when he was robin, bruce could never even slightly raise his voice at jason before feeling like the biggest asshole alive because jason's eyes would get all watery and his bottom lip would tremble and he'd tug on the ends of his shirt, all while looking up at bruce. he'd give a quiet snotty sniffle that should gross bruce out but instead makes bruce's heart SHATTER.

every morning after a fight, alfred would walk into the living room to call them both to eat and he'd just see jason in his dad's lap, giggling while driving a toy car up bruce's arm with a million new toys scattered around the room. bruce sits there with his head tossed back, eyes closed, and an abandoned newspaper in his left hand (he's half asleep bc he spent the entire night ordering shit). he also has glittery stickers pasted on any area of bare skin, including his face.

i don't think jason realizes he has this power. he's just genuinely a kid who gets very emotional when an adult gets cross with him (bc hello this caretaker child would not be able to hand that). any fight with bruce or alfred, he has to fight the urge to burst into tears so hard (he doesn't wanna be a burden) that he just ends up looking heartbreakingly upset, and more like a child than bruce has ever seen him.

bonus points if adult Jason does the same thing but it’s not on purpose. He’s just even more traumatized than before his death. He wears the helmet for a reason. But when he’s not, everyone can just see tears welling in his eyes when Bruce or Dick so much as look at him funny

god i'm so tired of everybody's bad faith interpretations of everything. where's the trust. where's the forgiveness. where's the understanding that most things are complex and most people have many layers. and like the black eyed peas once said. where is the love

The first time, Tim notices someone observing them from afar, it is when they are all settled for a brief dinner together. It is the middle of the week, and Bruce gathered all of them together to... relax. Which is strange but not unwelcome. Everyone is so involved in chattering and bantering that they don't notice a lingering gaze through the window; they don't, but Tim does.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out that it is Jason.

He is not sure if Bruce reached for him to invite, and Jason just declined, or there was no offer to begin with, but Tim knows for sure Jason lurkes behind windows for a few minutes before disappearing in the night.

And the funniest thing? Tim understands him.

He thinks he is not Jason's replacement — never truly was, despite what the other thought — but in a way, they did swap their places. Because in the past, it was Tim, who hid on the rooftops, staring at Bruce and his family, listening to the snippets of their conversations. And now it is Jason.

It is still different, of course. Tim had a choice, and it was his... enthusiastic project, if anything — Jason doesn't really. But if anyone understands the feeling of standing far away from everyone, it is still Tim.

That's why the next time in happens, Tim reaches out.

It is after the particularly easy mission, when Tim spots the red motion on the rooftop. He slips away from Nightwing and Robin, who debate about something with Batman through the comms, and finds himself standing behind Red Hood.

The way Red Hood taps his fingertips on the balustrade makes Tim remember that he is not included in their comms anymore. He wonders how lonely it is, to hear the voices of his brothers, but never being able to grasp the whole conversation they have.

'Hood,' he calls for him.

To Jason's credit, he doesn't scramble in panic, even if it seems that he is surprised by his appearance.

'Red,' he mutters back, instantly defensive. 'What, came to mock me?'

Tim rolls his eyes; he wishes things would be easier with Jason, but they are not, and he can't really blame him for that.

'Had I ever mocked you?' He copies his stance, arms folding in the chest. When Jason tilts his head, almost asking, "Really now?" Tim rolls his eyes again. 'Okay, I did a few times. But it mostly were jokes about your death.'

Jason chuckles.

'Good one, punk. It changes everything.'

'You like jokes about your death,' Tim protests. 'And I know you allow Arsenal to joke about it, so it is not entirely closed topic.'

'I don't remember allowing you to joke about it, though.'

...

This conversation is so fucking stupid. Tim didn't even came here for this, but-

But fine. He still can win.

'So, you only allow it to your friends. Fine. Let's be friends,' Jason chokes on his own exhausted sigh. 'Do you need some friendship questionnaires to fill to be my friend? I can arrange that.'

Jason kindly flips him off under his breath before disappearing in the night, leaving him alone with whining Nightwing and irritated Bruce in his ear.

The next time he stalks down Jason, who in turn is stalking Damian and Bruce, he shoves in his hand twenty three papers filled with bunch of friendship questions — half stripped from internet, half made by Tim that involve the specifics of their jobs.

He doesn't expect anything to come after it, but in two weeks after Jason returns to the city after his mission with Outlaws, Tim finds these papers filled with surprisingly neat, calligraphic answers.

And he gets the printed copy of the same questions, with one page of an additional one, written in the same handwriting, and with a little sticky note atop of it.

Your turn, Timbo.

Tim smirks.

Oh, he will so drag Jason back in the family, somehow.

NO BC I HAVE THIS HC that Jason is kinda always watching from afar too! Especially during holidays, he’ll just linger outside the window and watch them all eat together and exchange gifts while the earth is threatening to swallow him right where he stands

but augh I love this!! Tim nothing. The question papers that Jason’s lonely ass WOULD fill out, bc he does want his family. So badly. And Tim is an easier place to start than Bruce, but big enough and hard enough that it matters. !!!! also Jason’s answers ranging from silly tid bits to like “yeah and I found my mother dead after an overdose and my other mom sold me out to the joker.” I WANT A FIC

He haunts narrative in a way, he literally sometimes haunts buildings and his own siblings. He doesn't know how to come closer, to be accepted back — doesn't know if he has a right to, if he can be accepted — so he just watches. Paces around. Lingers unnoticeably. In his own old room, behind windows, on the rooftops; and sometimes he doesn't want to (it hurts him), but Bats are Bats — they are loud and chaotic, and they are everywhere.

AND, YEAH!

Tim thinks Jason would ignore it, but the moment Jason sees questions about his favourite food/colour/books or even weapons, he grips the pen in his hand. He had never had a chance to talk about these mundane things. It is practically his first time. He can't stop himself from spilling everything on the paper. And also... Also, Tim is just easier to get along with. He is arguably the first family member who didn't know him personally in the past and doesn't really tie him up to the ghost of the Second Robin. Their past together is theirs. And Tim is cool like that, so- So, yeah. Tim quickly settles down for the role of his best friend and becomes a faint step forward towards becoming a family member again.

stop bc Jason getting to talk about his interests or mundane things is actually so important to me. He sometimes forgets he has a personality outside of all of his trauma, and to see questions like "what's your favorite book?" just pull him back into reality, into a world where he has thoughts and opinions about things that aren't death and justice and Red Hood. It makes him feel alive again. and like he can be known for more than what everyone sees.

The questions bring both a bitterness and a softness, because some of them are things like "Who taught you to drive?" and he has to pretend it doesn't gut him to know the answer isn't Bruce.

but ya know, it's okay. Because if filling this paper out means he can have someone who might care about him? He'll do it.

(also I had a typo in my last reblog, it said 'Tim Nothing' and it was supposed to say "Tim noticing" lmaooo)

Reblog this if you had to learn cursive writing as a child

If you were ever told or were made to learn cursive writing when you were in grade school. I wanna see how many of you suffered like I did.

Change a single letter and change the word game

I want to play a game with you all.

You have to make a new word by changing only one letter of the last word.

Dirt

Dart

Dark

bark

Lark

Lurk

Lure

Sure

Surf

Serf

Self

Seld

Meld

Mold

Mole

Hole

Bole

Bolt

Boat

Boar

Soar

Soap

Soup

Soul

Sour

Soul

Foul

Fowl

Bowl

Bawl

Ball

Tall

Fall

fail

foil

Soil

Toil

Coil

Coin

Loin

Loan

Lean

Wean

Wear

Hear

Tear

Sear

Seas

Seal

Peal

Heal

Head

Bead

Read

Rend

Rent

Runt

Rant

Want

Wane

Wine

Vine

Line

Pine

Pink

Punk

Hunk

Sunk

Bunk

Buck

Suck

Sock

lock

lick

lice

Like

Bike

Bile

Vile

Vide

(I swear it exists I googled it) (well firefoxed it)

vice

rice

I wonder how the meteor that was supposed to hit us back in 2012 is doing and if it’s interested in hitting us now

Why Jason and Bruce Will Never See Eye to Eye

At least, when it comes to Gotham.

The short answer: Because they each see Gotham through a different lens.

This is exactly it.

No you don't get it, I'm a Good Person. You don't understand. I'm a Good Person which makes it okay for me to think violently about the Enemy, who is Bad Person. I'm commenting "you should be violently murdered" because I'm Good Person and you're Bad Person. You think saying that to someone is fucked up?? You should be violently murdered, you're probably Bad Person anyway

the problem with this culture of dehumanizing the people you hate is nothing is ever good enough. there is no apology someone can give that will be 'enough' once they have been othered. it won't be sincere enough, it won't be long enough, it won't be good enough.

because apology and growth were never the goals. the goal was always to have something to use to punish the person with.

People will never bleed enough for your version of justice.

Or however the quote goes

woke up between sleep thinking of that supernatural episode on a death echo, of a spirit reliving their death over and over & jason in relation to that. of viewing his end utrh confrontation as a ghost that has been slowly setting the pieces to reenact his death to try and understand what happened. there is a clown and a gun. your parent and a gun. a bomb. make it make sense. play it again so you can understand. play it again because it’s the only action you know how to do, you can’t go backward or forward, you can only repeat. do it once more and maybe the ending will be rewritten.

it’s about bruce & jason and fathers & sons but also maybe a little bit about sheila too, he’s putting bruce in sheila’s role (parent set up to make a choice with a gun) while also putting himself in her role (family member luring family to the clown, to a bomb). the ghost of sheila is very present 

COOKED WITH THIS

2025

ACTION IS THE ANTIDOTE TO DESPAIR

KEEP THE FAITH DO THE WORK

PASSION ABOVE ALL IS THE REMEDY AGAINST BOREDOM

EVERY DAY IS ALL THERE IS

WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE

WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE

to be honest there has never been a fictional character i’ve actually wanted to date. like. i want them to date each other. i don’t want myself as a person to be involved in this scenario whatsoever. what would i add to this narratively? what’s my thematic purpose in the narrative? immersion breaking. 

Inspired by “A GRAVE FILLED WITH BOOKS” by orpheusaki.

"No, no, Bruce." Jason sounds frantic, and he pulls at his hair, "You're not my dad. You're different."

(Bruce is late to patrol, Jason freaks out. And finally, they talk — better late than never, after all.)

Damian wakes up, startled. He doesn't remember what he saw in his dreams, and he is not sure what caused him to feel so anxious, but he knows what to do. The routine is easy and comforting; he just needs to find his brother Jason. So, he goes.

His bare feet against the cold floor is soundless, making no sound, and he keeps rubbing his eyes until he sees one of the doors open. It must be Jason. He always keeps the door of his room open, just in case.

There is a dim light in the room, a small lamp on the desk, where the stakes of paper are stored, and Jason is here, as tall and huge as always, tapping on his feet in an attempt to concentrate, while twirling a pen between his fingers. He is either reading or working on something else: writes down memories, afraid of them slipping away due to the Lazarus Pit hammering in his temples all the time.

Damian yawns and steps closer, tapping on his back.

'Akhi Jason,' he calls hoarsely. The body freezes, almost surprised — he is not supposed to; Jason hears him from the corridor, even if he is the most soundless kid in the whole world. 'I want to sleep.'

He never says he sees nightmares or that he is scared — just that. It always works.

Expect, this time it doesn't.

'What did you say?' Brother asks, his voice sounding so unusually stiff.

'Jason,' he repeats, more irritated this time. 'I said, I want to—'

When Jason turns around, Damian instinctively staggers back, his eyes widening.

The man in front of him is not Jason.

And for a second, Damian is panicking, until-

Until he doesn't remind himself that he is not home anymore. He is in the Wayne Manor, with his father.

With his father that looks exactly like his brother, only older, without scars, marring his face, and without a white streak that makes him look like a bird.

'Damian,' his father calls, slightly shaken. 'How do you know Jason?'

He swallows down. He is not supposed to tell about his brother. They instructed him not to.

But father has a familiar desperation in his eyes, the same one Jason had, when he was pacing around the room, muttering something incoherent, the cut out from newsletters photos of Bruce Wayne with Tim Drake in his hands, and-

And Damian shrugs.

'He is my brother,' he says, almost too innocently; because if he is going to be clueless about it, then what others will have to tell him? 'He stayed with a grandfather. It is a shame.'

Almost as if he doesn't understand what all of this implies.

'I was sleepy,' he adds. 'And got confused. My apologises, father. I shall return to my bedroom.'

Bruce stares, stares, and stares. And then, rubs his face with his hands, exhausted.

'I'll tuck you in. Let's go,' and a second later, with his voice sounding so familiarly small, just like how Jason's sounded when he first acknowledged him as his brother, he adds: 'Can you tell me more about your brother, Damian?'

And Damian tells him, of course.

He is not surprised to see the result of his work the next week.

Tumblr is just a nice little place where you can take off your ‘real person’ face and roll around in piles of garbage tailored to your unhinged hyperfocus five minutes before you stand up and go back to your zoom meeting

do you ever think about dead versions of yourself that are fossilized in someone else's mind

i see that this one kind of fucked everyone up

this tiktok screenshot ruined my life i need to see the serbian pigeon movie so so badly but it doesn't exist it's so foul to make this bad of a point with something so cool and then take it away from me.

Tiktok marvel fans really will be out here like "movie fan SHOCKED because i'd rather watch superhero movie #54 in blue and not a sensual 1987 french horror film about a man discovering his wife may not exist set in what is gradually revealed to be a space station" as if you're supposed to agree that superhero movie #54 is the clear winner in this comparison

Love the idea of a story about a complex issue that's told from the perspective of something that cannot comprehend or care about the issue. The way the story would be sliced up and moments that a human would consider pointless would be focused on because the pigeon happened to be there would be hype as fuck

Ok FINE I made the movie poster of it

Mališa, otherwise known as Little One, is a pet pigeon owned by a conservative butler of the Austro-Hungarian aristocracy. She is loved, and she is pampered— until her owner is murdered in cold blood, and she is left to fend for herself in Sarajevo.

In the wilds of the city, she feeds from the poor, working nationalist radicals, and the vieux riches alike.

To Mališa, there are no ethical concerns. No politics. No burgeoning nationalism.

There are only hands that feed her, and hands that do not.

This is compelling. Consider me fucking compelled.

Final shot is the bird hearing, but not seeing, the sound of a .32 ACP pistol, and flying away in shock

"From the studio that brought you Goncharov...."

yeah okay ill reblog that

”there are only the hands that feed her, and those that do not” yeah-