One Word: Despicable

One word: Despicable 

Cool situation we’re getting into here 

There’s not even any reason to fire an employee over wearing a facemask. This is purely just making an ideological position that’s gonna get people killed

If only 100% of the workers decided not to return to work. Business can’t run w/out employees. Sadly, since a 1x payment of 1200 really doesn’t help anyone, ppl are forced to put themselves and their loved ones in danger to put food on the table. Wonderful country we live in.

This blog is a safe place. Abuse is abuse no matter gender identity or relationship status

Just an experiment. Reblog if you actually give a fuck about male victims of domestic violence and rape.

Of fucking course

What sick bastard doesn’t

Mind blown 🤯

Something just occured to me.

Jason's full name is Jason Todd. Jason is a Greek name, coming from Iason which means "to heal". Todd is German, from Tod, which means "death".

His name literally means "to heal death".

I’m So Much More

It wasn’t weird to randomly find Jason around Gotham. For all the troubles the city had given him, Gotham was the only home Jason had ever known. He was born in the depths of its dirtiest streets and buried at 15 in its cemetery. He spent some time away in Nanda Parbat with Talia al Ghul as his caretaker while he was catatonic. He spent some years wandering the globe, learning from different teachers. He’d even spent a decent amount of time in the Chamber of All with Ducra and the All-Caste. Even still, Gotham was where he’d always return to. Despite all the pain, it always called to him, and he always answered.

Usually he’d stick to Crime Alley, but he liked to wander. He stayed clear of the busier areas like the Diamond District or the general downtown area, but places like Crime Alley and the Narrows just a little further down were where he thrived. They were what he was used to. Even after years away, he knew those streets like the back of his hand. He remembered the rundown apartment he was raised in, could clearly picture all the places he’d camped out in after his mother died, and could recall where all the beatings he got from early failed attempts at pickpocketing had occurred.

It also wasn’t strange to find him in the cemetery, sitting in front of the grave he spent six months in. It wasn’t a mystery to anyone in the family, and no one tried to bother him while he sat there. Time would pass quickly for him as he sat there. No one questions what he thought about while he was there, and if asked, Jason wasn’t sure he could give a clear answer. Sometimes he wondered what it would’ve been like had he just stayed dead like was was supposed to. Other times he wondered if he should just crawl back in and save the other the constant headaches.

Most times, he just regretted ever managing to claw his way out. Wouldn’t it have been so funny had his survival instincts hadn’t kicked in and he’d used the belt buckle. He thinks about having just let his fingers break and bleed while he suffocated and died, stayed dead in the nice coffin they’d taken the time to place him in.

Very few times, the family would find him in the manor. He didn’t like frequenting the place he’d once called a home. Sometimes he likes to pretend those three years he’d spent there were just a fever dream induced from the malnutrition and cold, harsh nights in the Alley. The few times he was seen in the manor, it was either because he had absolutely no other choice, or because he was there for Alfred. He’d do anything for Alfred.

He would sometimes go to the cave. Usually only if he were seriously wounded or happened to be working a case with them. It’d been a long time since he’d killed anyone, and because he’d been following the rules, it was easier to talk to the rest of the family, Bruce in particular. It wasn’t too weird to find Jason in the cave these days because of that.

Some days though, like on the days he’d go to the cemetery, Jason would have off days. His family figured there were some things the pit just couldn’t erase, and trauma was one of those things. If there was anyone in the family with trauma, it was Jason. He could probably count on one hand his best memories growing up, and though he treasured them all, they also tended to just amplify the seemingly never ending hardships that surrounded them.

Going to the circus with his father was nice. It didn’t erase all those nights huddled under the kitchen table hiding away from the man. Listening to his mother hum her favorite tunes was soothing, but sometimes those tunes came to her while she laid unmoving on the floor, too drugged to so much as lift a finger as her 7 year old son sat by her side and watched her pulse.

Living in the manor had been fun. He could go to school, cook with Alfred, go to baseball games with Bruce; he could have the childhood he’d been denied. But that came with being Robin, and though being Robin had been the greatest thing to ever happen to him, it had also been the cause of his untimely death.

The memory of his death never left him. Every night when he went to sleep, he’d hear the demented laughter. If he was lucky, he’d wake up before the explosion occurred. Sometimes Sheila was there, either tied up as she’d been or joining the Joker in his torture. In some dreams she lived, and in others she died before he even had the chance to untie her. The weapon never changed, a crowbar would always be what tore through his skin and shattered his bones. Some nights, he imagined what it would’ve been like had he had the chance to fight back. Even in those, he never stood a chance though. He died back then, and he dies in his dreams every night since.

The cave wasn’t a strange place to find him, but it didn’t mean being in the cave was easy for him. Not with the glass case displaying his broken uniform for all to see. It wasn’t the only uniform on display. Dick’s original Robin outfit was in a case, beside Bruce’s first Batman suit, and all the suits that followed. Even the eyesore of Dick’s Discowing Nightwing suit was out, and dare he say that it would’ve been better had Dick just stuck to the bright green panties than worn that monstrosity.

His suit though, the one he died in, was in its own glass case, separate from the others. It was a reminder of his death, of the Robin who failed. The fallen soldier. A Good Soldier my ass, he thought. Good soldiers followed orders. They didn’t let their emotions get the best of them.

Today, he felt it was one of those days. He couldn’t remember waking up that morning, nor could he remember when or how he got to the cave. But he’s here, sitting in front of that damned glass case and it’s stupid plaque with a crowbar of all things resting against his knee and his replacement calling him name.

“Jason, what are you doing here?” Tim asks him. He makes no move to get much closer, and Jason thinks it’s probably for the best. He feels numb, and he doesn’t know how he might react to even the slightest touch. “Why... why do you have that with you?”

He looks down at the crowbar by his side and hums. It’s not a real response, but he’s not sure how to answer any of those questions, so he doesn’t. He just looks back up at the suit he died in and stares once more.

Footsteps move away, up the stairs he vaguely acknowledges, and a few minutes later, there are two sets coming back down, sounding rushed. A new voice is calling him now, and he knows it’s Dick, but he can’t bring himself to give him any real attention.

The crowbar on his knee feels too heavy now, so he picks it up. It feels heavy in his hand too. He taps it against the glass, just small taps, and it makes the weapon look like any other tool. Just a tool like any other in a tool box, but with so much more significance.

“Jason,” Dick says softly. A hand brushes his shoulder as light as a feather, and he pauses in his tapping. “Jason, let go of the crowbar.”

“A good soldier, my ass,” he replies.

“Jason,” Dick tries again.

He cackles as he looks down at the plaque. “Good soldiers follow orders.”

“You were more than that, Jason. You know that,” Dick says. He knows it’s supposed to be reassuring, but nothing really feels like much right now.

“Do you know how it happened? Wanna know how I got stuck in there with the clown? It’s a funny story.”

Dick is holding his shoulder a bit more firmly now, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to stop.

“You went to take on the Joker on your own to save your mother,” Tim says, like it’s a well known fact. Jason laughs again, but it sounds hollow even to him.

“I didn’t know he was in there. I did wait for B like he told me to. And then she came out of the warehouse. And here’s the funny part. You ready? I went to convince her to come with me, that I could get her somewhere safe, and she tells me that she needs to show me something in the warehouse. Must be important, right? She said the Joker was long gone and that it would be safe. Next thing I know, I’m staring down the barrel of her gun,” he says. He turns to meet Tim’s eyes, an empty smile on his lips as he looks him dead in the eyes. “Isn’t it hilarious? A little kid trusting a mother he desperately wanted and getting beat for it.”

He can see the horror in Tim’s eyes when he realizes the implications. He can imagine Dick’s expression too. Not even Bruce has been there to know that bit of information that previously only three people knew of. One was a psychotic clown and the other two were his dead victims.

He’d listened. He’d done as he was told to do. And still he ends up a horror story to those that follow him. A tragic tale of what happens when you don’t follow the rules, kiddos. Don’t listen to the big bad bad and you die.

“Didn’t know what I expected, really. First mom was a druggie; should’ve figured the original wouldn’t be much better. You know she smoked a cigarette while I got beat? And you should’ve seen the look on her face when Joker decided to tie her up too. She was horrified.”

“God, Jason, I...”

“Didn’t know that version of the story, huh? ‘Course not. I’m the bad example. I’m everything to avoid becoming like. Follow the rules like a good boy and you survive.”

“You didn’t, though.”

He looks back at the memorial case. A Good Soldier taunts him. A good soldier is one who doesn’t die tragically. He was never a good soldier. “Should’ve expected it.”

Dick wraps his arm around his soldiers, and it reminds Jason that Dick was never there. Not even for his funeral. He was up in Tameran and had no idea any of it even happened. “There was no way you could’ve expected something like that. You should’ve never had to expect something like that.”

Despite himself, he leans back against his brother’s arms. Their relationship was never perfect. Back then, Dick could barely stand him. The times they actually got along were few and far between since Dick at the time couldn’t stand being around Bruce, and Jason by association. When he returned, the damage had already been done. They didn’t hate each other, and Jason understood where Dick had been coming from, but it was hard to suddenly build a relationship that was already so broken.

“Nothing ever went well before,” he finally says back. Dick’s arms tighten around his shoulders. “It was about time the magic went away too. Nothing good ever lasts too long.”

Tim sinks down beside him. He feels the weight of the other’s head on the shoulder that Dick isn’t occupying. He lifts the crowbar again, hitting a bit harder against the glass but lacking any real force.

“A damn good soldier,” he repeats.

He doesn’t tell them that the only thing he remembers after his death, before waking up in the pit, is clawing out of his grave, calling out for Bruce. He doesn’t tell them that before he blacked out on the side of the road, the only person he could think to call out for was Bruce. Not Willis Todd, not Batman, but for his dad. He wanted Bruce.

He got Talia al Ghul instead.

He supposes she wasn’t all that bad. She kept him alive against her father’s wishes, even if sometimes Jason wishes she would’ve left him for dead. She wasn’t exactly a mother to him, nor was she ever winning a mother of the year award, but he thinks the daughter of the Demon was a hell of a lot better than the two that had previously failed him.

He doesn’t tell them that he forgave Sheila. That he knows it was his own fault he died that day. He’d rushed in, not wanting to risk her getting hurt by the Joker and saw an opportunity while he was supposedly away. He went in alone, and he died because of it.

He doesn’t tell them that he never blamed Bruce for it, because he knows the blame is his own, and the clown’s.

———————

Jason leaves with Dick later on that night, the eldest not trusting to leave him on his own. Jason doesn’t say anything to either of them, but Tim knows he appreciates the company. He knows better than anyone else how it feels to be constantly alone. It’s not a feeling he’d wish upon anyone else.

That night, before patrol, he finds Bruce standing in front of the same glass Jason spent hours sitting by. Tim wonders briefly if it’s a coincidence.

He tells Bruce of everything Jason told them. He speaks quietly, as softly as he can, because he knows that the topic of Jason’s death will never be easy for him.

Tim thinks that the saddest part isn’t Jason’s death. It’s the fact that Bruce and Jason are playing a constant blame game, and neither realize that they both only blame themselves. Jason will never really see how badly his death hurt Bruce and still does, and Bruce will never see that Jason just wants Bruce to see him as the same son he once lost. They both desperately want to be the family they once were and have no idea how to be.

He can see Bruce’s shoulders slump as he processes everything.

“All these years,” Tim starts, “I thought of Jason as the bad Robin. The failure. He was the warning of what the future could be like if I acted rashly, when in reality he was the Robin who trusted too much. He was the Robin who wanted to see the good, and got the worst from it. He wasn’t a bad Robin. He was just given a bad hand.”

“Her last words to me were that she didn’t deserve him. That, in the last moment, he covered her and took the brunt of the explosion. At the time, I had assumed that Jason had gone in and tried to take on the Joker on his own. Never would I have guessed that she’d purposely led him to a trap and gotten caught in it as well.”

“He blew up all the evidence of him being there,” Tim replies. “There was no way we could’ve known the truth when of the three who did, two were dead and one was the killer.”

He looks toward the plaque, Jason’s constant repetition of the words engraved on there swirling in his head. Every time he repeated the words, his voice sounded more broken, until all he could do was hit the glass that refused to break.

“You should talk to him,” he says. Bruce sighs beside him and Tim knows it’s a defeated sound. Too many failed attempts. “You can start by getting rid of this.”

“I need it.”

“No, you don’t. You need your son, not a good soldier. That’s the problem here, B. You’ve categorized him as another Robin because it’s easier for you to lose Robin, but Jason was never just Robin to you. And that’s my mistake too. I thought you needed Robin, a good one that wouldn’t make the same mistakes as the last. What you needed was the son you lost that day.

“You needed the boy under the mask, and that’s something we all failed to realize. And you have him. He’s different, sure, but you can’t tell me you’re the same now as you were at 19. You also can’t say you’ve gone through half the things he has. Jason lost years he’ll never get back, but that doesn’t mean he has to lose the dad he got. If there’s one thing you can give him, it’s a father figure. Not a deadbeat like Willis. A real dad.”

Bruce is silent for a moment, before he murmurs something Tim can’t quite catch. He asks Bruce to repeat it, a bit louder, and he does.

“It was today.”

“What?”

“April 27th. Today is the day he died. And I cradled his broken body in my arms when he found him under the rubble. It’s been 6 years today. In August he would’ve been 16. He would’ve gone to his sophomore year of high school. He would’ve talked to the girl he didn’t know that I knew he had a crush on.”

“This August, he’ll turn 21. He’s already given himself his own identity back. Media thinks he was kidnapped and lost his memories and was recently brought back. He’s got his GED. As far as I know, he really likes an Amazon named Artemis and I’m convinced everyone in this family has a thing for girls who can kick their ass. How about not thinking about what he would’ve been, think about who he is now, and appreciate the fact that he’s alive again, even if we don’t know how. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

Bruce chuckles a bit and turns away from the glass case. Tim reaches up and removes the cowl from his head. “Go see him. He needs his dad right now. And when you get back, you’re taking down this stupid memorial. Your son is alive and mildly well. You don’t need it. Dick, Damian, and I can handle patrol tonight.”

Bruce makes a sound like he’s going to complain and Tim throws the cowl away from the both of them. He’ll find it and pick it up later, but right now he’s not taking no for an answer.

“Go to your son, B. This isn’t up for debate. Lord knows we all owe him years worth of apologies for all the shit we’ve made him feel. Don't keep putting this off.”

When Bruce nods and walks up the steps and out of the cave, Tim feels a bit lighter. This won’t be a fix-it. The whole family has a ton of work to do if they want to look even slightly functional. But they have to start somewhere. Maybe not tonight, but one day Bruce and Jason will realize how much they care about each other.

They aren’t going to be perfect right away. The past will never go away, and they’ll never be able to forget the mistakes they’ve made throughout the years, but they’re learning.

They’ve survived the worst. They’ll make it through the rest. Only this time, they won’t do it alone.

Jay with freckles ❤️♥️

You’re the most special star on this planet, you never knew that. (N.Flying-Rooftop)

Rocket science!

aint this the fucken truth