It Was An Accident :(((

jason todd as my experience getting glasses:

Jason: *leans over to tim* what does that billboard say? tim: tim: damn, you blind as fuck jason: DID I ASK FOR THE SASS OR THE FUCKING BILLBOARD

jason: i can't find the paprika- alfred: it's right there, master jason stephanie: do you need your eyes checked? jason: i made an appointment seven months ago and it's still gonna be like five weeks from now stephL: i guess you're . . . . jason: don't you fucking say it, blondie steph: *whispers* blind as a bat jason: *running at her* im going to kill you

jason: what does that say? bruce: *frowns* you can't read that? jason: no i can im just asking---OBVIOUSLY FUCKING NOT

bruce: hey can you read that menu for damian, he's too short to see it jason: no i can't bruce: why not? tim: he's a blind old man jason: and people wonder why i tried to blow all y'all up

jason: i knew my years of obsessively reading no matter the light source or proximity to my face would simeday bite me in the ass. but i really thought it would be like, me walking off a building with my nose in a book or some shit. not having my eyeballs rebel against me. bruce: this is concerning on very many levels

jason: *goes to eye appointment* doctor: so when was your last visit to the eye doctor? jason: jason: um. never. doctor: . . . and, uh, regular doctor? do you have any paperwork from that at least? jason: *laughs* no. doctor: . . . birth certificate? jason: what do i look like, an adult? doctor: *staring up at the brick powerhouse in front of him* . . . yes? jason: *slaps knee* that's a good one. hang on, lemme call my brother. he can probably help seeing as when i was recently dead he was the one that filed all my paperwork and kept my birth certificate and all that shit. doctor: *having an aneurysm* recently dead-

jason: *reading letters off as doctor puts them on the screen* z . . . h . . . . p . . . q? . . . r . . . doctor: *winces* jason: you know i can still see your face right doctor: jason: why are we even doing this. im 100% sure i need the fucking glasses.

jason: *texting roy later* guess who's eyes worked just enough to see the supresssed winces on the doctors faces as they read off every other letter incorrectly roy: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH jason: your lack of sympathy is appalling

jason: *sends photo of himself in new glasses* roy: you're giving off . . . librarian in small town who knows everyone and their grandmother's grandmother but when asked not a single person in the town could tell your name jason: that was better than literally any other compliment anyone could have given me and i love you forever

jason: *walsk in wearing glasses* tim: ooooooooooo nerd jason: i hate this family

been reading world's finest comics and fell in love with superbat co-parenting robin dynamic. that's litcherally their son

idk okay

What we doing DC

Since we all agree that people of the Alley of Crime adore Red Hood and believe in him, I think it is time to imagine Jason in a scene similar to the one from OG Spiderman, where his identity is accidentally outted in front of crowd of people, and they all are just choose to protect him and help him out.

So maybe Gotham is facing especially nasty trouble, and vigilantes are on the receiving end this time. So maybe Jason is thrown at the dirty Alley in his part of town, wounded, with helmet flying off, and there is just a crowd of people staring as bleeds out, astonished. And Jason thinks, oh, that's the end — he can go and shoot himself, honestly, because he just failed the man rule every vigilante have: never show your face, never reveal your identity.

But people are... helping him? His eyes are half-open, breath laboured and pained, but all he hears is gentle murmuring:

'God, he is just a kid...'

'He must be younger than my son.'

'Poor child...'

He feels soft elderly hand against his cheek as someone from the crowd, an ex nurse, comes closer to bandage his injuries, while a kid, barely with the size of his helmet, brings it back, sticking out their tongue as they try to place it back on his head, to hide his face.

'It is okay,' the old woman reassures him. 'You are safe with us, son. We hadn't seen anything.'

Jason's eyes sting, because, oh.

It is his people. He loves them. He will die for them.

And they love him just as much.

He still waits for someone to out him, though. But the week ends, the villain is out of the picture, and no one says a thing. The only proof that it ever happened is civilians, who keep waving at Jason — not Red Hood, just Jason — when their paths cross somewhere in the shops or streets.

And that's how he knows that it is them; it is them, and they keep him safe as much as he keeps safe them.

some jasons and damians thats been piling up :]

(and tim and alfred the cat)

*phone call*

Jason; I’m sorry, Talia. I can’t kill Bruce.

Talia: You asked me yesterday if I could “break Bruce out of the afterlife so I can kill him over and over.”

Jason: Yeah…that would have been fun. But he’s given me an offer I can’t refuse.

Talia: He killed the clown?

Jason: He gave me a first edition Pride and Prejudice book. It says by a lady instead of Jane Austen.

Talia: You are sacrificing months of training and planning for a book?

Jason: I’m weak, Talia. I’m weak.

Family picture

Bruce was not invited

Since we all agree that people of the Alley of Crime adore Red Hood and believe in him, I think it is time to imagine Jason in a scene similar to the one from OG Spiderman, where his identity is accidentally outted in front of crowd of people, and they all are just choose to protect him and help him out.

So maybe Gotham is facing especially nasty trouble, and vigilantes are on the receiving end this time. So maybe Jason is thrown at the dirty Alley in his part of town, wounded, with helmet flying off, and there is just a crowd of people staring as bleeds out, astonished. And Jason thinks, oh, that's the end — he can go and shoot himself, honestly, because he just failed the man rule every vigilante have: never show your face, never reveal your identity.

But people are... helping him? His eyes are half-open, breath laboured and pained, but all he hears is gentle murmuring:

'God, he is just a kid...'

'He must be younger than my son.'

'Poor child...'

He feels soft elderly hand against his cheek as someone from the crowd, an ex nurse, comes closer to bandage his injuries, while a kid, barely with the size of his helmet, brings it back, sticking out their tongue as they try to place it back on his head, to hide his face.

'It is okay,' the old woman reassures him. 'You are safe with us, son. We hadn't seen anything.'

Jason's eyes sting, because, oh.

It is his people. He loves them. He will die for them.

And they love him just as much.

He still waits for someone to out him, though. But the week ends, the villain is out of the picture, and no one says a thing. The only proof that it ever happened is civilians, who keep waving at Jason — not Red Hood, just Jason — when their paths cross somewhere in the shops or streets.

And that's how he knows that it is them; it is them, and they keep him safe as much as he keeps safe them.