#This is NOT me trying to say “yeah Jason's death was his own fault he got himself killed”

[autisticdoomslayer]

Some of Ya'll have no idea how to write impulsive characters and it shows

Say it with me kids:

Impulsive does not mean stupid.

Impulsive does not mean no common sense

I see too many people write impulsive characters as fucking idiots. As a fairly impulsive person myself, it makes me angry.

Every human being occasionally gets the the urge to do or say something that wouldn't be socially acceptable or would only make things worse, especially when they're emotional. Often (but not always, everyone does impulsive actions occasionally) people will think "no, I shouldn't do/say that" and then they don't do or say it. An impulsive person doesn't think twice about it. They do or say something potentially harmful, irresponsible, not socially acceptable, etc. and only AFTERWORDS do they realize oh fuck I shouldn't have done/said that fuck fuck fuck fuck.

An impulsive character will still make a plan of action. They might have a hard time sticking to that plan. An impulsive person will be easier to provoke into anger or another emotional outburst, but impulsivity is different from a "heat of the moment" outburst. Impulsive actions are quick.

Calling your girlfriend a bitch in the middle of an argument is pretty impulsive (and also not okay, lemme be clear about that). Making an entire "the reason you suck" speech towards your girlfriend is not impulsive (although a quick "the reason you suck" summary or bullet point list can be an impulsive action).

Punching someone in the face because they insulted you is impulsive. Doing an entire beatdown because someone insulted you is not impulsive, but can have roots in impulsivity - impulsive characters can sometimes get to the "heat of the moment BSoD" stage faster.

might add more points later, idk. Hope this makes sense.

[mullty]

-Spoilers for Call of Duty Black Ops 6 Ahead.-

Bro I literally teared up. I am honestly only playing for the character that is Frank Woods. I grew up with Alex Mason and his story and recently I've gotten back into it as an adult. I love the arc we have sort've been on with Alex and Frank. They are so special to me and I could go on forever about them- but enough about me-

So Far there are two moments that I've just loved and been incredibly sad at. The shorter one, that you will probably barely notice, is when we are back at the mansion-manor?, home? house?-

We, as Case, are next to my new favorite person maybe ever Felix. The rest are near a fire they have and before Adler radios in with bad news, you hear the end of a funny memory Frank is sharing with the team.

So far, I have felt that even though we have the same Frank Woods, he is a very obviously subdued version of him. It's felt like... I don't know. Do you know when you're pretending you are normal and cracking jokes but you're so exhausted and you'd rather not say anything but you don't want anyone to ask you anything. I do think he's like making an effort but this whole situation starts off with Adler who we later learn is the one being blamed for Frank's "Condition" and the deaths of Alex Mason and Jason Hudson. I wouldn't want to be reminded of that dang mission ever in my life but suddenly Adler is back into the mix and suddenly it's all about Panama and Mason and who Frank once was- and I think it's a lot for him. He's older. He can't fight. He can't move as he once did. Now, he has people he is mentoring. He's staying back while they go. He had built a wall around these people because this isn't forever and he didn't owe them a sob story. Anyway- so yeah it's a big deal that he's sharing a story with them because it's a story about Alex. It's not confirmed but all we hear is something in the realm of (I'm paraphrasing)

"Yeah, we are in D.C. now- Not Alaska." Which prompts a laugh from the people there.

Now. Let's put on our thinking caps on and try to remember who in the game is canonically Alaskan.

ALEX MASON. HE'S TELLING THEM ABOUT ALEX AND A FUNNY STORY ABOUT HIM. BECAUSE FRANK KNEW HIM. FRANK KNEW HIM AND KNEW ALL SIDES OF HIM and Alex wasn't just some coworker that survived getting brainwashed and was basically the best soldier there ever was.

Alex was his best friend. They mention it multiple times in the story.

Frank lost his Best Friend. Most of all, he feels it was his fault because he pulled the trigger.

He let his walls down and he's letting these people in to know someone so important to him.

The next moment is when we go up to talk to him and ask how he's doing. I think there is a visible change in him. He feels lighter.

He talks about enjoying the "thing they have going on." They don't take orders from anyone and they're kind of their own paramilitary group in a way. No hidden agendas just stopping the bad guys. and Case responds with, "You don't have to go back to Langley."

And why would he want to go back there let's be honest.

And THEN HE RESPONDS WITH "I haven't told anyone this but with Mason gone, I wanna look after his boy... Bring him up."

And what had me in this scene isn't that he is going to raise David, We know he ends up doing that.

BUT how much Frank has come to terms with letting go.

Frank obviously to some degree enjoyed his job. I don't know how long he did it for but, he is still involved back at the C.I.A so we can see that he didn't want to be left out completely.

And he gets a taste of that back.

He has found something that works for him and allows him to continue on this path. But. BUT.

"With Mason gone, I wanna look after his boy."

He's going to leave it behind for David and Alex.

He's not going to leave David alone. ALEX WENT BACK TO THAT LIFE despite having PROMISED his son that he was done. because of frank. Frank needed him and Alex saved him.

A lot of fans point at Frank and Alex and say Gay lovers.

and like yeah what about it.

But also I think what the writers are going for is the most devasting option is that these guys are Best Friends and that's so much worse.

Idk if any of ya'll ever had a best friend, but there are moments when you question if God made them just for you.

Because the closeness you feel in your soul and the Love that is the same Love and Loyalty you reserve only for Family outpours to them as well. And they aren't family but they're someone who knows the most inner parts of you. A best friend is someone who loves you back just the same.

I honestly believe that there was nothing Frank could've ever done that would've turned Alex away from him. Frank was blinded by revenge and accidentally killed an innocent girl, but Alex remained by his side.

It just killed me because Frank could've kept going, Idk if he retires after COD 6 something tells me he does, but he doesn't.

David needs him. He needs to keep Alex's memory alive and I personally headcannon that Frank mentions Alex all the time. Like it's rare if you don't hear about Frank's best friend Alex in a whole week because that was Frank's best friend and he was a Badass.

Anyways there might've been more for me to say but it's late .

(Excuse typos and anytime I type in caps it's because I'm yelling.)

[igotanidea]

Afterlife :Jason Todd x plus-size!fem!reader

credit for the graphic goes to @3-minnnn (amazing work, I love it, hope you don't mind me using it here)

This is part 2 of Retaliation i.e. what happened after.

@jasontoddsthickbabe - special dedication goes for you :)

Warning : a bit of smut, so MINORS DNI!

***

Regardless of what people say, death is not the end.

Jason Todd had experienced that well enough. After all, his end was rudely interrupted by some crazy people who couldn’t just leave him be.

Anyhow, every culture has their own belief of what is waiting on the other side.

Angels, demons, jackal-headed gods to judge your actions and your soul, virgin, feasts etc.

Heaven or Hell.

Eternal pain or eternal happiness.

So many people try to believe there is something bigger than them in this world, some higher instance.

But death is also not what they claim to be a new beginning, a new story.

In some cultures, afterlife is pretty much the reflection of the life on earth with all the familiar places and people. Maybe without so much pain and hurt, but still. Surprisingly similar.

But the place she found herself in was neither of those.

First of all, it was so dark, she could barely see her own hand in front of her face.

Secondly, it was empty and cold and impossible to judge how big this place was.

And last, but not least, it was cold to the point where she started believing it could not be hell, unless someone made a stupid bet, ending starting from "the hell my freeze, but..."

For what she knew, she could have been standing on the edge of some cliff and nothing more than a step would make her fall and crash on whatever was down there.

How the hell did she got here?

And where exactly was here?

Slowly, the memories started coming back.

The capturing, the torture, the fight ….

The fight. Oh no. Last thing she could remember was Jason's pale, terrified face and desperate grip on her body as she started drifting off in his arms.

Wait, was she dead?

Instinctively she reached towards her neck where, as she recalled, Marseille dragged his knife, almost expecting to find a scar, or even still bleeding injury. But there was nothing. Maybe a bit of roughness, barely palpable.    

 Poor Jason.

Her heart clenched when his name came onto her mind, picking up the pace, hands started trembling. Atop of previous layers of trauma he’s been through, now she added to it.  Fuck, she died in his arms! He literally had her blood on his hands!

If she wasn’t already dead, she would probably hurt herself for bringing that on him. A single though that it was not her fault and she was the victim, not a perpetrator did not cross her mind for even a second.

Come on, Y/N, think. You are familiar with the bats. They have come back to life more times than any average person should be allowed to. How did they do that? Apart from the Lazarus Pit, of course. Think, think.

"Hello?" she called, not really expecting an answer and her voice echoed through the empty place.

"Hello, Y/N." the response got her by surpise and she jumped, startled. "Don't be afraid. You called and I came."

"Yeah, I.... um..... well" she stuttered. so many questions creeping in, all of them so cliche.

"It's ok." the newly arrived person assured, their face covered by the hood of the coat they were wearing "It's ok to ask."

"Am I .... dead?"

"It depends."

"What?" she scoffed "how can it depend? It's either yes or no. I mean I can't be half-dead, right?"

"Technically....."

"Oh, please" the girl rolled her eyes, now rather annoyed than scared "if you have to start a sentence from technically we are all doomed. I just... "

"Come with me. I'have to show you something. "

"And who are you exactly?"

"Think of me as your guide. You people have an inexplicable tendency to give name to everything and if that's the case with you, you can call me Shadow." they grabbed her hand and dragged her straight forward into something she so righteously believed to be the abyss.

***

"Where the hell did you take me?"

"Just be quiet and observe."

“Jason. You need to rest. You’ve been sitting by her bed for 48 hours straight.”

“Fuck off.”

“Be reasonable.”

“I said fuck off, Grayson.”

"Come on, bro. You won't help her in any way by beating yourself up." Dick put his hand on Jason's arm making the younger boy shudder and sigh deeply.

"I need to be with her, Dick. Just... a little more."

"Fine. But I will take over soon, is that all right? You know you should have some rest in a bed and maybe have a shower.

"I know."

Jason was the perfect example of misery and despair. Ever since what happened in that barracks he could not focus on anything else than her. He wasn’t eating, he wasn’t sleeping, spending all the time by his love’s bedside in a hospital room. Of course, Wayne money provided her with the best medical care that could have been bought, but he still did not trust any of those doctors. He was in his full alert mode, refusing to leave even for a second, observing each of the actions with cold, threatening gaze which made some of the doctors tremble. If it wasn’t for Dick, with his lighter attitude, most of them would probably run away.

It was a miracle, Y/N was still breathing and Jason was not taking any chances on that. If he had protected her better, she would be now laughing with him, holding hands and just spending time together in the best health. Instead, she was lying in the hospital bed, plugged to all those crazy medical equipment that were supposed to keep her alive. The cut on her neck was capably stitched, but the risk of it leaving scars was extremely high. She looked so small, fragile, pale and vulnerable.

And it was all his fault.

And he could not think of any way to recover from this, except for begging for her forgivness, if when she wakes up.

"Oh, Jay....." she whispered, few tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, my love" she took a few step forward, in desperate attempt to touch him and hold him, but she was a ghost without any material form "I am so sorry...."

"I am so sorry, baby." Jason spoke at the same time, almost as if he could hear her. "Please come back to me...." he sobbed, grabbing her limp, cold hand carressing it gently "I need you."

"I'm right here, baby."

"You do realise he cannot hear you, right?"

"I don't give a single...."

"LANGUAGE!"

"fuck" she smirked and finished the sentence despite Shadow's warning "I don't give a single fuck."

"For someone who's on the verge of saying goodbye to mortal life you have quite the humor. How about you take a look at yourself, instead of focusing on your lover boy, huh? Go ahead" they motioned towards the bed. "Sneak a peek at your broken mortal body."

As much as she did not want to, it was like his verbal nudge made her leg move without her thinking. She came closer towards, well, herself and froze at the spot. It was like looking in the mirror, just a tad more creepy. Bruises on her face, stiches on her neck and barely moving chest made Y/N shiver. And all that blinding white, underlying any lack of color on her. Seriously, why all the medical establishments insisted on using this color.

"How does it feel looking at yourself like that? Freaked out already?" Shadow asked, but much to his suprise Y/N turned her back towards the bed, facing Jason instead, muttering something under her nose, still reaching for him. "Ekhem, I'm sorry what are you doing?"

"I couldn't care less about myself. I've been with all the bats for so long that no injury can really scare me. But he ....." she shook her head "I can feel his pain.... so much of it."

"It's normal" shadow shrugged "you two had a connection."

"connection?!" she yelled standing up abruptly "I love him!! And you...." suddenly she felt taller and stronger "you better tell me how to get back to him."

"I don't .... you don't ...."

"I am not joking right now!" her eyes were so full of fire it made her guide tremble a bit. "Talk or I swear I will tear this whole place down and burn it to the ground. And if you are not willing to cooperate, I will be more than happy to talk to your supervisor or whoever the fuck .... what is that?" sudden warmth spreading on her forehead took her by surprise and she turned around only to notice Jay, leaning over her body and kissing her gently.

"Just hold on there, baby. I know it's tempting to stay on the other side and leave this fuckign city behind, but I can't help being selfish. I am here and I'm waiting for you. Please, find your way back."

"NOW!' she yelled at the Shadow again. She would rather tear her heart out than watch any more minute of Jason like this.

"I...... Fine, there's one way, but you are not going to like it."

***

“I just need to cross the bridge? That’s all?”

“Huh, good luck with that. We call it “the aisle of memories” for a reason. You must be truly desperate to refer to this.”

“Maybe. Or I am just deeply in love. And so it happens the recipient of it is currently losing his mind over my unconscious body. Fuck, he is almost praying! Jason! almost praying. And fuck me if I am going to let him plunge into despair.”

“Good luck then. You’re gonna need it.”

“How hard can it possibly be?” she shrugged and took the first step.

***

Time in the afterlife passes differently than in corporeal world. What seemed like hours for Y/n, was days and weeks for Jason. Extremely long days and weeks when he was spending days in her hospital room, napping on the armchair, refusing to let go of her hand and nights at patrolling in his Red Hood attire, much more violent and unpredictable than ever before. Even Dick and Bruce could no nothing to stop him, but honestly, as long he was not killing people again and avoided increasing his body count they were fine with it. If they even think of trying to stop him he would turn into a rabid animal, probably tearing down the manor. It was better to let him use all that rage, despair and fury on the field.

However, no one missed, how every night for the past two weeks after a patrol, he could not sleep. Instead of laying in his own bed, he was walking around like a ghost, constantly spotting her favorite things at the manor. The books she loved reading most, her chipped cup, she forbid Alfred to throw away, her cherished blanket…. The same blanket they used to cover themselves with while cuddling during watching the movies. Fuck, he missed all those little things, they were doing together. He missed her hugs, the way she was snuggling into him, making him feel like someone important. Like someone worth love.

And he just had to fuck it up.

***

Shadow was right.

Passing the bridge turned out to be slightly more difficult then she thought it would.

Just as she took the first step the anthropomorphic personifications of her past mistakes and fears materialized and of course, they took the form of Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian.

“Hello, Y/N” fake Dick smiled at her, his smile being lick-alike of this of the real Grayson

“Where are you going?” Tim pouted

“Leaving us so soon, baby?” Jason added

“don’t you think you’ve done enough damage, Y/L/N? Damian eyed her warningly

“do you remember the time you could not fight those guys in the alley and Jay had to come to rescue, getting badly hurt in the process?”

“Shut up, Dick!” she hissed taking a step forward, even though the guilt made her leg lead-like.

“Is that a way to talk to your friend? Almost brother?”

“You are not my brother.”

“You’re right. I am your pride. The one you never show and yet everyone around you see. Aren’t you just the most conceited?”

“I am not conceited!”

“Sure, sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s not true….” She focused on walking forward, turning deaf ear to Dick’s words.

“Competitive. Always trying to prove your point. Getting your own way. Individualistic. That is just painful, sweetheart. You want to cause me pain? Just like that one time when you were supposed to navigate me during patrol? Just like you did Tim?” he spat and disappeared into thin air.

“Tim?” she made a mistake of hesitating and felt the bricks slip from her feet making her fall to the ground. So that is how this was working. Heavy legs and  mind traps. “I never hurt any of you!” it took a lot of strength to stand up and yet she managed to resume her walking.

“Really?” Tim asked “Little Miss Smarty Pants? Little Miss Expert on Technology? You always though yourself better than me, didn’t you?”

“I admired your work, Tim.”

“And yet you destroyed it.”

“How….” she tripped again, this time cutting her leg that started bleeding heavily “fuck….” Tim just laughed at her.

“I am your greed….” He flashed a predatory smile “such big ambitions and definitely too high treshold for your little feet. Poor, sweet girl, never fulfilling your aspirations. Remember that one time you lose to me in a competition. How did that feel?”

“Please, stop….” She gasped, feeling sudden pain in the chest, bending her to the ground “It’s not true….”

“Hm” Tim vanished and the youngest Wayne came into the scene. She was almost crawling forward now, and it was ironic how this little fella was towering over her, mocking poor girl with his gaze “Aren’t you just pathetic?

“Let me guess….” She hissed “you are vengeance, aren’t you?”

“Not even close.” He smirked “ I am fear.”

“Fe… fear?”

“What else? I am to remind you of all those time you acted like a coward. Burying your head in the sand, to put it lightly. Waiting for someone to take action instead of  doing it yourself. Such a shame….” He cluck

“I never….”

“Let me think….” Damian tapped his chin and stepped on her back, stopping her from moving. Now this was embarrassing. “Oh, I know. The shooting. You had all the resources and skills to stop those attackers. And what did you do? You run. And yet, you still think we would need you back there. You are an useless menace. A liability.”

“I run to save two girls from dying because of the bullets!” she squirmed and crawled some more, now seeing little square of light at the end of the bridge. Probably the exit “You cannot… stop me….”

“Maybe. But I know someone who can. I’ll leave you two alone.” He laughed and followed his brothers out of sight.

“Oh, no…”

“Y/N.” Jason stood in her way blocking it. Of course they left him at the end. His brothers waited and weakened her enough so that a single word coming from him would break her.

He’s not real, he’s not real. The real Jason is waiting for you on the other side, weeping and ….

“You think I am not real?” his initial smile turned upside down “How about I show you?” with one move of his hands, he grabbed her waist pulling her close to his chest and connecting their lips, kissing her so gently, but with so much fire. How could this be fake if it felt so good? “My baby…” he cooed pulling back and cupping her cheek “how about you stay with me? Here. We would be together, forever” his lips moved to her cheek and neck, sending goosebumps all over her skin. Involuntarily, she arched her back towards him, wanting more, remembering how good it felt to have him so close and how long it was since she had his hands on lips on all her curves.

“Jay…..” she whined, losing all her focus, hands tangling in his hair.

“I’m here baby…. Let me make you feel good….”

“Ah….” She whined when he reached under her shirt, grabbing her breast and massaging it gently through the thin material of the bra “Please….”

“Tell me what you want, princess….”

“Take it off….” She tugged on his shirt and he quickly exposed himself to her, letting her hands roam his body freely. His abs, his pecs, his chest, his neck. All of him. “I need you….”

“I know baby… “ he muttered, kissing her again, grabbing her ass and wrapping her legs around his waist “always so desperate for me. Tell me” he unhooked her bra and tossed it away, licking her sensitive skin “does that feel good?”

“Jason….”

“It can always be like this. You just have to stay. Let go of what was. Stay with me. Here. You don’t need anything else. I was made especially for you….”

Those words were like a bucket of cold water on her hot skin and she pulled away instantly. Not without mentally cursing herself for that action.

Come back to me.

I need you.

Don’t leave me.

Those words started echoing through her head like a mantra.

“You are not my Jay.” She jumped away from him, covering her bare chest, now feeling embarrassed

“I am, baby, look at me. I told you, I’m yours…”

“Get away from me! Who are you?!”

“I am regret.” He smirked “don’t tell me you don’t feel guilty for falling for that little trap? For being so desperate for touch that you were just ready to let me take you right here right now.”

“But I did not.”

“How does that make anything better, princess? You still want me.”

“What I want” she hissed, forcing her legs forward and ducking under his arms, almost reaching that light. “is to get to my Jason back. You did not use me or turn me bad. If anything you showed me how much love I hold for the version of you that’s sitting my bed. And guess what?” she flashed him a smile “I won.”

***

Sharp exhale and beeping of the medical machine keeping Y/N alive made him jump on his feet instantly and turn around in search for a potential threat. Instead he met with shocked and terrified gaze of his beloved girl. Fully conscious.

“Y/N?” he asked carefully, mindful of the fact that she just woke up from two and a half week of coma and he was far from good looking. Fuck. He could have at least wore a clean T-shirt.

“Jason!” she cried, reaching her arms towards him and he could not care less about the look or the clothes as he rushed to her side, bringing her into his embrace, caressing her back, smelling her soft her, kissing her cheek and temple and forehead, over and over and over.

“My love.” He whisper “my princess. My baby. God, I was so scared for you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m back now. I’m back to you.” she hid face in that smelly shirt of his, not caring either “I’m back.” Her grip grew a bit tighter.

“And I won’t ever let you go anywhere far from me again. consider yourself being put under a house arrest.”

“As long as you stay with me.”

“Always.” He assured “right after I take my revenge. No one would ever hurt you again, I’ll make sure of that.”

“Jason?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I need you to teach me how to fight.”

To be continued <?>  

[turnipstewdios]

Half-Lives, chapter 13

For all its flaws, and there were many, many flaws, Gotham actually had decent road maintenance. 

Oh there were plenty of areas of the city where the roads were shit. The areas where the rich people lived were always given first priority, and nobody in city planning really gave a fuck about Crime alley or the Bowery, but large sections of the city road network were reasonably well maintained. Bludhaven’s were not. So Jason always had to be careful when he brought his bike over this way, lest he ram into one of the bottomless potholes that littered the cracked pavement. It was even worse with a passenger, and he didn’t want to rattle Danny around too much. The actual road to the Zoo itself was halfway decent, mainly because it was on the outskirts of Gotham rather than in Bludhaven proper. But the side trip he had planned for later would be rough. 

Still, he managed to get to the Zoo’s parking lot without rattling himself or his passenger halfway back to death, and found a decent parking spot that wasn’t too far from the entrance. It was also close enough to the toll-booth that no one should be tempted to try stealing it. Not that they could, his baby’s security was way too good for that. “So, where should we head first?” Jason asked as they walked towards the entrance. 

“Eh, I don’t have a preference. I would like to tour the walk-in aviary at some point though.” Danny replied. “That’s about halfway through the main loop. Let’s just pick a direction and walk.” 

“Sounds good.”

Jason paid for admittance as they went through the check-in. Almost immediately, something seemed to catch Danny’s eye. There was a big, open enclosure full of flamingos near the entry, and Jason saw Danny perk up when he noticed them. Looked like they’d be going that way to start. “You like birds, huh?” “Eh, sort of? I haven't gotten the chance to see many of the ones the pamphlet says they have here.” He leaned on the railing, and watched as a pair of the enormous birds wandered by. “Amity actually did have a zoo, but they had a lot of temporary exhibits. For some reason they never had many birds.” “I thought Amity was a smallish town? How’d they get a zoo?” Danny chuckled. “I, uh, think that might have been Sam’s fault.” “Your friend? How does that work?”  “Sam’s parent’s were kinda rich, and Sam was big into conservation and endangered species. I think her parents funded the place.” He scoffed. “Not that she really liked it. She wasn’t a fan of keeping animals in captivity, and kept complaining about their living conditions.” “Huh.” Jason watched as a flamingo wandered close to Danny, eyeing him over the top of the fence. Jason had stayed a healthy distance back from the enclosure. 

Animals didn’t tend to like him much. He’d wondered briefly on the way here if that was because of the ghost thing, but Danny seemed to be doing fine. It was probably because of the pits. “Wait a minute.” Jason thought back to something he’d heard from Babs the other day. “Wasn’t there something about Amity Park and endangered Gorillas?” To his surprise, Danny… groaned. Loudly. “God, don’t remind me.” He rubbed a hand down his face, seeming to forget about the bird for a moment as it wandered off. “Why? What’s the matter?” “Uhg. Bad memories. Amity hosted one of the two Purple-backed gorillas that was alive at the time for a bit. There was… a thing. That happened.” Oh, Oh yeah, Jason was remembering more of the conversation now. “Don’t you have your name on a research paper about them? It was like the only bit of scientific literature the family could find.” Danny’s head thumped into the wooden rail on the fence. “Yeah, yeah. Figures that would make it out.” “Hmm.” Jason wondered if he should have picked another destination for the day. “I think there’s currently a Purple-back gorilla exhibit here, at this zoo. Should we avoid that?” He asked. “You're kidding.” Danny looked flatly at Jason out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, you’re not kidding. Damn.” He sighed. “It’s fine. We may as well go see them, and we just got here, I’m not about to leave now.” He began to walk down the path towards the next exhibit. “Just so long as I don’t end up spending the whole night watching them, or getting attacked by a ghost who wants to skin me.” Jason stood staring after him for a second, trying to process that. “Skin you? Danny? Danny?! What?” He chased after him, determined to get an explanation for that. Read the rest on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48120073/chapters/123852799

[stobinesque]

#no bc his feelings about billy after what he fucking did to him in s2 and just the horrible way he treated max #vs wanting to help and support max as she grieves for someone who.. literally tried to hatecrime him? #is such SUCH an interesting concept that i will almost definitely write about when im done with kas!robin #because YES whilst max's feelings towards billy are completely valid and understandable and so horribly complex... i cant even imagine how #hard that mustve been for lucas #watching the person he loved the most be so overcome with grief for someone that didn't deserve it #someone who seemed to have made it their life's mission to hunt him down# to make his life a living hell #to go out of their way to ACTIVELY target him #to use their privilage against him #i mean max is so messed up after billy's death that she literally breaks up with lucas and pushes him away #and in no way am i saying that's max's fault #BUT #just imagining lucas seeing this horrible shell of a human being praised for being the hero that HE HIMSELF had had to be around them #and URGHAGGHRRGh. IT IS NEARLY MIDNIGHTR AND I AM INCOMPREHENSIBLE BUT I HAVE THOUGHTS (@scoopertroopers)

Yeah, all of that!! The writing for Lucas in s4 truly drives me up a wall, because it is so close to being really good. Definitely some of the best writing for Lucas in the show to date, but the problems that have persistently plagued his writing (namely, an active discomfort with actually exploring the racism he's experiencing from Lucas' perspective) is still there in full force. To the point where I'm honestly not totally sure the Duffer's knew what, exactly they were writing?

Did anyone except black viewers (and some non-black viewers, but, like, not nearly enough) put together that a big part of the reason he might want to join the basketball team for social protection is because of his experiences with racism? Did they understand that--to a black viewer--Lucas (and possibly Patrick, but that's a whole other post) choosing to join Jason and Andy in their manhunt reads as self-preservation, and not as wanting to preserve his social standing? (This feels like a very obvious reading of Lucas in season 4, but 1) that is clearly not the predominant fandom interpretation, and 2) that is also not what the narrative seems to think is happening.)

Did they understand that they were writing Jason as an evangelical white supremacist who is able to obfuscate his own racism by having black "friends" who participate in a stereotypically black sport (on a team he's the captain of!) Did they understand that when Jason points a gun in Lucas' face and Andy attacks a young black girl they're playing into a long history of lynching and adultifying black children? Because I don't think they know they wrote any of that, and the fact that they don't think they wrote any of that means that we're never going to see any of Lucas's (or ERICA'S) trauma get explored on screen. And because the narrative is written in such a way that it's really easy for viewers who aren't thinking too much about it to just conclude that Lucas doesn't have any trauma, we also don't get a whole bunch of fanworks exploring it either. Season 4 gave them the perfect opportunity for Lucas to try to trouble through the racial trauma he's acquired WITH MAX and they SQUANDERED it, because they DON'T EVEN KNOW THEY SET IT UP.

I don't even have the excuse about it being midnight. I'm just mad about this all the time.

lucas sinclair's writing widely gets a pass because he's so closely associated with max and what she has going on and their relationship in general is obviously incredible (especially in season 4) but his writing could have been so much better if they would put some thought into the character like they do with everyone else instead of playing into racist stereotypes and constantly placing him in supportive roles to his white friends while pretending racism doesn't exist beyond one-off jokes and a single storyline where the aftermath of lucas being attacked by a white man twice his size at 13 years old doesn't even get acknowledged, let alone explored. he would not fucking be okay after that and the storytelling should have been honest about it, especially if they were gonna make the person who targeted him so central to the plot afterwards. how does lucas feel about it? about billy's possession? about seeing him almost kill el and mike right in front of him? about his death affecting max so much? i don't know and i don't think the show does either

[bluebeetle]

What specific things have set his anger off before his death if you don’t mind sharing? :D

Main thing we see multiple times during the Starlin run of Batman--which is what first established Jason as having anger issues--is a hatred towards perps of sexual violence towards women and children.

He's also shown being angry towards Two-face for killing his dad prior to this but gets over that and just pities Harvey.

But anyways onto examples from Starlin's run:

Batman #422

Batman 424 -- the character who fell was a serial rapist and lead the woman Jay was trying to help to kill herself. I really reccomend this issue, actually, its a really good one, though tw for rape, suicide, drugs (cocaine), and racism towards Latinos--Starlin has a real bad racist writing streak and this story is no exception sadly, and as much as I do like it, its important to mention.

Batman 426 - the first part of A Death In the Family, which is a very bad but very famous storyline lol.

There's a lot that could be said about Starlin's portrayal of Jason. It is more nuanced and sympathetic than many later portrayals of the character--notably his death is not his fault unlike has been said later on, and Jason died trying to help someone. However, Starlin has also been very vocal of his dislike of Jason and the idea of Robin, writing Jason in as little as possible to most of his stories, being vocal about wanting to give Jason HIV-AIDS (yeah), and being one of the biggest pushes to kill him off. Starlins writing also relies heavily on racism, his weird obsession with diplomatic immunity, and violence against women for drama, so theres a lot to pick apart and question--are we supposed to feel sympathy for Jason and his actions, or condemn them? Even the letters in these issues--I own 421, 422, 424, and 425 in physical copies so I have access to the letters in the back--feel like Starlin is purposely trying to make Jason unlikeable. Its definitely an answer that I think says a lot about both Starlin as a person and the reader themselves, on how they take these scenes.

Personally I like to detach them from Starlin's intent, and instead see them as a bridge between Jason as Robin and Jason as Red Hood; as well as a more nuanced take on Jason's anger because its clear theres specific triggers for him and he's not angry all the time--even with Starlin he's a very nice kid part of the time, if a bit moody.

But yeah it's a whole thing but I think people have too much of a knee jerk reaction to hating it when Jason shows any anger and its annoying. Him pushing his mom's drug dealer down a flight of stairs in Urban Legends was pretty in character honestly. (Also idk why people thought Jay killed him; yeah you can die from a fall on stairs but he was probably fine lol)

I think Jason’s anger is too tied into his character now to remove, and I wish writers and fans alike would understand his anger is towards what he sees as unjust, not just because he’s angry all the time. And I think that anger and lashing out is cathartic to me.

[perenians]

pls dump jason feelings

it is SO HARD to consolidate a coherent whatever-the-fuck-this-is. so i'm not even gonna fucking try.

jason todd is many things. intelligent, emotional, compassionate to a goddamn fault, a fuckin nerd, but most of all he is jason. he isn't just some dude who shoots people, he's not just some dude that kills people without thought, he's not an idiot who can't understand bruce's morals. he's not any of that, but that's so much easier to write than an empathetic antihero.

it's imperative to me that jason isn't brushed off as wrong, or unreasonable, or lost potential, or someone who is just...stuck. stuck, whether it be in his trauma or his death or whatever the fuck. what the hell do you think happens when shit is never addressed? it dissipates? no. and still his supposed family throws him under the bus and gaslights him and shits on him to high heavens.

jason is the one who cares. who cares about gotham in a way that bruce never could on his own. as robin, he brought light not only to batman, but to gotham too. even the parts that were "past saving". he sees injustice and he does something about it, even if there's not a whole lot that he can do. jason sees the failings in the system, doesn't want kids to lose their parents to it, knows more than everyone what desperation can drive a person to do. he's jaded, yeah, but the fact that he still tries to do something? god i love him so much.

this is the city whose system broke him over its knee. he was in pieces but quietly, quietly he picks them back up and builds himself up again. and then he was murdered brutally and brought back, but still he stayed jason todd. he’s got a few more cracks now, but he can smile and love and be loved again. he’s careful with his heart, now. holds it tighter to his chest, hides it under his sleeve. but it beats, still. it runs warm with lifeblood.

what jason doesn't seem to actually have (at least in canon) is people who give an actual shit about him. who stick around, despite his being different from what they remember/what they thought. i want him to be seen as so much more than just an asset, or someone who can be used for a shallow familial bonding moment. he is a realist, and he is so incredily intelligent and versatile and i wish that were more obvious.

i've said a lot of this before, but it's worth saying again. jason is complex, and he needs to be written as such.

[quillsareswords]

Hiii! I absolutely love your stories and wondered if I could request a fem!reader x Damian

So i was thinking Damian and the reader are super competitive and they do sled racing but unfortunately as they were racing, they ran over a snowman and now they have to say sorry to one of his brothers and it's all fluffy and cute

(Sorry this is the first time I requested anything lol)

I'm your first request?? Aw babe 🥺 thank you so much

Anyway happy holidays bb

"It was your fault," you hiss.

"My fault?" He shrills lowly, eyes narrowing on you. He would be gesturing angrily, if he wasn't dragging your sled beside him and dangling his own over his shoulder. Ever the gentleman. "You're the one who suggested spraying cooking oil on the sleds, you idiot!"

Ever the gentleman.

"Hey, hey, hey! I was just trying to give you a chance! Last time I try and be nice to you."

"Chance," he scoffs, "as if you could have hoped to beat me without driving me into a snowman."

"Driving you–?"

"You know what you did!" He crows. "You drifted straight into my line like a damned–!"

"Lane?" You stare at him wide-eyed. "It's a snowy hill, Damian! There are no lanes!"

"What are you two arguing about?" Dick asks, cocking an eyebrow. He's crouched down on his haunches, peering over at the two of you while he helps a six-year-old Mari Grayson fix her bright purple mittens.

Damian stops dead in his tracks, and you're right beside him.

Damn it, how'd you get up the hill so fast? He hasn't even had time to think up a decent lie.

You look at him expectantly. Shamefully. Your house, your family, your niece—you handle it.

He furrows his eyes in bewilderment. Me? She may as well be your niece too! You tell her!

You reel back, eyes wide. Me?! You knocked it over! I don't want to die—I'm too pretty!

Okay, well—he may have been making the last bit up, but it doesn't matter.

Jason pops up behind Mari, hands on his hips. He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You're doing that thing. With your faces. What'd you do? Who's dead?" His head swivels around dramatically. "Has anybody seen Tim recently?"

Mari looks from her eldest uncle, to her father, to the two of you, and tries her best to copy Jason's expression and stance.

You're screwed.

Damian looks at you in a nearly undetectable panic. Fix it, oh my god, sweet jesus christ, please fix it. Because you're perfect in every way, you can fix any problem because you're the most capable person I've ever known.

Okay, well—maybe you're making the last part up. But definitely not the first part.

"Well, I mean– See, it's a really funny story, now that I think about it–"

"They killed Mister Frosty," Tim blurts out from the patio, where he's sitting with Bruce, nimble fingers wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate. "I saw the whole thing. I've got video evidence. It'll hold up in court."

You've got half a mind to charge him right now. Right this second.

"Mister Frosty?" Mari asks quietly, her little frown faltering. You can see it in her eyes. The heartbreak of a child who's just lost a friend she was very emotional my attached to. Even if she only put it together fifteen minutes ago.

Damian deserves death, he realizes. Horrific, bloody, painful death.

You—well, maybe a week of community service.

"We'll help you, uh– fix him! Yeah. We'll take you back down the hill with the sleds, too. Then we'll fix him."

Damian nods quickly. "We could make him better," he supplies, slinging the sled from over his shoulder and back onto the ground, careful not to hit your legs.

"Really?" She looks skeptical.

"Of course!" You grin. "You know I'm great at fixing stuff." You cannot possibly count how many stuffie surgeries and superglue emergencies you've handled over six years of assistant babysitting the little space princess. "And Damian," you glance at him teasingly, "well, I'm sure we can find something to keep him busy."

He rolls his eyes and drops the rope handle of your sled, as if in defiance. It seems to do the trick for Mari; she's grinning again, pale cheeks rosy red against jet black hair, pretty pink against a purple scarf.

"Okay!" She cheers, shuffling through thigh-high snow in her puffy snow pants.

"Yeah!" You agree. "Who do you wanna ride with? Your favorite, or the snowman murderer?"

Damian slaps your arm.

[mxtantrights]

The magic-spy and the bird

the best friends brother trope is in my top 5 tropes. but I've also got a thing for angst. So here we areeeee. enjoy! <3

dick Grayson x f!reader

Jason Todd had asked you specifically to ask his brother out. And he did use the word brother, which you made a point to bring up. He shot it down but still decided to push his message towards you. You should ask Dick out. It wasn’t that simple.

“Jay I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” you said.

He chuckled, “Of course I did. I wouldn’t say it out loud if it wasn’t a well-cooked plan.” 

You made a face at him.

“Okay look, all I'm saying is you’ve got nothing to lose. If anything you're way out of his league.” he said and then gulped down the rest of his beer.

You didn’t like beer and so you worked on a Pina colada. You had done the whole beer thing for years now. As a trained spy it was your go-to for missions at bars. Safe to say you were sick of ales, craft beers and everything in between.

“Ah yes, the magic using spy.” you nodded your head.

Jason nodded along with you. 

“Exactly. Bird brains would eat that up.” he said.

“And when would I tell him that I knew about his secret identity? Before I tell him about mine or after?” you asked. 

Jason sighed and raised his hand for another beer. You rolled your eyes at this. Once he had a thought it was very hard for him to let it go. Especially when it included a thought about people he cared for- no matter how much he claimed the opposite. 

“All Im saying is, you never know until you try.” 

“What are you a fortune cookie?” 

“Fuck off. I’m being serious and I do give great advice you can ask Duke.” 

2 DAYS LATER 

You look at Caliban with bated breath. He had just gotten info on a magic-based rebellion. Work was tight when you rolled with the good guys for too long of a time. You blame that on two men on your life, Jason and Constantine. 

“I’ll put in a good word for you.” he says.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. And any-”

Before you can finish telling Caliban that he can call in a favor from you at anytime your surroundings change. In a flash you go from one of the underworld crime bars to a room you’ve never been in before.

You look around and sure enough you see the culprit. Constantine.

“There she is!” he smiles.

Not only did he summon you, he did so in front of an audience. Circled around him is Gotham’s crime fighting family. All of them except Jason, Cass and Duke. All of which know about your secret identity and would’ve stopped Constantine from summoning you. The rest of the family are all looking at you liked you’ve grown a second head.

You look down at what you’re wearing. The long sleeve off the shoulder skin tight black dress was the perfect choice for the club you were supposed to be in. Maybe not so much for a meeting with the Bats and his birds.

You look right ahead at Constantine, “I don’t like being summoned.” 

“Ah, but you’re the best person I know for this job. I had to get you over here.” he says.

You take a quick look at all the other people in the room. Then at the screen behind them. Your information is plastered on it. Well, the information that you’ve decided to let the government think was yours. Your codename was at the top of the screen.

“Constantine says that you’re the best way into the underworld.” Batman says.

You’re confused to say the least. Constantine was Constantine, why would he call you in order to get them into the underworld when he can do it himself? It defeats the purpose of having to call him.

“I’m sorry,” you direct to Batman and then look at your friend, “I need you to state specifically what I’m needed for.” 

Constantine moved from the family over to you. As he did you watched as Nightwing followed him with his own eyes. Now Dick knows you’re not just Jason’s friend from around Gotham. Great.

“Bats got intel that something it going down with this magic group, the-” he starts. “hex mutiny.” you finish.

“You already know about them?” Nightwing says.

“I was just getting someone to put in a good word for me with them before you summoned me here. You’ve got great timing you know that?” you say to Constantine.

He smiles, “Well then it seems like you can be of great service, spygames.”

“And what exactly would I be doing, if I can even get a spot with them?” you throw out the question to the family.

Red Robin crosses his arms, “We need someone on the inside to tell us what they are planning for Gotham.”

“I doubt they’d let a newbie in on their plans.”

“Good thing you won’t be a newbie.” Batman says.

Constantine conjures an amulet in his hand. You want to hit him over the head. He could really be a pain in the ass. You grab it from him.

“With this, you’ll be in the perfect position to get in and get out. Easy.” he says.

You shake your head, “Every time you say that I get a new scar.” 

“I promise sweetheart. No scars this time.” 

“Yeah yeah, you owe me for this.”

EXACTLY ONE WEEK LATER

You knew you would end up wounded. Typically with Constantine it was nothing deadly, or nothing your own magic couldn’t fix. But you knew that your luck had to run out some day. And it wasn't his fault.

After finding out what the group was really up to you couldn’t just let them operate. They weren’t really rebels. No they used that name to paint a narrative. They were fascists.

You held the wound to your waist to stop the bleeding. This would have to be the farthest you could go. There was no way you could run out of this. Not with the blood seeping through the cracks of your fingers.

At least you brunt the members down to the ash. It took a lot out of you. And that’s why you weren’t prepared for a hit that tore right through you. 

“Why aren’t you moving?” Jason, or Redhood, said through the comms.

You leaned against the hallway wall.

At least you’d die someplace pretty. When you first came in you didn't notice how clean and meticulous everything was. There were painting of famous magicians on the walls. Along with some stolen art, a Van Gogh or two. 

You ripped the amulet off your neck and felt the illusion fade. The necklace fell to the floor and you let out a pained breath.

“I think,” you coughed and on the clean wall was not splatters of blood, “this is it.”

You could hear Jason shouting on the other end. He was calling out your name, calling out for Constantine to come and help you. Duke was calling for you too. And you could’ve sworn you heard Cass say your name once. 

With your only free hand you tried to open a portal out of the base. You knew it would be useless as you had a mortal wound and portal magic works best under no stress and panic, or blood loss. The usual light from your hands glowed faintly until it didn’t.

“Constantine can’t summon you?” Dick asked.

At that you let your body drag down the wall until you reached the floor. When you did sit down more blood came out. So you decided to lay down horizontally. 

“Hey hey- I told you I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you.” you hear Constantine through the comms.

You want to laugh, but it ends out more of a chocked gargle.

“I screwed up the mission. I deserve it.” you said.

“You did good. Better than any of us.” Batman said.

“Constantine you need to call in whatever favors you have to get her out of there. Now!” Jason shouted.

“Dont,” you started.

“No. We’re getting you out of there-”

“Jason, I’m not a saint. I never would’ve imagined going out like this.” you said.

Once you were born you were thrusted in this world. All you knew was to use magic as a weapon. To get ahead, to get power, to get the glory. And that lasted you until you turned 19. 

Then Constantine crossed paths with you. He was the one to show you that magic has other uses. Such as helping and healing. You learned the best stuff from him.  And you took what you learned and began to help in ways you could.

You didn’t go on the straight and narrow. Never did you consider yourself a morally correct person. Sometimes the lines were blurred, or they need to be blurred. And so you took down seedy organizations, went on recon missions all over the world.

It wasn’t justice. But it was close enough that you could sleep at night or the odd hours of the morning for more than four hours.

“Sweetheart I don’t break my promises.” Constantine said finally.

You were just beginning to feel your eyes grow heavy. The pain was starting to be comfortably numb. Then above you appeared someone you weren’t expecting in the slightest. 

“Caliban?” you asked.

“You owe me double.”

4 DAYS LATER

When you woke up you felt battered and weak You weren’t used to these feelings and you weren’t used to being so close to death. Everyday was a new experience when you’re the Priestess of Espionage.

You cracked open one eye to find a couple of deviants at your side. Jason, Duke and Cass. The youngest took the chair next to you while Duke and Jason seemed to take the floor. Since they weren’t in their gear you guessed that you were out for longer than a couple of hours.

“Not my version of hell but I’ll allow it.” you say in a raspy voice.

It wakes everyone up.

Jason and Duke bolt to your bedside.

“Why’d you almost die on me?” and “Are you feeling okay?” come from them both, respectively. It makes you want to laugh but when you feel the ache in your waist you stop yourself.

“I’m alive, so there’s that. Positives.” you answer.

Jason shoots his younger siblings a look and they scurry out the room. You try to sit up to ask what it was for but he puts his hands up for you to stop any movement. So you lay back down.

“He would kill me if you tore your stitches.” 

You shut your eyes, “Jason I don’t think Constantine would kill you per say.”

You hear the door opening so you decide to open your eyes. And sure enough you see Jason leaving the room and someone coming in. Dick Grayson, out of his suit as well. 

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t read his face. Besides the clear betrayal that was there. He definitely knew that you knew he’s Nightwing.

“Hi.” you say.

His face softens, “Hi.”

“I just want to say that I would’ve told you about who I am. Sooner that you think actually but this mission kinda derailed all of that.” you say.

With his arm crossed over his chest he nods, “How long did you know I was Nightwing?”

You wince.

“For about two years now. Once Jason told me he was Red it was hard to not notice the similarities of the Wayne family and the Bat one.” 

He laughs at that and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It must be going good if he wants to laugh. 

“And when did he tell you that I like you?” he asks.

“He didn’t explicitly say that.” 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you. But he’s the one who seems to be holding his breath this time. You try to hide the smirk you feel forming on your lips.

“What?” he asks.

“Jason had told me that I should ask you out. He didn’t say anything about you liking me.” you answer him.

The red tint that covered Dick Grayson was absolutely adorable.

He nods his head to himself. Twice.

“I- I’m gonna get Jason for you.” he moved to the door.  And you don’t really know what to say. All your words get jumbled in your brain and you can’t put them together in a way that is smooth enough so you deicide to just try your best.

“If you were to ask me out, I would say yes.” you say.

He looks directly at you. Then his signature smirk appears.

“I’ll bring back some food for later.” he says.

“it’s a date.” you answer.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

"you were missed, you know.” the voice is light, balancing on the edge of airy like a coin on its rim, in a way only careful practice yielded. so jason whirls around, faster than he normally would in a neatly-pressed suit and loose dress shoes. 

there’s a woman, close cropped red hair swinging into her face and pulling at the corners of her mouth until her expression is as severe as her form. there’s a scar on her jaw and, oh, the memory tumbles into his head as if pushed. kate kane, proof that vigilantism is genetic, once tugged jason into into her side and pulled him away from a particularly leering investor at function. the bite of her nails on his skin was a thousand times sweeter than the man’s smile.

she smirks. “hi.”

“haven’t seen you in a while,” jason responds, attempting casual and instead tripping, falling into his crime lord persona, since he doesn’t know how else to interact with people when he’s jason peter todd-wayne. 

“not since you died,” kate remarks and damn, right for the gullet. “you’ve grown up.”

jason shrugs, suddenly feeling thirteen years old again, suddenly feeling all of four feet, eight inches in the face of her candidness. “time’s funny like that.”

she eyes him carefully, trying to fish for the truth in what she believes is a lie wrapped in a careful quip. jason doesn’t blame her: he’s cultivated quite a reputation for himself. but he stripped the sarcasm from his words before he spoke them, and their rawness is shrouded in the bubbling champagne and crystal chandelier around them, but it’s no less present for anyone who knows how to peel the veil back.

“you were missed,” she repeats, satisfied with his answer. “not sure anyone’s told you that since you’ve come back. your family’s a stubborn bunch. i just wanted to make sure.”

“make sure i knew i was missed?” jason clarifies, feeling a little foolish, because dick wouldn’t beg to save his life but there were a few times that his words came close to pleas, and tim had made it clear how much he’d upheld the pedestal he’d put jason on, and alfred had actually told him that to his face. 

but this was the first time he found himself truly believing those familiar words. he hadn’t known kate, not at all. and yet, she nodded, clapped him on the shoulder once, twice, then left, completely unaware of the pit of resentment she’d carved out of jason’s stomach and thrown on the ground until jason felt like he’d slip on it if he moved, if he breathed.

she didn’t look back, but jason’s eyes didn’t stop following her until she was out of sight.

*

"you were missed, you know.” jason doesn’t startle, his training is etched into every scar decorating his skin, and there are times that he grips and holds onto those scars like a lifeline. he’s far too practiced to flinch, but he’d be lying to himself if his heart didn’t skip a beat.

he forgave himself in the next second, though. cassandra cain could make men much more experienced than him recoil. she appeared soundlessly, and folded down beside him with a grace that jason hadn’t seen anywhere outside his family. the amount of space she left between them, the relaxed posture that left visible tension cording through her arms like pulling steel taffy, the tilt to her body that made jason automatically want to open his mouth and let his tumultuous thoughts come out as an oil spill: right now, cass had dick grayson’s brushtrokes all over her.

“dick put you up to this?” 

cass shook her head, then bit her lip in a considering movement. jason wondered if he’d practiced, because bruce had long since broken that dangerous habit out of his children. 

“i am still working on comfort. assurance,”  she said, rifling through the words like flash cards, picking the most accurate ones. “i thought i’d practice.”

“oh? and why exactly do you think i need comfort.”

“i overheard your argument,” she admitted, “with bruce.”

“i didn’t think anyone was there.”

“i didn’t mean to,” she said. “sorry. but i heard what you said.”

jason scoffed. “prove me wrong. one step forward, two steps back with that dense motherfucker.”

“sign of protection,” cass said. “not distrust.”

out of everyone to say that to him, cass was probably the least likely. jason had thought she, of all people, would be on his side after he found the microchip in his helmet. she, of all people, would value independence after being owned for so long.

“by the time he found you, you were dead. and he missed you more than anything. he will never let that happen again.”

“oh yeah? privacy mean nothing to him? i know he’s crazy about this stuff but come on. there’s a limit.”

“you are not relying on him because of this.” cass stood up, stretching her back, though jason was sure she really didn’t have to. “he is relying on you. let him.”

*

“you were missed, you know.” 

“what, speaking from personal experience? i ain’t you, west.” jason could feel the gentle thrum of electricity behind him, making his hair stand on edge. two steps backward, and he’d be pulled into that void, that black hole of energy, that swirling vortex of pure power condensed into something human-shaped.

except he wouldn’t. it was just wally. just dick’s best friend joining him outside on the balcony. jason didn’t know how dick and tim could stand to be around speedsters willingly, for fun.

“i mean, sort of,” wally shrugged. “but me and you had very different experiences.”

“yeah, west, i’m not sure who else has been stuck in the fucking speedforce.”

wally snorted, an if only you knew hidden in plain sight. jason decided he really didn’t want to know. “i mean there’s that,” the speedster concedes, “but also, everyone forgot i existed. that didn’t happen with you.”

“you sure about that?” 

“hey,” wally eyed him, his eyes suddenly sharp. “don’t start that shit. i was erased from the memories of everyone i loved. you did nothing but stay in the memories of your family.”

“now i know we’re talking about two different things.”

“jason,” wally sighed, and the sheer exasperation pouring off him made jason want curl his fingers, bring them up for a swing, taste the bite of pain that would prick at his knuckles, nevermind the fact that wally would dodge anyway. “don’t do that.”

he turned to face the speedster, arms crossed deliberately over his chest. “where the hell do you get off acting like dick?”

“you’re more like dick than you realize,” wally said, “and i spent half my childhood dealing with his moods. actually, i still do.”

“do you have a point?” jason snapped, starting to get irritated. he wasn’t sure why. he’d spent his entire life one one end of a scale, dick grayson on the other. he’d always tipped his end down. this was the first time someone was telling him the scale was even.

“just because your family didn’t mourn the way you wanted them to,” wally said, “doesn’t mean they didn’t mourn you.”

“fuck you.”

“they loved you. and they missed you,” wally continues, steamrolling right over jason in a way most speedsters were prone to do. “there’s no minimum requirement for loss. no ‘if you didn’t do this, then you didn’t grieve me.’ that’s not even a situation, ever.”

“so that makes everything bruce did okay?” jason sputtered

“not at all. god knows i disagree with bruce on more things than i tolerate. but this is one thing you can’t fault him on.”

it wasn’t that easy, though. jason wanted to scream it at wally’s face, it wasn’t that easy. it wasn’t about whether bruce loved him enough,,,,except maybe it was. jason wanted bruce to have loved him enough to make a difference in gotham. jason wanted bruce to have missed him enough to change things, because change meant that bruce had been so hurt by his death that he refused to let it happen to anyone else again.

bruce had made a vow after his parents died. the fifteen year old inside jason was begging bruce why he hadn’t been afforded the same devotion. jason was his son.

“just something to think about,” wally said, then stepped backward, making to go inside where dick was calling him. “you were afforded the luxury of coming back with a place left empty in your family for you. you didn’t have to make it, like i did.”

“being dead, then coming back wrong isn’t a fucking luxury,” jason snarled.

with a shrug, wally turned, a little faster than the average human, lightning sparking at his heels as he left jason alone on the balcony. “depends on your definition of wrong.”

jason get therapy. please. also happy deathday

honestly i couldn’t decide whose side of the argument i was on, jason’s or wally’s.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @bonkybearjpeg @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption

[scramblesscribbles]

Believe it or not I have read the comics, I’ve reached the weird standard y’all have before I’m allowed to have an opinion, and it stands. My point was not that DC is neutral, nor that Jason got himself killed or whatever. Trust me, I have my own previously typed up thought piece sitting at the depths of my files about the rewriting of Jason Todd’s death and the really concerning way it related to the myth of the perfect victim. It was a piece I wrote and edited one night while dealing with my own trauma over my own abuse and then left in said files because I assumed the raw, from-experience rambling wasn’t anything not already said by far better writers with less raw wounds bleeding into the interpretation like a stuck pig. From the summary paragraphs: “Jason responded to his trauma with violence, with anger, and with hatred. He grew mean, and rough, and wary of the people around him he once trusted. But this does not rewrite his past, does not change the fact that before his death, he was once an optimistic and open hearted kid. “Except it does. “Because abuse changing you for the worse? A victim responding to violence with more violence? It’s just not sympathetic enough. Or, more accurately, it’s not pitiable enough. “Jason was not the perfect victim, so DC had to rewrite history to imply it would have always happened. That his death was inevitable; his fault. Because the reality of tragedy was too much for them to handle.“ So yeah, believe it or not, I haven’t fallen for shit about DC’s rewrite on Jason, and I know just what kind of infection lies underneath it, but that wasn’t the point of my earlier post. My point was that the unnecessary ripping into of Tim was mean. If you’ll return to my closing paragraph, where I usually leave clarifying statements, you’ll see I even acknowledge that this is common, that the current DC writers are too nostalgic and preferential of Tim, but that that does not make him a worthless character in his own right. Like it or not, the writers don’t care what we say here over in the pits of Tumblr. We aren’t anywhere near their radar, and our opinions aren’t going to reach them let alone change what they’re writing. The people likely to see these posts are just other Tumblr users. And the constant barrage of “Tim’s the worst I hate Tim get rid of him DC” has been shown already to be hurting people. What I was saying was that people could really be kinder, could try to make just a few less people feel like shit over the fact their fav is the fandom’s favorite punching bag. And before you make that assumption too, no, Tim is not my favorite Robin by any means. As for “neutral statements” I was not in anyway arguing that DC has not or never has shown preferential treatment in the past. I was saying in this case they could be chosen to be read as neutral if the reader wanted to, and since comics as a collaborative media encourages cherry picking and interpretation in ways most media simply couldn’t support, that amount of vitriol starts to become a choice.

Hey DC, ever thought of idk...not always putting the other robins down to praise Tim. It only makes me dislike him more. Thanks.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Withdrawal

(I was saving this one to post straight to AO3 because it has a bunch of line-breaks which are annoying to format on Tumblr, but I’ve been bored all day waiting for my mom to pick me up from campus so here, take this thing I wrote a week ago lmao)

Whumptober Day 21: Bleeding Through the Bandages

Summary: 

Dick accidentally gets dosed with Bane’s venom and has to go through withdrawal.

“Holding up okay?” Bruce asks at breakfast. Dick picks at his food. He’s starving, but he’s too queasy to stomach more than a few bites. He’s buried in one of Barbara’s old college hoodies, but it still feels like he’s standing in front of an open freezer. It’s the venom’s doing—the queasiness and the chills. The tremors too, along with whatever additional symptoms Dick has to look forward to over the next forty-eight hours. It’s his own fault—a simple brawl with Bane that got out of hand. A stray wing-ding punctured through one of Bane’s venom pumps, which ordinarily wouldn’t pose much of an issue if only Dick didn’t have an open wound in his side from getting thrown into a pile of shipping crates prior. Dick was careful not to ingest any venom when he inevitably got doused, but it was a lost cause. The stuff seeped straight into his bloodstream through the wound. Thankfully, Dick wasn’t infected with enough of the drug to supercharge him with more than a two-hour adrenaline rush. But waiting for it to leave his system is a painful and slow process that will take at least two days of hell before letting up. Dick has never been through venom withdrawal personally, but he’s heard the horror stories from Bruce’s own experiences with it. “Dick?” Bruce repeats, louder this time. “Huh?” He doesn’t know how long he zoned out for, but half of the bacon on Bruce’s plate is gone, so it must have been a few minutes. “Sorry,” Dick says, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth and trying not to gag on it. “I’m fine. Still in the early stages, I think.”

It’s been six hours since he got dosed. The green ring around his eyes has been faded since dawn. It won’t be long before the withdrawal hits him in full force. Bruce nods. He doesn’t voice his concern—he never does—but the skin around his mouth and eyes is tight. “There are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them.” They won’t help much; they both know that. But it’s a nice offer all the same. “Here you go, druggie,” Jason says, returning from his trip to the kitchen. He places a steaming mug in front of Dick. “Ginger tea. My mom chugged it by the gallon when she was in withdrawal.” Dick sniffs the mug and makes a face. “It smells like death.” Jason shrugs and takes his usual seat. “I put some chili powder in there too. Old trick.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “That’s what you get for doing drugs, ya little meth addict.” Dick smacks his hand away. “Shut up. I didn’t do meth.” “Whatever you say, junkie.” Tim cackles from the other end of the table. “You should’ve paid more attention to Bruce’s anti-drug talk,” he says, pouring maple syrup on his plate. Dick has given up on trying to deduce what’s going on with Tim’s breakfast—he can make out tator tots, hummus, and what has to be either mashed cherries or salsa. It’s nauseating to look at. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Dick grumbles. “Can’t wait to vomit into your pillowcase tonight.” Jason steals Dick’s plate, ignoring the weak hands grabbing for it. “What? You’re clearly not gonna eat it. I’m keeping Alfred’s hard work from going to waste.” He shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth like it’s his last meal. Dick feels sick just watching him. Tim notices and arches an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says he barfs before eight,” he tells Jason. “Twenty says he blows before Bruce finishes his coffee.” “My own brother, a junkie,” Tim sighs. “How disappointing. We raised you better than this, Dick.” Bruce reaches over and slaps the back of his head. “Hey! What did I do?” “Stop teasing your brother,” Bruce says. “Does he make fun of you when you get sick?” “Yes,” Tim says, “at length.” “Well, I’m saying knock it off. Or I’ll donate your trust fund to charity.” “Ha,” Dick says, even though his enthusiasm is sapped by the unease coasting through his body. A wave of shivers wracks his frame, goosebumps spreading down his arms. Dick rests his head on the table with a groan as his vision blurs. And this is only the beginning of withdrawal. This is going to suck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This sucks. Dick is in bed three hours later, shivering through wave after wave of tremors. He’s trying to sleep while he can, at least so he can be unconscious for as much of this shitshow as possible. He fades in and out, his side burning where the stitches are laced into his skin. Everything hurts. And he can’t stop sweating no matter how high he turns the air conditioning. Alfred comes by every hour or so to check on him, make sure he hasn’t torn his stitches and that he’s staying hydrated. Bruce banned Tim and Jason from disturbing Dick in his fragile state, but that didn’t stop Tim from breaking in through the air vent in Dick’s room so he could borrow his Shrek The Musical CD. Cass stopped by at one point and force-fed Dick crushed ice. Because siblings. Dick is nearly asleep again when something cold and wet touches his arm. Dick opens his exhausted eyes to discover Titus standing beside the bed, his drooly face level with Dick’s. He bumps Dick’s arm again with his nose, whining curiously. Just that small noise has Dick’s head throbbing. He groans. “G’way.” Titus—ever the dumb dog, despite Damian’s insistence that he’s capable of teaching Titus algebra—barks and licks Dick’s face. “Titus, down,” a voice says from Dick’s other side. Dick turns over to find Damian sitting on the bed next to him. When that happened, Dick has no clue. Damian has brought the blanket from his own room, along with Cat Alfred, who is coiled into a ball on Dick’s pillow. Dick is too worn out to bother with shooing the party out of here. Instead, he pulls the blanket tighter around his chilled body and tries to pretend his head isn’t exploding. “Don’t you have school or something?” Damian is sketching something on the new drawing tablet that Selina bought him for his last birthday. “Not today,” he says. Dick doubts he’s telling the truth, but he leaves it alone. Damian’s spotty school attendance is way down on his list of concerns, right now. Another wave of nausea hits and Dick gags, biting down on his tongue to keep from spewing all over the bed. Damian catches on quickly and grabs the bin from the nightstand, shoving it in front of Dick’s face just in time. Goodbye, crushed ice. Dick’s head pounds with each heave, the drum solo of the damned. It takes a minute for his head to shut up long enough that he registers the fingers in his hair. “You’re disgusting,” is all Damian says. But he strokes Dick’s hair comfortingly—the same way Dick does for him when he’s sick. It’s such an unexpected gesture that Dick doesn’t quite know what to do with it. He doubts Damian would acknowledge it even if Dick brought it up later, so he lets the matter go for now and chokes up what was left of his breakfast.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dick is in the worst of it now. He’s given up on going back and forth between his bed and the bathroom since it’s not like he’s capable of sleeping much anyway. He resigns himself to lying on the cold tile next to the bathtub, a balled-up hand towel serving as his pillow.

The door opens. The bathroom light flicks on suddenly, making Dick squeeze his eyes shut with a noise of grouchy disapproval. “Sorry,” Bruce says quietly. He dims the light enough that he can still see clearly, but it’s not blinding. Dick’s head throbs behind his eyeballs. Bruce takes a knee beside him. He feels Dick’s forehead for a fever. “Status?” “Dead and dying.” Bruce chuckles. “I’m just here to check on your stitches. Then you can go back to sleep.” He slides a hand under Dick’s shoulder. “Come on, up we go.” He levers Dick upright. As soon as he’s up, a wave of nausea pulls the blood down from Dick’s face. “Hang on,” he chokes out, pushing Bruce away. “Hang—” Bruce moves swiftly, maneuvering Dick towards the toilet just in time for him to puke. Dick doesn’t even have anything left in his system to throw up besides bile and the three sips of water he managed to keep down earlier. Spots dance in his eyes as he retches. Bruce doesn’t say anything, but his hand is cool on the back of Dick’s clammy neck. His side is on fire. When the vomiting tapers off, Dick says, “Think I—think I tore my stitches.” Bruce helps him sit back against the side of the tub. He rolls Dick’s shirt up and—yep, that’s definitely blood leaking through the layers of gauze. “Do you have a suture kit in here?” Bruce asks. Dick nods. “Under the…” He waves a hand at the sink. Bruce leaves him for a short moment that Dick doesn’t live through so much as he assumes that it happens. Bruce is by his side one moment, then an invisible second passes, and suddenly the first-aid kit is open on the floor. Bruce gently peels the bandages from Dick’s skin. He prods the surrounding area with his thumb, inspecting the wound. “You definitely tore a few stitches, but it’s not inflamed.” Dick hardly notices the bite of the hypodermic needle spreading lidocaine throughout the area. He reclines his head against the porcelain and closes his eyes while Bruce works. Dick lets himself drift through the distant sensation of gentle tugging as Bruce coaxes out the torn stitches, and then the more insistent but just as painless tugging of him stitching the wound back up. “Your symptoms should start to lessen by midday tomorrow,” Bruce tells him. “Yay,” Dick says without enthusiasm. He should be relieved, but that just means he still has a night and half a day of withdrawal to endure. “Think you can keep down a Nyquil?” Bruce asks. Dick shakes his head. Bruce is silent as he finishes up the last stitch. He swabs bacitracin over the area, then tapes down a fresh bandage. He pulls Dick’s sweat-soaked shirt back down. “Do you want to move back to your bed? You’ll be more comfortable there.” Dick shakes his head again. Just sitting upright takes a godlike amount of energy. Making it the fifteen feet to his bed is a definite no. Bruce sighs and busies himself with throwing away the soiled gloves and bandages. He puts the first-aid kit back in its spot under the sink. Then he lowers the light so it’s nearly off and returns to Dick’s side. “C’mere,” Bruce says. Dick doesn’t have the energy to protest as Bruce lowers Dick’s head to rest on his lap. It’s more comfortable than a towel, at least. He rests his hand on Dick’s clammy forehead, ignoring the layers of sweat on his skin. “Let me know when you need to puke again.” Dick hums, closing his eyes. He drifts back to sleep with Bruce watching over him. 

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go 

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear. 

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”  

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid. 

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room. 

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?” 

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.” 

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.” 

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!” 

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him. 

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.” 

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?” 

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions. 

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.” 

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?” 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.” 

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression. 

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.” 

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.” 

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours. 

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you. 

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?” 

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.” 

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.” 

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure. 

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.” 

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?” 

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.” 

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.” 

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.” 

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?” 

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.” 

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.” 

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.” 

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.” 

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?” 

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” 

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes. 

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.” 

[stxleslyds]

I didn't realize how often I thought about this fandom until I started churning out asks on a daily basis.

Knowing DC's creative trends/talent in 1988/89, what do you think would have happened if fans voted for Jason's survival? From released alternative comic pages, Jason still gets blown up but survives.

Do you think they had a plan for him to become Hush (like the Death in the Family interactive "movie" implies)? Would he get a personality change through amnesia? Or would the comics have retired him to fade into obscurity?

WHAT IF…? BUT JASON TODD SURVIVES.

Hi friend! Thank you for the ask! This should be interesting.

But before I give my answer, let’s take a look at those pages where Jason had actually survived Joker’s attack.

From the second page we only can see one panel but some who have seen the entire, unreleased, page have said this about it:

“The full page reveals more, including the arrival of Dick Grayson to Jason’s hospital room, although a pencilled note in the margins says to strike him, and redraw the panels in favour of having Alfred in the scene instead. Dick rushed over as soon as he heard, and offered Bruce his help in tracking down the Joker.

In the published version of Batman #428, the same page depicts Jason’s funeral, where Alfred asks Bruce if he should get in touch with Dick Grayson. In both pages, Batman says roughly the same thing: “I’ll handle this by myself. No help from now on... that’s the way I want it.””

This makes me feel like Jason having survived or not the Joker’s attack would have resulted in the same outcome within Bruce. Dick shows up at the hospital to check on Jason and offers his help in tracking Joker to Bruce but Bruce doesn’t want his help because from that moment on “he works alone”.

That would lead to the same exact actions that happened with Jason dead. Bruce goes after Joker on his own and leaves up to fate if he dies or not (although he said that his issues with Joker never truly end, Batman (1940) #429),

And if Bruce pushes Dick away then we could also be having a scene like the one from The New Titans (1988) #55, where Bruce implies that Jason getting hurt was Dick’s fault for having moved on from Robin himself. If that happens then Dick would blame Bruce for putting Jason in danger way too soon and their fight will end up with Bruce kicking Dick out of the manor.

-

So, to answer your question, what would have happened if fans voted for Jason’s survival?

I think that DC would have turned Jason into another reason why Bruce thinks that all he could ever be is Batman. It would have made Bruce dark, moody and sad just like DC wanted, all darkness and no light.

Jason wouldn’t be dead but he wouldn’t be truly alive and they would use that to fuel the angst that surrounds Batman.

It is a very sad thing, but I actually think that Jason surviving the attack wouldn’t have had any impact on his own story, Jason’s suffering/death were set up to make Batman want to work alone again. I just don’t see DC back in the day working on Jason’s recovery (physical and mental), I see them leaving Jason comatose and as a reminder of one of Batman’s “failures”. Maybe in a distant future Jason could have woken up with amnesia and they could have done something with him then but I really don’t know how they could make that story work or if Jason would end up working as an ally or enemy of Batman.

Much like you said in the ask, I think that DC would have let the character of Jason Todd fade away,

-

Because that is a really sad answer, I decided to come up with other scenarios where I would give ideas of what I would have liked to see DC do, and what I would have done if I had existed back in the day!

What I would have liked to see DC do:

After setting the fact that Jason was left in a coma at the hospital after Joker’s attack, I think DC should have had Bruce making some extreme decisions. With Jason alive but not really there I think that DC could have made work a plot point that they tried to pull off with Jason dead.

In a comic event called ‘Underworld Unleashed’ the demon Neron offered bringing Jason back to life if Bruce gave him his soul in exchange. But with Jason alive I think that Bruce would have actually been even more tempted to take the offer if it meant that by giving his soul away, he could wake Jason up from the coma he was in. Then there could have been an event with magic users that made it possible so Bruce got his soul back or something. DC could have also had Jason have amnesia after Neron wakes him up so we would have a soulless Batman and amnesiac Jason trying to make their father/son relationship work (or not).

Another idea is Bruce making a different extreme decision where he asks Talia to help him find a Lazarus Pit to try his luck with Jason. Because Jason was in a coma and not dead the Pit would have actually worked (the Lazarus Pit cannot bring people back from the dead!). I imagine that if it worked then Bruce would owe Talia or Ra’s a favour, and that could make an interesting story, mostly if Jason Todd ends up mad at Bruce because he didn’t kill the Joker after he tried to kill him. (I do love chaos).

Maybe Jason could even join the LoA to make Bruce’s life difficult. He wouldn’t become the Red Hood but Jason becoming an assassin after all that could have been the perfect recipe for complete chaos and I love that. I think DC could make it work, this last part of the idea is kinda inspired by Young Justice's Jason Todd.

What I would have done if I wrote for DC at the time:

I would have taken Jason away from Bruce! I would have Dick appear out of nowhere and I would have him take Jason with him back to the Titans Tower so they can both be far away from Bruce (at least for a little while).

If this idea sounds familiar it might be because you read another “What if…?” post that I made about what I thought would happen if Jason hadn’t been found by Batman that night when Jason was stealing the Batmobile’s tires. I will link that post here!

This time Dick would obviously be taking Jason with him at a different time and he would actually try to train Jason a little bit more but Dick would also have Jason work on his trauma and then Jason would decide to leave the vigilante/hero life behind. But not completely because I still believe that Jason would still want to save people. He would also be very protective of his brother/best friend Dick Grayson, also known as Nightwing.

I just think that Dick could have handled the situation a lot better than Bruce, he would have made sure that Jason felt like him not being Robin anymore wasn’t because he was a failure but because he can help people in other ways. He would have made him go to therapy and would have been more willing to share his own experiences with him.

I would have Jason studying to become a paramedic again (a different kind of hero) and this time he could also practice on the Titans when they got hurt in battle, if he did that then he could end up being an excellent medic for all superheroes!

I mean, in the Titans there are humans, aliens, metas, amazons and atlanteans. Jason could actually become DC’s very own version of Marvel’s ‘Night Nurse’. I don’t know, I love that idea and I think @hood-ex would like it too!

I just love the idea of Jason and Dick becoming each other's family. The Titans would also become Jason's family but he would be very protective of Dick. I just feel like Jason would have seen the whole thing (of Dick taking him to live together) as a fresh start after such a horrible experience.

I love Red Hood but I also love the idea of Jason becoming something completely different from that and this is one of my favourite ideas!

-

Oh! Before I forget, I think that the idea of Jason becoming Hush in the ‘Death in the Family’ movie comes directly from the fact that Jason “was” Hush for a second in the Batman: Hush comic. That was revealed to us in UtRH, Jason gave the real Hush all the information that he needed to get under Batman’s skin. And then when “Hush” captured Tim and he showed his face that was actually Jason who then changed places with Clayface to confuse Bruce more.

So, yeah, I don’t think DC had planned on making Jason become Hush.

Thank you so much for the ask! I hope the answer was good and that you have a fantastic week!

[bluegarners]

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual. 

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s. 

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it. 

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike. 

Click. 

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not. 

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

 ~oOo~

One month is all it takes. 

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

 ~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

  Click.

 Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them. 

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows. 

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

  Click

 Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why. 

That’s a big concept: why? 

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand. 

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—). 

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it. 

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again? 

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click. 

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage. 

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire. 

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him. 

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?” 

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself. 

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so. 

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things.  Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?” 

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.” 

Why is too big of a word.

 Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one. 

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy. 

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even. 

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain. 

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many. 

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”. 

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe. 

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?” 

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick. 

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

2.

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is. 

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in! 

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point. 

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth. 

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it? 

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really. 

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it. 

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well. 

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable. 

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair​ was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something. 

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia. 

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole. 

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan.  we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change. 

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents. 

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it. 

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!