The Red Hood - Tumblr Posts

He died and got better or something.

Writing for the Al Ghul Family is so difficult. For Example I want to write Damian as a character who struggles with right and wrong. Like he does frequently in canon. Then I also want to write Talia as someone who is morally grey and compassionate. But it's difficult to write a kid who is so angry and entitled but then deny how a large part of that is because of how the Al Ghul's raised him. How can I write a caring, compassionate mother Talia al Ghul when her kid is struggling with so much, let's be honest, abuse.

But then I fall into the trap of making it sound like Batdad is a great parent when in a lot of cases he isn't. Like I'm making Talia Al Ghul to be an evil parent just to make Bruce sound like a good parent. I despise the whole Batfamily is good and the Al Ghul Family is evil, black and white nonsense. Especially when the Batfamily has also fucked up with their own quite frequently.

Not to mention if you make the argument that raising your kids as assassins is bad then how can someone make the argument that Bruce training kids to fight crime around the ages of 10-12 years old as any better?

I just want to write morally grey Al Ghul family but I keep on falling into the trap that is called canon and it is really hard to get out of it. At this point it's difficult to write the Al Ghul's as anything but evil.

Anyways thank you for listening to me vent my internal struggles.

My condolences to any other writers out there who are suffering the same fate.

Young Dick Grayson breaking both his legs on patrol attempting a complicated flip on ice bravely fighting bad guys but still being forced to attend galas in a wheelchair so just showing up in increasingly elaborate ways of mobility

Random Socialite trying to have a normal conversation: So, I heard your ward was in an accident. How is he?

Brucie Wayne: Oh you know, not happy being stuck inside all the time but we’re finding ways to get through it :)

*Cue Dick wheeling up in some sort of vaguely elephant shaped monstrosity, cast legs strapped to the sides with no clear means of steering or propulsion*

12 year old Dick: hi :)

Brucie: :)

Random Socialite:

From that point on it just gets completely out of control. Every weekend Dick is spotted in some new contraption: a race car, a hobby horse, a rocket - he’s driving around stealing the show. Bruce is just happy he’s actually easy to keep track of now, and the kidnapping rates have gone down dramatically since he’s strapped to at least 50 pounds of metal at all times.

Years later when Jason is in a similar situation he thanks whatever higher power is out there Bruce donated the chairs to charity so he doesn’t have to be wheeled about in a glorified trundle truck.

Dick gets doxxed when he offers one to Babs ‘as a joke’ (completely seriously)

Slade and Dick’s relationship but it’s love like ‘on your side’ by the last dinner party

Gotham State University Representative: Mr. Wayne, we can’t thank you enough for your donation, we’ve had so many applications for our PhD progamme this year, we can hardly keep up.

Bruce, at the manor, ten minutes later: I told you all to stop mocking supervillains for not having doctorates!

Tim: OK wow. 

Jason: Just trying to maintain some standards?

Dick: Yeah Bruce, I transported a prisoner to Arkham the other day and Professor Crane asked if we were fighting people with Master’s degrees now.

Jason Todd... before A Death In The Family <:(

Oh I figured out that I can add funky lines over things with color so it’s really over now

All Part of the Job

Marinette blamed herself for letting it get this far. She should have outed Lila the moment she started spouting lies from her mouth, but Marinette was Ladybug.

Wouldn’t that be an abuse of power? Marinette wanted to let out a bitter laugh about her situation, let out all her frustrations, but then she reminded herself again. 

Marinette was Ladybug and Ladybug?

Ladybug must never be compromised.

It’s all part of the job of being a hero.

So she endures, shoves all those feelings down, erases them, and then moves forward. There were many times where she tried to let it all out, with her friends there to stop any purple butterfly heading her way. But there was always something getting in the way.

Responsibilities.

Enemies.

Secrets.

=====================================

When Marinette first started as a hero, she had tried to contact the Justice League. Nobody took her seriously. It shook her to her core, not because Marinette wasn’t going to get any help. 

Keep reading

That's right. You better run.

JASON MOTHER FUCKING TODD CAN REARRANGE MY GUTS ANY GODDAMN DAY OF THE WEEK. I SAID WHAT I SAID!!!!

-thanks for coming to my TED TALK.

The coloring didn’t take too long here. About a few hours for the whole piece. But it was split between a day.

I realized I only posted this in video form! Here is the actual artwork!

I STILL STAND BY MY PREVIOUS COMMENT!

And I know it's true, that visions are seldom what they seem

Cicada Jason.

Formally apologizing to that one lady who married the Eiffel Tower for every joke I ever made at her expense.

At least your man is FUCKING REAL.

Jerkin it to some ink on a page is fucking crazy but here I am anyway.

Anyway look at my man!

A Taste of Normalcy

Pairing: f!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary: Jason is a nervous little dweeb and I want him so bad it’s criminal.

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Jason’s favorite game to play during the day, the hours before he went on patrol and the minutes before he slept, was to imagine a completely different world for himself. He’d been at this endless loop of waking up at 4pm, stalking around his corner of Gotham after dark, and passing out from exhaustion at around 5am every night morning.

He’d spend the time between intense combat and following leads letting his mind drift away from Gotham, pretending he’d gone to college; taught English or History or something completely different after he got his degree. He’d imagine a life in a little town somewhere farther up north, he didn’t like the heat of Gotham summers, he thought he’d enjoy seeing the frozen lakes in Maine winters. He’d thought of a family of his own, when he felt generous he’d let himself imagine a girl, too.

It was daydreaming that gave him the smallest taste of normalcy; a hint of what could’ve been, if things were different. He hated when reality pulled him back, when he was reminded of how truly impossible that dream was. Until he met y/n, that is.

Y/n worked at a coffee shop he sat in once after a lead ran cold. He had time to kill, and the cafe was advertising a new drink he wanted to try. He paid for the drink and sat down at the table, ignoring the way the cashier stared at him like he was carrying a gun. He was, of course, but it’s not like she knew. As the girl handed the order slip to barista and whispered, Jason kept his eyes fixed out the window like he was witnessing the Second Coming of Christ. He knew he had an intimidating appearance, he didn’t want to make anyone else sweat with his eye contact right now.

He heard chatter over the soft music and the burring noise of the espresso maker, and while he tried to tune it out, it felt impossible after he heard that voice. Her voice. She laughed at whatever her coworker said and Jason felt his heart twinge. He didn’t want to look over, he didn’t want to encourage his already concerning interest in a faceless voice.

When she said his name, he swore his heart stopped in his chest. He mentally cursed himself for his pathetic swooning, knew he needed to get out of the house more if he was lonely enough to get this excited over a voice. That argument would’ve worked, too, if he didn’t catch her eyes watching him as he walked over.

No one had ever looked so equally enticing and terrifying to him before. He was ashamed of the poetry that flew through his mind as he noticed the array of freckles across her nose, the way it wrinkled slightly when she smiled at him, the light rose on her cheeks, the loose strands of hair that fell behind her neck from her messy ponytail. He vividly recalls telling his brother Dick all of this over the phone later, claiming he must’ve met a Kryptonian, or maybe an angel.

He must’ve stood there at the counter for at least a minute in silence, the way she tilted her head slightly and lifted her brow with confusion.

“Does it look okay?”

Shit.

She sounded earnest in her concern, and it made it all the worse for his growing infatuation. He shook his head too quickly, smiled too awkwardly, spoke too loudly.

“No, no— I mean, yes, it’s perfect! Good. It looks good.”

He felt his cheeks burning and his hands clamming up. He coughed as he grabbed the drink, hoping she would focus on the sound and ignore the way his hands shook. She glanced down at his hands, anyway. He swallowed and pivoted around, beelining it to the door like he was trying to run from an explosion. Which, in a metaphorical sense, he was. He froze when he heard her call his name again, and turned his head slightly, praying the ever-loving terror in his eyes at speaking to a girl twice didn’t translate. Twenty-four year old men shouldn’t sweat so much at the mere concept of talking to a girl, but yet, here he was.

Her smile in that moment felt like putting frozen peas on a swollen ankle. He needed to work on his similes.

“You forgot your receipt!”

He swallowed and shook his head, turning back to the door as he responded.

“N-No, I didn’t need-“

She clears her throat and wags the paper out at him, seemingly refusing to accept his polite decline. He smiles nervously and walks back over, grabbing the receipt (too quickly, again), mumbling a quick “thank you” before he practically runs out of the cafe. He balls the receipt in his hand and reaches towards a trash can on the street, pausing inches away from the lid at a glimpse of pink on the black and white paper. He almost rips the paper in half when he unfurls the receipt, his lips curling into a grin when he sees 10 digits and a little message scrawled onto a receipt that, he realized now, wasn’t his.

Text me if you’re feeling brave, tough guy.

- Y/n :)

He thought he was pathetic for the squeal that left his body at some messy handwriting from a pink gel pen. He straightened up and cleared his throat, forcing the Jason-Todd-Scowl (trademark pending) to return to his face, ignoring the way his heart was racing. He couldn’t help himself, though, when he got home. He sat there on the floor of his nearly-empty apartment, his phone in one hand and the receipt in the other. Panicking.

“And that’s where I’m at now. What do I do, Dick? Is it too soon to-“

He heard wheezing from the other line and he knew he’d messed up, assuming Richard “Dickhead” Grayson would be of any assistance. He bit his cheek and wished he’d called Roy instead. After a while Dick catches his breath and speaks, his amused grin impossible to miss in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry, Little Wing. I just—- I’m confused. You somehow managed to get a girl interested enough to give you her number, but you didn’t even-“

“No, I didn’t text her, Dickweed. You should’ve seen the girl! What the hell do you say to that?!”

Dick stifles a laugh and tries to maintain his composure.

“Jay, you’re a dumbass. She obviously wants you to-“

Jason could hear a distant voice on the line. A voice that sounded a lot like a certain brat he avoided telling ANYTHING to in fear of-

“Is Todd still whining about his crush? Tell him to stop being such a-“

Jason hung up the phone before Damian could whip out any more of his Shakespearean insults, he’d gotten enough of those in the past hour. He sighs and rubs his eyes, checking the time.

5:57pm.

Three hours after he left the cafe, and he still couldn’t produce the courage to send one text message. He read the note over again, typing in the phone number and throwing up one last Hail Mary before he sent a quick “Hey, it’s Jason.” He dropped his phone back onto the floor and groaned, hiding his face in his hands and berating himself for his lackluster message. He prayed it would be enough to get a response, but he was a realist, so he knew it probably wouldn’t.

It only took 2 minutes and 32 seconds for his phone to buzz.

Took you long enough, tough guy.

| • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • |

Hi guys, I originally wrote this as a way to feed my horrible and disgusting addiction to Jason fluff but unfortunately I got carried away and now I think I might make this a thing (writing fanfics). I think it’s the natural trajectory for a freak like myself. Anyway!

Absolutely unhinged thing to say, well done Todd👍

Yes how camp mhm very campy Batman

Dick Grayson sketches ! Also if I had to say which musical artist he gets I’d say Lana del Rey LISTEN guys her music is cunt and gorgeous and tragic it’s literally him. Also… mayhaps sleeptoken HEAR ME OUT

Jason gets korn and all classical music Chopin, Ludovico Einaudi, Mozart, Beethoven etc because I said so. LYCORIS RADIATA ! that too listen to it. Why am I assigning artists to dc characters? Because I can. Also maybe if I sketch some others I’ll give my opinions on those too idk gimme inspo if u want<3

i had to participate with a highly specific crossover that is relevant to 2 people including me

[DC] some messy Jasons 😽💕

She red on my hood til i joker