#jason no bitches todd

[nothingleftforme]

the jason todd and jaime reyes agenda is growing in my brain i fear… BLUE beetle and RED hood oh it’s bad for me

[that-sea-sponge]

Your honor, I see no lies here.

[batfam-stuff-posts-0]

Tim: You don't want Dick to die

Tim: And I don't want Dick to die

Tim: So now we gotta make sure Dick doesn't want Dick to die.

Jason: Fantastic plan but have you fucking met Dick

[inkpotsprite]

You just know he picked that up from Jason.

[swugflower]

Brucie Wayne gets interviewed and the question who, expect Batman, is his favorite Gotham hero.

After some awkward moments of silence, he blurts out that it’s Spoiler. Since she is the only one from the main active team that isn’t his kid and this way he avoids picking a favorite.

Meanwhile, the group chats explodes into chaos instantly.

[who-always-pays-their-taxes]

Almost 40 yrs later and Jason’s gotta deal with the same shit.

Original Panels from Batman Vol. 1 #408 (1987) and The Boy Wonder #2 (2024)

[methoughtsphantom]

silly headcannon #2 that Bruce never got the reference that Jason always made of himself being short round (he always thought it was Jason saying he was short) until after he died and Tim, avid Indiana Jones fan made Bruce watch the movies with him, only the man breaks out crying., sobbing, full on breaking down over the two second scene that is Indy ruffling Short Round’s hair as he explains they first met when he caught the kid stealing from him, and then took him under his wing.

[mostly-imagines]

I Missed My Funeral

jason todd x reader

aka you learn what happened to jason

warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort

You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.

Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.

It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.

Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.

You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities. 

Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.

“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual. 

You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”

His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”

“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.

He goes still. 

You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”

He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”

He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.

“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.

You nod.

“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”

You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.

His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”

You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that. 

It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.

His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”

Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.

You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part. 

“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”

Oh.

You can physically feel your chest sink.

That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people. 

You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to. 

“How old were you?” 

He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.

Oh.  

You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.

But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?

He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”

He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go. 

He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.” 

“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”

It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”

While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.

“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”

He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…

He does remember the other part.

You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up. 

“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”

“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.” 

The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.

His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”

You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”

You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.

You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose. 

There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family. 

You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.” 

You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.

He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.

You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”

He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.

You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”

He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.

It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.

You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”

He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”

He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.

Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.” 

You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.

“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”

You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”

“The robin suit.”

You pause.

“That robin suit?”

He nods.

…what

for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well

🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮

[irn-bru]

my genuine reaction watching batman beat the ever loving fuck out of Jason in under the red hood when the only other batfam media I know is wayne family adventures

[reginalusus]

No fic animation this time because I'm actually writing it, so take this TFZ thing instead, lmao. And, yes, I kept their white hair because I believe in their white, fluffy hair supremacy, yes.

Two bits of the process shown on my dumb Ko-Fi.

Panels it's based on under the cut:

Obviously I had to take some directorial decisions with the dialogue.

[meowkn]

Jason loves going on patrol… or to be specific he loves coming home after patrol. He loves coming home to you, who kisses he wounds better and stays up with him until he falls asleep. He knows that his night schedule inconveniences you, and he begged you not to stay up for him, yet he won’t admit that he loves it when you do. Maybe that was selfish of him, to hope that you’d stay up for him, but you’re his ray of light in the dark of the night.

He loved the nights where you'd rush to him, your hands gently tracing the bruises and cuts that marred his skin. Each touch was a balm, each kiss a salve that not only healed his physical wounds but also soothed his weary soul. He'd watch as you tended to him, your face etched with worry and love so profound it made his heart ache. He loved the moments where he could just rest his head on your shoulder until he fell asleep, the weariness and the exhaustion from the patrol kissed better by you.

But.... He also loved the nights where he would come home sweaty, the smell of gunpowder and leather practically radiating off of him, his hair stuck to his forehead and his body all tense, those were the nights where you'd really take care of him. You'd sit him down on the couch, before straddling him, your knees pressed against his thighs.

"I'm sweaty..." He'd mutter breathlessly, his voice low and raspy from his long night. He could feel your soft lips against his neck, pressing featherlight kisses trailing up to his jawline.

"Don't care... You smell good." You murmur against his skin, nibbling right above his adams apple.

He chuckles lowly. "Yeah? You like the smell of gunpowder?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at you, glancing down through his eyelashes as you continue to press kisses to his neck.

"Mm..." You mutter already distracted with your ministrations. "It's sexy."

"It must be the leather." He says, his breath catching in his throat as he feels your hand slip underneath his shirt, tracing one of his scars.

"God, you're needy tonight, huh?"

Yeah, maybe this patrol thing isn't so bad after all.

[temperamentalaquarius]

Ugh the way fanon Jason calling Tim replacement v.s. canon Jason calling Tim pretender flattens Jason's motivations and the whole Jason and Tim relationship. 'Replacement' directs all of Jason's anger to Bruce. It makes Tim and Jason allies in victimhood. 'Here is this callous man that views us as interchangeable, can't you see that we're nothing to him?' 'Pretender' though... that holds Tim accountable for his role in making Jason's death meaningless. 'You saw everything I was, all that I gave, and you used it as a springboard to become what I should have been' is a lot more complex, and a lot more thematically accurate to Jason's whole deal. It's a larger gap for the characters to bridge, especially when Tim is coming from the perspective that his becoming Robin was not only right, it was necessary.

[yourlocal-edgelord]

it would be so funny if dick was the only one in the family who actually has a resting bitch face. Like if you catch him off guard and hes not smiling your in for a treat, and jason would be so jealous bc he wants an rbf

————————

jason: hey dickface pass the maple syrup

dick who slept fifteen minutes then was called to breakfast: *turns around looking like hes glaring at jason and passes the syrup*

Jason: *in pure non lazarus pit fury* HOW COME HE GETS A RESTING BITCH FACE AND I DONT?!?

Dick now with pure confusion: what do you mean?

[batfam-stuff-posts-0]

Jason, on the floor: Go on without me!

Dick, crying, kneeling beside Jason: No! We can get through this!

Jason: There's no time! You must defend our honor. Don't let my death be for nothing!

Dick, sobbing: I can't do this without you!

Jason: Goodbye, brother. *goes limp*

Tim, whispering to Damian: They do realize that this is just a dodgeball game, right?

Damian, aiming at Dick: Drake, this is war. Show no mercy.

[daydreamerwonderkid]

He has no fucking business looking this cute.

Motherfucker stuffed 8 heads into a duffle bag and then proceeded to have the most unnecessary/overblown homecoming party ever.

He's a literal crime lord. And yet.

[navree]

i think more people need to realize that the circumstances of how jason todd died would make him deeply untrusting of not only other people, not only himself and his own instincts, but specifically other people's proclamations of what they feel about/for him and how he reacts to that in turn