#makes me so sad this poor kid

[illuteridae]

been watching twd with my mawm

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Julian Blackthorn’s constant awareness of his siblings is both so heartwarming and so heartbreaking to read

[lotus-pear]

finally started p5 royal ‼️‼️‼️‼️

expect some royal trio art soon they are my dearly beloveds (minus akechi i hope he dies in this reality too)

[demigods-posts]

it just dawned on me that annabeth probably has repressed memories. think about it. the only thing she really remembers about her childhood is being and feeling neglected and insignificant at home. then running away at seven. and she has vague memories with luke and thalia. but once she watched thalia die. the next couple years are a blur. maybe the most consistent and prominent thing her brain lets her remember are her moments with luke bc those were the good ones. and that's why she's so adamant on justifying his mistakes throughout the first series. bc he is the only proof she has of something of an identity. who is she without him?

[shinischis]

Just had the thought of kaito having severe identity issues because of how many disguises he has and how often he has to play as different characters.

I imagine that he'd have a slight crisis in his room, locking himself in and closing the lights, heavy breaths and feeling slightly panicked, not really knowing who he is or who he's supposed to be, it has to come crashing down on him every once in a while.

It'd come more often if he's back from a heist or an even where he had to play as more than one person in the same night, but if someone asks him if he's okay he'd easily hide it, he is a master actor after all.

I think only jii would be able to see through his mask of acting, but he wouldn't directly say anything as to not make kaito feel worse in a way.

As much of the extrovert he is, he needs to lock himself up and be unsocial until he figures his life out , until he's sure that he is kuroba kaito and he can go out at kuroba kaito

[elleniemae]

Still drowning in the artiest of blocks but hey, at least I can doodle.

MAN I hate Belos but THIS right here is FREAKING PEAK character design, I’ve always really really loved possessed!Hunter’s look. Drawing him is always SO FREAKING FUN

[hellsquills]

BREAKING NEWS: your evil dying child that keeps guilt-tripping you and just killed your wife kicks it up a notch by pretending to care

Endless SFTH gifs [ 13 / ?? ]

[notthecommercialism]

Ok so I recently rewatched ghoul’s rule after a decade and like

It held up surprisingly well hahahahahahahah

The whole movie truly was Jackson’s (and holt’s) no good very bad very horrible extremely terrible day! The whole time he was just going through it!

I’ll draw them properly one day but for now here’s some memes

[boyfriendgideon]

as yr favorite local jason todd fan sometimes i get so fed up with the apparent inability of most dc comic writers to write a class conscious narrative about him.

and yes, i know that comics are a very ephemeral and constantly evolving and self-conflicting medium.

and yes, i know they’re a profit-driven art medium created in a capitalistic society, so there are very few times where comics are going to be created solely out of the desire to authentically and carefully and deliberately represent a character and take them from one emotional narrative place to another, because dc cares about profit and sometimes playing it safe is what sells.

and yes, i know comics and other forms of art reflect and recreate the society within which they were conceived as ideas, and so the dominant societal ideas about gender and race and class and so on are going to be recreated within comics (and/or will be responded to, if the writer is particularly societally conscious).

but jesus christ. you (the writer/writers) have a working class character who has been homeless, who has lost multiple parents, who has been in close proximity to someone struggling with addiction, who has had to steal to survive, who may have (depending on your reading of several different moments across different comics created by different people) been a victim of csa, who has clearly (subtextually) struggled with his mental health, who was a victim of a violent murder, and who has an entirely distinct and unique perspective on justice that has evolved based on his lived experiences.

and instead of delving into any of that, or examining the myriad of ways that classism in the writers’ room and the editors’ room and the readers’ heads affected jason’s character to make sure you’re writing him responsibly, or giving him a plotline where his views on what justice looks like are challenged by another working class character, or allowing him to demonstrate actual autonomy and agency in deciding what relationships he wants to have with people who he loves but sees as having failed him in different ways, or thinking carefully about what his having chosen an alias that once belonged to his murderer says about his decision-making and motivations, you keep him stuck in a loop of going by the red hood, addressing crime by occupying a position of relative power that perpetuates crime & harm rather than ever getting at the root causes, and seesawing between a) agreeing with his adoptive family entirely about fighting nonlethally in ways that are often inconsistent with his apparent motivations or b) disagreeing and experiencing unnecessarily brutal and violent reactions from his adoptive father as if that kind of violence isn’t the kind of thing he experienced as a child and something bruce himself is trying to prevent jason from perpetuating. because a comic with red hood, quips, high stakes, and familial drama sells.

it doesn’t matter if it keeps jason trapped, torn between an unanswered moral and philosophical question, a collection of identities that no longer fit him, and a family that accepts him circumstantially. it doesn’t matter if jason’s characterization is so utterly inconsistent that the only way to mesh it together is to piece different aspects of different titles and plotlines together like a jigsaw. it doesn’t matter if you do a disservice to his character, because in the end you don’t want to transform him or even understand him deeply enough to identify what makes him compelling and focus on that.

and i love jason!!!!! i love him. and i think about the stories we could have, if quality and art and doing justice to the character were prioritized as much as selling a title and having a dark and brooding batfam member besides bruce just to be the black sheep character are prioritized. and i just get a little sad.

[basalting]

a good fuckin' day

i tried so hard to have no angst in this but... alas

day two of @jasontoddweek2025 - joker - chronic pain - fear toxin

Jason is sleeping when it happens. OR, Jason Todd on the day the Joker dies.

jason todd & babs gordon, jason todd & bruce wayne - character death (obviously) - 3064 words

Jason is still sleeping when it happens.

Barely two hours after he collapsed into bed, still in his boots and jacket, a piercing alarm from the discarded helmet jolted him awake. Snarling curses and stumbling out of bed, Jason jammed an ear piece in, he and Babs had an agreement. She only ever contacted him if she had info on people fucking around in his territory or if there was an actually serious ‘all hands on deck’ type emergency, on pain of Jason destroying every bat bug he knew was planted and going to ground for at least 6 months.

After finally finishing rooting out a arms smuggling deal that included assholes trying to slip in faulty weapons guaranteed to explode and some idiot trying their hand at being the next Scarecrow, if this was anything less than the fucking apocalypse, Jason might have to break the duffel bag out again.

“Fuckin’ what?!”

“You haven’t heard yet?” Barbie’s voice was unfiltered for once, she sounded… Exhilarated? Shocked? There was some repressed emotion in the barely there tremble in her voice. Jason went still, mind racing. There hadn’t been any whispers of the big movers doing anything. When he’d finally dragged his weary ass home, Gotham had been at as much equilibrium as it ever had.

“Heard what O?”

Babs was quiet for a moment, Jason’s shoulders were starting to ache from how tense he was. “Jay… I need you to know that what I’m about to tell you is true, my Dad and B are already on the scene and they’ve confirmed it’s real. Okay?”

Oh fuck, Jason thought, Dick’s dead.

That had to be it, there was no other reason for Babs to ring the alarm. For B and the commish to be confirming T.O.D. Dickhead was dead.

His hands were shaking, his breathing kept even only by force of habit. Fuck. Dick was supposed to be coming to ‘Lian’s-giving.’ That stupid fuck-ass holiday Roy threw every year for Lian’s not-birthday that the old Titans and the Outlaws were all dragged into. Dick promised to teach her to juggle this year. Now he was dead.

Faintly he heard Babs talking, her voice getting louder and more urgent. He didn’t know if he could listen to it, if he could handle hearing how Dick had died. Didn’t know if he could handle not knowing.

“Jason!”

“Fuck!”

Babs’ voice was suddenly a roar in his ear, volume remotely increased so that it set his head ringing.

“Sorry,” Babs said, at a less ear piercing level, “you went dead silent on me Jay. Did you hear me?”

“Yeah…” Jason sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face and leaning back against the table. “So… How’d it happen?”

“They’ll need to do an autopsy,” Just the word made Jason’s skin crawl, “but it’s looking like a ischaemic stroke. There’s no wounds on the body. Well,” There was bitter amusement in Babs voice, “no fresh wounds.”

“Jesus…” A stroke. A fucking stroke is what got Dick? Not any of this cape life bullshit? Unless the stroke is because of all the head trauma that hard-headed ass has- had gone through.

“If you wanted to go see, maybe go piss on the body for me, I’ll send you the location.”

”What the fuck did you just say?” Jason snarled, “You think I’m gonna fucking piss on Dick’s body? You think I’m that much of a fucking bastard? You can go fuck yourself Barbara you fucking sanctimonious fu-“

Barbara’s sounded baffled as she, once again, overrode his volume - partially deafening him, “Who said anything about Dick?”

“What?”

“What?”

There was a beat of silence before Barbara slowly asked, “Jason… Why do you think I want you to… piss on Dick?”

“He’s dead isn’t he.” Jason said flatly, staring at the gloomy sky through his shitty cracked window. “That’s why you used the emergency line.”

“Oh Jay,” Barbara said with a soft laugh, “Dick’s fine. I told B to update him and he’s been blowing up my phone. He’s doing shots in San Fran’ right now to celebrate.”

“Oh…” The relief almost made his head spin, Dick was still alive to be an annoying (and annoyingly helpful) shithead. Still alive to teach Lian how to juggle and to scream a little sense into B’s dense fucking skull and to fuck around at the edge of Red Hood’s territory on quiet nights until they ended up in a game of city-wide tag.

“Then what the fuck Barbie? Who’s fuckin’ dead??”

“The Joker!” Babs burst out, delighted and vindicated and shaking with relief. "That's what I was trying to tell you!"

Jason fully collapsed, legs giving out from under him. It didn’t seem real, couldn’t be real. Finally, after years of torment and a mountain of bodies and so much fucking pain. The Joker… dead?

“You’re sure?” He asked urgently, hand coming up to cup his ear, as if it might disappear before Babs could talk, “You’re really sure? He’s dead? And it’s him? Not a fucking clone or a- fuck a body double or- or- a shitty cosplayer? Or-“

“It’s him Jason.” Her voice was soft, throwing him back to his Robin days, to one of the serial killer cases they’d worked, to Batgirl gently pulling out of a room soaked in old blood and stinking of rot. (Cass and Steph carried her mantle well, but Babs would always be Jason’s Batgirl.) “I’ve got CCTV of his cell leading back to when B dropped him off after his last break out. I’ve scrubbed through all of it, there’s nothing missing. Dad’s already sent off for a DNA test and B’s got his own samples to check. But yeah Jay, it’s really him.”

Tears, hot as blood, carved burning lines down his cheeks. He inhaled shakily, “Can you- Can you send it to me? The footage. I need to- I need to see.”

“Of course Jay.” A beat of quiet, “Do you want to see him? To go check yourself? Dad’s holding people off until B clears out, we can get you in to see him before he’s taken to the morgue.”

Jason was tired, he fucking stunk to be honest, he needed a shower and a meal and about sixteen beers and a nap, in no particular order.

But he needed to see. It wouldn’t be real, until he saw.

“Yeah… You want me to pick you up? I’ll brace him so you can run him over.”

Babs laughed, too loud with relief, “Nah, I’ll go once he’s at the morgue. I want to make sure the coroners report is done before I let Harley know.”

Jason’s smile was wide and tear stained and bloodthirsty, at the thought of Harley finding out the Joker was dead. For real, not coming back, was exhilarating. He’d never like Harley, knew she was a victim of the Joker’s as well, but part of him would always wonder if she would’ve laughed at the Joker killing him if she’d still be with him at the time. But he knew she helped Babs out. Occasionally moonlighted as one of Babs’ Birds of Prey, and - from one Joker survivor to another - he wouldn’t begrudge her this joy.

“I’ll head to Arkham then. See ya later O.”

No time for a shower, Jason dropped the ear piece on the table as he hauled himself over to the sink to wash his face. Bruce would just have to deal with him, stinking and lightly bloodstained and all.

—————

Arkham was a rotten shithole, as always. The Bridge was closed off, cop cars blocking the entrance, but when Red Hood rolled up an officer muttered into her radio, waited a moment then motioned to one of the cars.

“Hey Hood,” Her voice was the harsh rasp of someone who smoked a lot, tired eyes squinting at his helmet above where his eyes were, “Give the bastard a kick in the nuts for me would ya?”

Hood nodded, riding between the cars as soon as the gap widened. Arkham’s gates were open, unsurprisingly, the floodlights on bright even against the gloomy morning and, more surprisingly, RR’s bike was parked by the entrance. Hood skidded to a stop, spraying some of the gravel over RR’s bike as he parked.

“Seriously?” The doors to Arkam swung open and Red Robin stomped out, a matte black bag almost invisible under his cape. “You can’t not be an asshole for one fucking day?”

“I never take a day off.” Hood responded, voice scrambler disguising his smirk from everyone except RR himself. “Is that-?”

“Yes.” RR said business-like, brushing the larger pieces of gravel off his seat and making a face at the dust. “Batman is still with the commissioner but he asked me to do a pick up so we can start analyzing the evidence as soon as possible.”

Translation: B’s a paranoid fuck and if this isn’t the real Joker he wants to know as quickly as possible. If it wasn’t the Joker, somehow. Then B would want to start investigating who might be helping the Joker fake his death and go to ground. Not that Jason could blame him, he fully intended to take his own samples. Just to make sure.

“Surprised he could even reach out,” Hood said quietly, ducking in close to muffle his words from the asylum workers and cops milling about, “Thought you kept your shit on DND when you’re at your boyfriends.”

“I was already awake,” RR muttered back, fussing with the bag as he settled on his bike.

“Oh my,” Hood grinned, “gettin’ it early Red? So was it your wake up call? Or his?”

RR’s face didn’t twitch but Hood saw those ears turning red. “Goodbye Hood.”

Hood cackled as he watched RR race out the gates and down the bridge, before shouldering his way through the doors. A shrink tried to stop him as he stalked through the halls, but Red Hood simply ignored them. Babs directions were pulled up on his HUD and even the rabbits warren that was Arkham wouldn’t keep him distracted.

The Joker had been hidden away in the isolation cells of the high security (HA!) patient ward, it was eerily quiet when Hood finally approached the open door. Commissioner Gordon looked like shit, exhausted and coffee-stained, his tie mostly undone and a fresh cigarette clenched between his teeth. He nodded at Hood when he stepped into the cell.

“Any other bats or birds I should expect this morning?” He said it with the tired amusement of someone who didn’t expect an answer.

“No.” B slowly lifted his head, still crouched over the body that looked like it had fallen off the bed. “Red Hood is the only one coming to Arkham.” A pause. “There will probably be break ins at the morgue.”

“Fuck me.” Gordon sighed. B and Hood shrugged at him, the Joker had a lot of enemies and a lot of people who’d love to take a swing at his corpse.

Hood crouched next to Batman, snapping on the gloves Batman silently offered him. The body was almost skeletally thin, greasy hair a sickly green and the bright orange Arkham jumpsuit made the pale skin almost ghostly. Hood grabbed a fistful of hair and tilted the head towards him.

The body was stiff, rigor mortis keeping the neck tight and inflexible, Batman braced a hand on the body’s shoulder - helping move it without adding more damage. The Joker’s unpainted face grinned back at him. Hood almost jolted back, almost expected the Joker to pop his eyes fully open and laugh in his face. Batman shifted, pressing his knee into Hood’s thigh.

The helmet captured the sound of his shaky breath before it could be heard. He nodded slightly at Batman, letting him brace the Joker’s body while Hood pulled out a small samples kit.

“Seriously?” Gordon groaned, “Is there going to be any fucking blood left for my coroner once you’re all done with him? I thought you were trying to prevent the vampire accusations Batman.”

B grunted, tapping a gloved hand to the puncture wound he’d taken his sample from. “The average male adult body has 5.7 litres of blood, I highly doubt your coroner will notice a few vials of blood missing.”

Hood side-eyed Batman through his helmet, somehow he thought Batman had taken more than a couple vials of blood on his own. The blood was thick and dark in the vial, already coagulating in the veins. Hood tucked his (single) vial into the kit, bagging some hairs he carelessly ripped out of the scalp and swapping the inside of the clowns mouth before he nodded for Batman to let go. Batman lowered the body gently, more to preserve the scene than out of respect for the body.

“Y’done then?” Gordon asked, ashing his cigarette into the small toilet in the cell.

Hood started to nod as he and Batman rose to their feet when he paused, grinned, and then said, “Well, O did have a request for me.”

B went still at his tone, and Gordon frowned at him. Gordon knew who Oracle was, even if everyone politely pretended he didn’t, “What’d she want?”

“She asked me to piss on the clowns corpse so-“ Hood hooked his hand in the waistband of his jeans, Gordon jolted cursing before Batman sighed and put a hand on his elbow.

“Please don’t tamper with the crime scene Red Hood.”

“Fine.” Hood send turning on his heel, more than ready to be out of this cell, out of Arkham as a whole. Dick had the right idea, he’d set the samples analyzing and then get spectacularly wasted. “Later Commish, B.”

Without looking back, without stopping, Hood left the Joker’s corpse in it’s pathetic cell.

——————

Jason made it out of Arkham, into the city proper and most of the way home before his hands started shaking too hard for him to stay straight on his bike. His chest was tight, dizzy as if he couldn’t breath properly. He dumped his bike in one of the hidden cache’s he wasn’t supposed to know about and hunkered down on the roof of a nearby building. Below him Gotham was alive with people, cars honking and people chattering and it was a dizzying, frenetic mess that he couldn’t quite focus on.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he freaking out??

Shouldn’t there be less shit to freak out about? The clown was dead. Why was he still freaking out?

There was a soft scuff on the ground.

“Hood.”

Batman folded himself down, crouching well out of Jason’s reach. Or- No, crouching so Jason/was out of his reach, with his freaky long ass gibbon arms. Jason pressed harder against the air conditioning unit against his back, the firm pressure forcing him into the here and now.

“Jay-lad…”

Batman flicked the opaque lens away from his cowl, tired and worried blue eyes tracked over him. “You’re alright lad.” Bruce said quietly, “You’re safe.”

“I don’t- I don’t get why,” Jason gasped out, clawing at his helmet and dropping it at his side. The sweat from wearing a full cover helmet and the sweat from this- this fucking panic attack made him feel kind of like he was drowning with it on. “I was fine! So why-“

“It’s alright,” Bruce soothed, his eyes cold and gentle. Bruce was always easiest to understand when you looked at his eyes. Privately Jason thought that was why he developed the opaque lens, why Brucie Wayne was defined by his lazy half lidded gaze. “You don’t-“ Bruce hesitated a bit, eyes pinching at the corners. “You don’t have to be fine, Jason. It’s okay if you aren’t. I-“ Bruce inhaled, set his shoulders.

“I’m not fine.”

Despite himself, Jason barked out a laugh. “That’s obvious old man.”

Bruce huffed a laugh, “Guess I walked into that one. No Jason, I mean I’m not fine about the Joker. Being dead.” Bruce’s fists clenched, “I’ve thought he was dead before, been sure of it. I hope all the samples prove it’s him. I hope he’s really truly dead. But I’ve bet on the Joker being gone before and I don’t know if I can ever trust that he’s truly gone. And that’s okay.”

Bruce shuffled closer, inch by inch, until he could hold Jason’s hands. So gently that the rough textured material of his gauntlets didn’t hurt at all. “It’s okay if you can’t believe it yet Jason. Or ever.”

Jason sighed, tipped forward until his forehead thunked onto the hard line of the Batsuit. Breathed.

“Yeah.” He said eventually, “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get ya, right old man?”

Bruce huffed again, “That’s right Jay-lad.” He lifted a hand up, gently stroked it through Jason’s hair. On any other day Jason wouldn’t of allowed it, would’ve already snapped at B and run off.

But today the Joker was dead.

Today he could let his- his dad comfort him.

They stayed together, in the bubble of quiet on the roof, until Jason’s hands stopped shaking. Until breathing felt less like a fight.

“I should go.” Jason muttered finally, leaning out of Bruce’s hold to pick up his helmet. “Need to go shower ‘n’ shit.”

“Well,” Bruce said, “I didn’t want to say anything lad, but you are smelling a little ripe.”

Jason paused, then lunged. Bruce rolled away from the wild grab, pulling out his grapple. “Come back here mother fucker! You want ripe, I’ll fucking show you ripe you old fuck!”

Bruce leapt off the roof, grappling away. Towards the batmobile and off to return to the manor.

And Jason turned away, leaping off the roof towards home. Towards his bed and his shower and the six-pack of beer in his fridge.

Before his feet Gotham pulsed with life, the story must of broken because he could hear people gasping. Snippets of conversation. All saying the same thing.

’He’s dead-’

’The Joker’s dead!’

’Found dead in Arkham-‘

’-good riddance-‘

’about fucking time!’

’-today’s gonna be a good fuckin’ day.’

Jason laughed, arched into his next swing. The Joker is dead, he thought. It was a good fuckin’ day.

[sukibenders]

One of Rhaenyra's biggest opps (in HOTD) really was her own father. Because how are you going to proclaim your daughter as heir, only to then marry her best friend and have four kids, three sons, in an environment that is against women already as is but even more so with one sitting on the Iron Throne? And then, not only, do you not prepare her for anything political but scold her publicly, which isn't good for her image, and just....hardly do anything to aid her until you're on your last leg? And yet there are still fans saying he was a "great dad" and that he "did all he could". HA, I THINK NOT!

[moeblob]

Erin, to her crush: You're a dick

Mason, the crush: I won't argue! But to clarify -

[megumi-fm]

.

[greasydumbfuck]

the holy trinity of frank castle character traits. to me

[getvalentined]

Look. I'm just saying.

If Character A's first description of Character B is based entirely on how much better-off Character B was growing up and the things he had that Character A didn't have himself

And Character A goes on to be shown regularly inserting himself between Character B and others at every turn, often implying that Character B is incapable of doing the things he is attempting to do

And Character A's biggest concern upon the apparent death of Character B is that someone else killed him instead of Character A doing it himself

And then years later we get new media that shows Character A having an intense fantasy where he is responsible for everything that is canonically intrinsic to the backstory of Character B

I feel pretty justified in saying there's some pretty intense jealousy going on with Character A!

[pa-pa-plasma]

i don't think i'll ever get over how people treat kids that aren't good in school as worthless no matter what. "oh it can't be that bad" my guy idk how to tell you this but the last time i went to a normal high school the principal called me into his office to brag about how he failed me in all of my classes before the semester was even finished & i should quit while i'm ahead cuz i'm too stupid ("officially" diagnosed as such by a school counselor & a psychiatrist!!) to succeed. & this is considered normal