#Jason Todd has PTSD

[melloollem]

Jason Todd who, after being resurrected, could no longer remember the good times with Bruce.

He only knows that he had good times, but he can't remember any of them.

Jason who wants those moments and suffers for them, he feels he has a void left by those memories inside him.

When he comes back to life, he looks for them in Bruce, but can't find them and wonders if there really was anything good there.

Jason Todd who was decoded by Crack baby - Mitski.

[oldmannapping]

Petition to show this panel to all DC writers who include Jason Todd/Red Hood in their issues.

Is he a violent impulsive asshole sometimes? YES. Do all of his plans make sense? No! Is he coming from a place of deep trauma rage hurt and completely fucked up attachment disorders? Yes!

Is he a one-point-five-dimensional character whose entire personality is “angry guns” sprinkled with “reads Jane Austin, how unexpected!”?

NO.

[ao3statistics]

Here you go! The charts resulting from the poll!

Date of creation: 05.01.2024

The second chart is the more detailed version including more tags.

I excluded the meta tag "Hurt Jason Todd" (more than 2000 tags) because its subtags are already on the chart.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available on Ao3, NOT English only.

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn’t die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 18/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake, Donna Troy

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Eighteen: The Campaign: Malatra Pt. 2

We took a break after introductions to get our dinner.  Alfred made chicken alfredo, which was a hit with the guys. I lingered in the kitchen with Hudson for a minute. “How do you feel about DM-ing for the first time?” Hudson asked. 

I sipped my soda. “I feel like you guys are just being nice,” I replied. 

“Trust me, if you sucked we’d all be booing you mercilessly. Do you like it?” Hudson questioned. I nodded as I sipped his drink. 

“Jason! Hudson! Are you guys coming or not?” Tim called. I laughed, shaking off my nerves as I went upstairs with my plate to my room. I took my spot and ate a forkful before falling back into character. 

“Theren Everlake circles the four of you, staring with unknown intent, his hair makes a sweet hollow noise in the wind… And he stops, tilting his chin downward and toward the side as he glances upon Fettar Keephorn. His jaw tightens, his eyes waver, and something beneath his stern and wooden facade, something in him breaks.” I acted out the movements for everyone before shutting my eyes. “Quickly. He turns his attention to Eldrid Deepwood. He extends a hand, bowing warmly despite his despair.”

“Your reputation precedes you. The last of your clan. I feel as though you will understand my anguish… Would you give audience to my humble and sorrowful request?” I asked in Theren’s voice. 

Ives finished taking a bite and everyone chuckled. The shift between Ives and Eldrid was perfect. His eyes widened and he glanced down and around him before looking straight at me. “Aye,” Ives answered, “There’s much grief here.” 

“We’ve lost someone deeply beloved to us… Or I should say, someone dearly beloved to us was captured. Lunathari… And in her absence, a mysterious illness has befallen our children,” I explained. 

“Where did they take her?” Hudson asked in Clay’s voice. It was a little more grownup than his voice. Hudson’s characters always jump headfirst into a mission. It didn’t take a lot to get him involved, but he was a wildcard. 

I looked straight at him. “You’ve returned to your forgotten home. In any other circumstances, this would be a joyous occasion. Lunathari would be overjoyed to see you once more… But I’m afraid this quest may take more than one person… If your traveling companions will accept this quest, I am willing to offer payment. What say you?” I questioned. 

Tim scratched his head and pretended to push his glasses up. “Well, Mr. Everlake. May I call you Mr. Everlake? My liege? Nevermind that. We’ll do everything we can to retrieve Miss Lunathari. Won’t we, Mr. Deepwood?” Tim asked in his girl voice. I finished eating dinner, and I wiped my mouth while I waited for everyone else to speak. 

“I reckon we could get her home if we all work together,” Ives answered, “Miss Moonfall is right. We’ll do whatever we can.” 

“I owe you that much,” Hudman mumbled. He didn’t look up. 

“Then, I see fit to remind you to return Lunathari to me. Unlike what you’ve done with Clay—.”

“Theren—.”

“Hold your tongue, Clay. You were only a boy when you left us,” I replied, looking at Hudson with a sweet fondness. Hudson’s cheeks went rosy, and he bowed his head. Tim’s eyes widened as he looked straight at me. 

**

After two hours, they made it down the other side of the mountain in view of the cave where Lyra the Torturer held her adoptive sister Lunatharia. “Can I try to sneak toward the mouth of the cave?” Hudman asked. 

“Roll for stealth,” I replied. Hudman rolled and everyone held their breath. 

“Nineteen, plus nine stealth advantage,” Hudman sighed. 

The guys knocked each other around in celebration. “You stroll right up to the entrance without being seen or heard. You’re just… close… enough… to… hear…” The alarm on my phone went off. “Sorry, guys. Time to clean up. Alfred’ll be up any minute to take you guys home.” 

Everyone groaned and started picking up their backpacks. I left everything in its place, and Tim took a picture. Ives and Hudman texted their parents to tell them they’d be home soon, and Hudson sat next to me on the floor. “Do you maybe wanna—? The school’s going on a trip next month. Maybe we can sit next to each other on the bus,” Hudson offered. 

“For sure, Hudson,” I smiled, “And thanks for being nice about me DM-ing. I was nervous you’d think I sucked.” 

“Hey, you’re doing fine… I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” Hudson smiled as he hugged me. I don’t think he was thinking because he rushed behind the other guys as they went down the stairs. 

They left me alone with Tim. He seemed happy. It was nice to see him happy again. “ Hudson? ” Tim questioned. 

“What about him?” I asked. 

Tim shrugged, still smiling as he set his die in the pouch they came in. “I don’t even know why you were worried. You should DM for the next campaign, too,” Tim smiled. 

“It’s a lot of work, though,” I replied.

“You love DM-ing. I can tell,” Tim smiled, but his eyes drooped. I could almost feel his sadness. 

I dropped down beside him, sitting on my bed with my hands clasped together. “What’s on your mind?” I questioned. 

“Mom… She used to read these books by R.A. Salvatore. She used to read them to me before bed, and it was our thing… And then, she started having me read to her… And then I started reading them to myself before bed. Jason, that’s why it means so much for you to host and DM like this,” Tim smiled, “Not only are we brothers, but you’re sharing something with me that Mom loved.” I bumped shoulders with him. 

“Are you sleeping in here tonight?” I asked. Tim nodded. He couldn’t sleep in his room. I couldn’t blame him. The manor wasn’t home for him. Not to mention, his parents’ house was a lot more friendly-looking on the inside. That… And the obvious stuff going on. 

**

I trained with Barbara on Wednesday, which mostly started with her taking me to physical therapy and then swimming. After we swam, Barbara went over the basics of self-defense in wheelchairs specifically. Always self-defense first. I think she knew the stress of losing Janet caused a flare-up of nerve pain in my legs. Maybe she saw it in the way I got out of the pool. 

Barbara was no-nonsense. She went over everything three times, and we did everything thrice. Unless I didn’t do things to her standards. “Nuh-uh. Sloppy. You’re coming up weak on that right arm block. I could push that arm right into your face,” Barbara replied as she pushed my forearm into my nose. It was humbling. And infuriating. And my temper was short.

I huffed and pushed my bangs back. “Okay! I get it,” I snapped. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it during training. That was the difference between her and Bruce. Bruce was way nicer about it when he trained me. 

I had to shake that thought off. I had to stop being sensitive and short-tempered if I wanted to get better. “Get it together. Three more times,” Barbara replied. I obeyed without any further complaint. If I could keep my head down and train hard, I could be back in fighting shape on schedule.

[blog-moved-lol]

It seems like Jason's eye color switches back all the time in the comics and I really can't figure out if they're supposed to be blue or green, so I've decided that from now on I'm going to draw him with blue eyes normally, and his eyes will glow green when he experiences his bouts of Lazarus Fever or when the Lazarus Pit magic activates to heal him. Bc I kinda headcanon that since being dunked in the Lazarus Pit will change the rate that your body ages and heals, that Jason pretty much has built in healing magic that will activate automatically after an injury and he'll cough up neon glowing green Lazarus Pit water. The problem with this power is just that it hurts like Hell, and he still has to experience the sensation of having his skin pulled and stretched back together in real time with no anesthesia, but in the long run it's helpful and it's not like he can control it anyway so what can ya do?

[forgotten-daydreamer]

Had 15 spare minutes to finally polish this- but I'm also tired as well so who knows if I really fixed all the typos and whatnot. Anyway, enjoy!

[freedvmrouge]

PACK.

fandom: dc comics.

character(s): jason todd.

word count: 334.

tags & warnings: pov jason todd, jason todd has ptsd, flashbacks, panic attack.

summary: jason smells smoke from a pack of cigs for the first time post-resurrection.

masterlist.

Somehow, hitting the streets of Crime Alley without his helmet makes him feel uneasy. There's a level of vulnerability there that hits uncomfortably in his abdomen. He thinks that, even as Robin, this never happened. Even as a kid who just lost the only semblance of home he'd ever known, he was more comfortable with his face out.

Jason swallows the lump in his throat.

Crime Alley isn't all that different now, three years later. He knows what it's like at night. He knows it quite intimately at this point. Perhaps the players have changed somewhat, shifted to the sons and daughters, or mutant rats that grew from Gotham's cesspools. But it hasn't actually changed, not where it counts.

As he walks through the uncanny valley of familiar sights and sounds, he soon finds himself stopping. It takes him a moment to realize why he does. But when he turns his head just a few degrees to the left and forces himself to breathe in, he's struck.

Smoke.

Not just any smoke either. Cigarette smoke from a pack of Marlboro Red. The very brand he used to be addicted to. It threatens to swallow him whole.

The high-pitched sounds of Joker's laugh reverberate in the back of his head. Each hit to his small body could've been his last, and the adrenaline picks up and up and up. He cannot stand it. He cannot find the words to whisper.

The smoker breathes out and the smoke hits his nose again, as fresh as it most ardently is not.

Jason cannot move his legs, and he cannot feel his feet. He knows they are broken. He knows they will likely never heal. He knows, quite intrinsically, that he will never heal.

"What're ya lookin' at, punk?" The smoker spits at him and blows more smoke on his face.

A hell of a thing, that. The only thing he and his mother have in common isn't just their murderer. It was their favorite brand of cigarettes. 

[mr-something-0r-another]

I wrote a poem! It's the beginning of my oneshot:

Warning: this is a traumatic flashback in poem form

Darkness.

The first thing I see, 

Or rather don't see, 

Is darkness. 

I can feel, 

I can hear, 

Smell, 

And taste, 

But not see.

I hear voices,

All around me, 

Chaos is what I hear, 

Yet can not make out.

I taste something metallic, 

It feels as if it's filling my lungs. 

Crushing me. 

I feel cold, 

And surrounded.

Surrounded, 

Though not by people.

Flooding my senses, 

Flooding myself.

It feels like the Lazarus pits.

Like being on that, oh so familiar, brink.

Between life and death.

I can not tell what direction is what.

But somewhere, 

I finally see. 

Light.

Light is streaming towards me. 

I see a figure in the light, 

Reaching for me,

Swimming towards me.

Is it THE light?

There wasn't a figure last time,

But it could be.

Closer,

And closer.

The figure gets closer,

And closer still.

No.

No.

Not again.

Pain shoots through me.

Bright,

Blinding light.

A loud sound,

An explosion,

Flooding my senses.

I feel fire blazing on my skin.

I feel cold.

A chill in the air,

On the hot blood.

I feel chains, 

Wrapping around me, 

Digging into my skin.

I struggle against them, 

To no avail.

It feels like the chains are adapting to my every move.

Blood running down my face, my arms, my legs, 

Blood.

I'm covered in blood.

I'm Robin again.

I'm dying again.

That maniacal laughter,

Echoing in my skull.

Louder.

Getting louder.

I'm shaking.

I'm breaking.

I'm held to the chair,

Bracing for another hit,

Another sharp pain to course through my body.

The metal,

Stained with my blood,

Forcing itself to dig underneath my skin.

The pain is too much,

The pain,

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

A voice.

A voice?

Not patronizing,

Not laughing.

I'm delusional again,

I'm that 15 year old,

Believing someone will save me.

Pain.

I writhe, 

And the chains hold me back.

Pain.

Pain.

Did I save them?

[metalphoenix]

Summery:

Jason Todd hates cops. There are few things he hates more than cops. In fact cops are up there on the list of things that Jason hates most with domestic/child abusers and rapist/pedophiles.

Dick Grayson is a cop.

For them to have the brother relationship they both need something has to give (spoiler it ain't gonna be Jason)

(End Summery) Ya'll after two years of inactivity due to College Hell I finally posted a new story on AO3!

[psychologeek]

Love the title, not so sure about the summary.

(yes, I do think that I'm funny, thanks.)

Guess what ship is it?

[d-1hater]

honestly one of the main reasons I like dc is that they can’t keep a storyline straight for shit. anything I don’t like is just *not real*. that’s different storyline babes what are you talking about???

like at this point I can consider shit like wfa and hell even well written fanfics as canon bc who knows what’s going on with those funky little people?? certainly not the dc writers

[ghost-bxrd]

I am SO normal about Jason Todd and all the little ways his ptsd is depicted in both canon and fanon. Totally. not

[samthechaotic]

I leave the batfandom for A WEEK then come back and find out that not only jason todd is dead AGAIN but *checks notes* he died an EMBARRASSING death??? and *checks notes* HE'S ALIVE???

[kittykatninja321]

Bro has been Going Through It across multiple universes in the past month in comics can he get a break 😩

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn’t die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 17/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake, Donna Troy

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Seventeen: The Campaign: Malatra Pt. 1

Tim slept in his bed one last time while I packed our things. My phone rang, and I answered to keep from waking Tim up. “Hello?” I whispered. 

“Jason, I heard about your friend’s mother—.”

“You don’t have to say anything… Um, Barbara, can I ask you for a favor?” I interrupted. 

“I don’t know. It depends… Is it illegal?” Barbara asked. 

“No. It’s—. I need you to help me get back in fighting shape. I know Bruce won’t change his mind because I can throw a couple of solid punches, but I’ve gotta do this for myself. I need to know I didn’t let the accident beat me,” I explained. I told her as much of the truth as I could. 

“Jason… Wednesday through Friday after school. No excuses,” Barbara replied. I grinned. 

“I’ll be there. I promise,” I whispered, “Thank you. Thank you, Barbara. You’re the best.” Barbara was a tough person to move. She wasn’t emotionally driven or faint of heart. Barbara was sharp and efficient. Practical and poised. She was everything I needed in a teacher. 

“ Yeah, yeah, yeah. See how you feel about me after our first training session. Bye, Jason… And good on you for getting back up. I thought about what I said to you the last time we talked. I was wrong to tell you that you were being childish. If taking this time away from home was good for your mental health, who am I to tell you—?”

“Barbara, I am a kid. I never said I wasn’t. I was pissed off and closed in, and I reacted. I was in a dark place, and I’d be lying if I said I wanted to go home now… I know it’s what I have to do. I’m gonna be mature about it, for Tim’s sake,” I replied, “I’ve gotta finish packing… But, um—. Thank you, Barbara.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Boy Wonder. See you Wednesday,” Barbara teased. She hung up, and I shook Tim awake. 

He pushed my face away and laughed. “ Uggghhh. Jason, what are you doing?” Tim asked. 

“She’s gonna train me. Wednesday through Friday, so we’ll condition Saturday through Monday,” I replied. Tim grinned. 

“And on Tuesday ?” Tim half-joked. 

“Warlocks and Warriors,” I replied, “And—. Oh, Ives wants to come over tonight. I gave him Bruce’s address and said he could stay the night.” 

“Ives wanted to hang out? Does he—?” 

I nodded. “Ives knows, but I asked him not to mention it… Unless…” I trailed off. Tim shook his head. “Then, he won’t…” I tied labels to Tim’s chargers and tucked them into his suitcase. 

*

We went to the manor at sunset because I knew Bruce wouldn’t be there. Alfred seemed happy to see us again. Ives showed up an hour after we got there, and Alfred served dinner. “Hey, guys… Do you wanna do another campaign here this weekend?” I asked. 

Tim’s eyes widened. “You want to?” Tim questioned. I nodded. 

“That’d be sick,” Ives replied.  

“Cool. Tell the guys Tuesday we’ll hang out here,” I replied. Ives glanced at Tim and looked at his plate when he saw me looking. Tim was oblivious to everything going on in his life because of everything. 

“Jason should DM this one,” Tim suggested. I choked. “Come on. You can do it. I see how deep you get into character. And you’re the only person willing to indulge Hudson. Besides, I think the guys are still mad at me for what happened in Ravenloft.” 

“That was messed up. I can’t believe you killed Ives first and swapped him out with a Doppelganger. That was sick. And Ives… I’m shocked you let him go through with that,” I replied. 

Tim smiled. I reached for my bed to pull myself up, but I felt a shockwave shoot down my back into my legs, and I let go of the mattress. “Jason?” Tim asked. 

“I’m okay… But like—. Are you guys sure you want me to DM?” I questioned. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Ives replied, “You’ve gotta try it at least once. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again, but you should give it a chance. You might be good.” 

*

"In the living forest lands of Malatra, all seems quiet. Suspiciously so. A warm breeze blows, rustling through the canopies overhead. Topiaries of smiling children surround a small fire. It is the only possible sign of life for several miles.  A song breaks through the near-silent forest. It starts low and guttural, like a collective groan, and then the ethereal choral collections of synchronized sobs. It is a song of mourning. A once-distant sound, now building as if it is approaching. The forest's dirt walkways slowly disappear under shrubs and bushes, and it seems like a trick to the eye at first, but no. You see it now. The bushes have feet where roots should be, and finally, a male voice breaks through the grieving chorus," I cleared my throat. "State your business," I bellowed. "He steps forward. A bamboo elf. His hair is a warm brown with the same red undertones of autumn leaves. He keeps his hair in wide and intricate waves and curls. His skin is an olivine green, and his eyes dark brown and ancient, study you. You all recognize this bamboo elf immediately, but before we get into that… you should introduce yourselves." A big, goofy grin spread across Tim's face. Silence fell over my room as I waited for someone to speak.

"You fucking killed it," Hudson mumbled in shock. I covered my smile. "Clay Everlake, earth genasi monk here. I'm stone grey, with bright green hair made of leaves, with the front pulled into a warrior's bun—."

"Man bun penalty!" everyone shouted.

"Is not! Anyway ... It's a warrior's bun, and the rest of my hair hangs leafy down my shoulders. I'm fairly young, rough and tumble, and trouble seems to follow me wherever I go," Hudson answered.

I gestured to Ives. "Eldrid Deepwood, here. I'm a firbolg druid... I uh—. I have bluish-green skin and dark eyes. My hair is whiteish-grey, luscious, and thick, almost mane-like. My ears are floppy... And uh—. And despite my advanced age, I'm a timid sort of fella," Ives stammered in an Irish accent.

I nodded and pointed to Hudman. "Fettar Keephorn. Dwarven rogue, dark beard, dark brown eyes.  My loyalties lie with Clay Everlake... Unfortunately," Hudman muttered in a dry voice. We all laughed. "I'm not much for words."

And Tim. I looked forward to Tim's character because we'd been pretty hush-hush about our plans all week, which meant we had nothing to discuss outside of training. "Posy Moonfall, gnome cleric here. I've got blond shoulder-length hair and grey eyes hidden behind foggy glasses. Well, they're usually quite—. I'm not used to being in the presence of a man of Mr. Deepwood's stature. I'm clumsy, but my intuitive nature makes up for my shortcomings... At least, I think—. Oh gosh. Am I rambling?" Tim replied in a woman's voice. He was surprisingly good at it. I almost forgot my place.

I cleared my throat before continuing. "Clay Everlake, your connection to this bamboo elf is deeply personal. Isn't it?" I asked, nodding at him. I liked Hudson. He always made me laugh and was my favorite of Tim's friends. He also tried to make me feel better about my scars by showing me the dent in his forehead. It wasn't the same, but he genuinely thought it was.

"He raised me. When my family was slaughtered on the outskirts of Malatra, he took me in and raised me. He's a father to me," Hudson answered. Hudson and I locked eyes, and I smiled down at my notes. "I didn't expect to see him under such grim circumstances."

"And Fettar?" I questioned.

"The elf and I… used to date,” Hudman replied. We all laughed.

“Fettar and Theren Everlake dated? You guys were—.” 

“A couple. Yep,” Hudman doubled down.

[jjaysontodd]

The more I read Jason the more I’m starting to think he might have bpd.