circling for a soft place to breach, but found none. Your eyebrows screwed together in confusion and you looked back to the TV. He held your wrist out catching the lighting from the video. Without a doubt, it was needle tracks, but not from torture, but careful injection.

“How did you get this.” His deep voice vibrated in the intimate space pulling at the corners of your memory.

You shrugged. “Sh! It’s almost over.”

Crowley sighed. You absentmindedly patted the spot beside you when he released your wrist. He hesitated, slid his hands deep into his coat pockets, then leaned back to scan the empty room behind him. Tongue tucked in cheek, his eyebrows lifted as he considered the invitation. He moved hips first around the edge of the couch. The seat was softer than anticipated and he sank into the cushions uncomfortably. He readjusted watching the show with a critical eye. Push come to shove, he could justify the decision by reasoning it was research to try making a deal with the corporation. He scoffed as the show proceeded.

“Leaving him in charge? How moronic…”

A certain reindeer appeared on the screen.

“Oh, look. A Winchester.”

“Sh.” You replied leaning on his shoulder and tapping his lips with your fingertips. Instead of moving away, you settled into him. The scent of something acrid and biting swirled with a warmer headier smell you couldn’t place.

“What load of utter rubbish. Let the damn pile of frozen water melt and be done with this sentimental garbage.”

You hit his shoulder chidingly. He huffed setting down a notch. Your hair was tickling the scruff of his cheek, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb your comfort. He clicked his tongue against his teeth as the movie came to a close.

“How surprising, a happy ending tied up with a neat little bow.” His head fell on the back of the couch.

He glanced at you as you straightened. You reached for a pile of DVDs by the foot of the couch. You shuffled through the titles looking for one to grab your attention. Crowley observed you for a long moment as your eyes absorbed the information of a movie with illustrated cats on the front. He sat up carefully searching for words.

“Love, where did you get that track mark?”

You didn’t look up from the stack of movies in your lap. “I think the girl did it.”


You hummed. “She uh, injected me with blood for some reason. I woke up right after. I wonder how I didn’t hear her come in.”

Crowley’s face fell in irritated realization. “Rowena. She must have known I was coming to you.”

You shrugged. “Let’s watch this one next.”

You slid off the couch slipping the disk onto your finger as you waited for the old one to eject. Crowley reasoned that if he complied with you now it would become easier to work with you later when the blood poison had worn off. If that meant suffering through another feel good cartoon, so be it. You plopped back into the couch next to him. He didn’t resist as you lifted his arm over your shoulder and curled into his side. Something in his chest twitched when you inhaled deeply.

“You smell good.”

“It’s blood and brimstone, love.”

“Oh.” You accepted it easily. “Okay.”

DAILY MAIL: PICTURE EXCLUSIVE: Robert Pattinson wields guns and a guitar as he kicks off filming for Western drama Damsel with Mia Wasikowska.

Robert Pattinson had a guitar and a rifle strapped across his back as he kicked off filming for his new movie Damsel on Thursday in Oregon.

The 30-year-old actor stars in the Western drama along with 26-year-old Australian actress Mia Wasikowska.

The movie written by the Zellner Bros and directed by David Zellner follows a businessman who travels West to join his fiancee in the mountains.

Robert looked ready for adventure as he strode about in a double-breasted leather jacket, denim pants and leather boots.

He also had a pistol holstered and wore an ammunition belt filled with bullets around his waist.

Source (via @rhonda_ Twitter):

submitted by not-sis-strider

    Dave grimaced as he examined himself in the bathroom mirror, leaning onto the sink to get a closer look at the splotchy bruise already forming on his jaw, that shallow, ragged cut that had missed his eye by an inch. His glasses lay forgotten on the edge of the sink, one of the lenses shattered completely and the other cracked beyond repair. This certainly wasn’t the first fight he’d gotten himself into (antagonizing stupid people is just so tempting sometimes), but it had been the worst one in a while, and he’s just lucky the bastard he’d gotten into it with had no idea how to throw a punch. Dave suspects the idiot broke something in his hand.

    Grumbling to himself, the blonde tugs off his ruined shirt, about half of the blood staining it belonging to him and the other half to his opponent. This really wouldn’t be that big of a deal- none of the cuts from the pansy-ass pocket knife were deep enough to require stitches, and he hadn’t broken or even displaced anything as far as he could tell. He was bruised all to hell, but there’s nothing to be done about those anyway. No, the problem is that today is Wednesday, and Bro gets off work early on Wednesdays, which means he could be home any minute-

     The bloodied boy curses out loud when he hears the familiar sound of the apartment door cracking open, Bro letting his keys clatter into the junk bowl in the kitchen, the twin snaps as he removes his beloved fingerless gloves. The bathroom door is locked, but that never stops Bro, especially not in his own damn apartment. There’s footsteps in the hall that stop outside the bathroom door, heavier because Dave’s guardian hasn’t removed his shoes yet, and then Bro’s familiarly deep voice:

    “Dave? Ya in there, kid? You din’ drown, did ya?”

    The youngest Strider curses again, under his breath this time, and leans against the door as if that would do anything to stop Bro if he really wanted to get in. “Yes, Bro, I’m in here, no I didn’t drown, can you go away now?”

    “I’m hurt, Davey, truly hurt. Don’t you want to give your big bro a welcome home kiss? You’re not dying in there, are you?”

    “Fuck, no, just-” The words cut out with a small noise of pain from the smaller blonde, when he shifts just the wrong way and a rib that is probably bruised gives an angry throb of pain, demanding to be paid attention to.

    And then the bathroom door is banging open and Dave has to stumble forward to avoid getting hit by it, Bro standing in the doorway while he assesses the situation. His eyes flick to the crumpled shirt on the ground, the forming bruises all over Dave’s bare torso, the occasional shallow cut. There’s indents from gravel on the boy’s cheek, and dirt in his white-blonde hair.

    Dave watches as his brother’s expression shifts minutely, twists, can see the righteous anger in his eyes even as he steps closer to examine Dave himself. He sucks in a sharp breath when roaming, calloused fingers prod at tender bruises, grunting softly when the older of the pair uses a little too much force in checking to make sure no bones were broken. Bro is practically shaking now, and he looks like he’s ready to murder someone.

    “Bro, come on, it’s not that-”

    “Who the hell did this to you? Goddamnit, Dave, you can’t keep starting shit with people! You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.” Bro reprimands, eyes hard. Dave swallows thickly, because no matter what happens between them, Bro always has the ability to make him feel small again, make him feel ashamed.

    “Seriously, Bro, you’ve done worse to me in the past! I’ll be fine, okay? Chill.”

    Bro ignores him in favor of making him sit on the edge of the bathtub, shuffling things around under the sink until he finds the first-aid kit. When he finds it, he turns around again in the tiny space available and squats down in front of his injured brother. Before he can start to take out any of the supplies he’ll need, Dave reaches out and pulls him close, connects their lips gently. The kiss is brief, and a few second later, Dave pulls away an inch or so, looking into Bro’s orange eyes. 

    “Bro. Calm down, okay? You’re gonna patch me up and I’ll be fine, I promise. No need to panic.”

    Finally, the spiky-haired Strider nods and withdraws from his brother’s grasp to return to his job of making sure Dave doesn’t die from infection, pulling out antiseptic and bandages. He wets a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol, goes after the cut that almost got Dave’s red eye. The younger blonde grabs the offending hand before it can reach though, and Bro raises an eyebrow.

    “What the hell, dude, you gotta kiss it better first. Otherwise the magic won’t work and my fair maiden heart surely will cease to beat. Or some shit.”

    Bro gives him a look that clearly says ‘are you fucking serious right now’, but Dave just smirks at him and raises an eyebrow when his brother doesn’t move.

    “Chop chop, bro, one smooch for each boo-boo.”

    Finally, the older man leans forward and presses his lips against the jagged cut, and it stings a little, but it’s definitely worth it. Then he does swab it with the alcohol and holy shit, he doesn’t care how many times he has to clean a cut, alcohol always hurts like a bitch. Bro does the same for all of Dave’s wounds, dressing each in a self-adhesive bandage, and even deigns to bestow a kiss on some of the forming bruises. When he’s all done and everything is put away, the ruined shirt tossed in the trash, and his torn up knuckles kissed and treated as well, Bro scoops his brother up in his arms with a squawk of protest from said brother and carries him like a fucking princess all the way to his bed, where he lays Dave down gingerly and then crawls in next to him, still dressed. Dave sighs contentedly, curling into his brother’s broad chest and comfortable warmth, letting his eyes slip shut. They lay like that for a few minutes, neither speaking or doing much of anything but enjoying being in contact with the other.

    Until Bro broke it: “So, are you going to tell me how you got into this massive fight?”

Question Time!

The new college term is coming upon me, and I have not decided which college to attend - Yeovil or Strode? I am going to list the pros and cons, and will greatly appreciate any advice :D

OK. Yeovil College:


- It’s nearby

- I have good friends on my course - Kate, Ellie and George - and would be great to be with them everyday. 

- The teachers seem really nice and funny

- I get Monday mornings off and Fridays too

- They’re organising a trip to Barcelona

- They provide all the materials (well, we do pay a fee to start with I spose).


- I cannot attend this trip because of my phobia of flying, and apparently the whole of the second project is based on the trip, and they want me to try and travel on my own there by train or coach (but my parents won’t allow it)

- The Leonardo building smells funny, and it’s too white and clinical.

- Most of the art is not to my taste. But I don’t know if that’s down to the individual student or if they encourage you to work like that.

- Yeovil college reminds me of school, I find it kind of scabby and chavy.

Now onto Strode:


- It doesn’t smell weird. Much.

- the buildings are nice, clean, and the atmosphere is nicer: The art section isn’t ‘clinical’ and more cosy. (I like cosy).

- The style of art and teaching style is much more to my taste, and I think I may produce better work.

- The teacher’s seem nice again.

- They’re organising a trip to Paris, via Eurostar (yay no planes)


- I don’t know ANYONE on the course. Most people will already be friends, and I have the social skills of a squirrel. Therefore, loneliness.

- Therefore I may not go on the trip, because I might not make friends in time, so wouldn’t fancy spending a week in Paris with no one to share a room with etc.

- It takes nearly an hour to get there by bus.

- I don’t know if I’ll get any full days off. lol :P