Jaspersgems - Jasper

me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

this is an incredible map

Dc characters as things me and my friends have said bc we are mentally stable (This is Pluto's fault)

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Steph, 15 years old: ok wait if I die before August

Tim: Please don't-

Steph: wait wait- if I die before August it'll be a funny reference

Tim: I'll put a crowbar on your grave

Tim: and a Joker card

Steph: If you put a Joker card on my grave I'll haunt you

Tim: I've watched Supernatural I know how to deal with ghosts!

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Roy: You're literally the funniest person ever cuz you were there when comedy was conceived

Jason: WHAT

Roy: You were there at the conception

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Jason: pookie why are you tweaking about Dick Grayson in the year of our lord and savior [redacted]

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Tim: Off topic but my ribs hurt lol

Kon: TAKE OFF YOUR BINDER

Tim: I'M NOT WEARING ONE

Kon: POP AN ADVIL POOK

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Tim: On my third cup of caffeine and it’s only 9 am this is like a new record for me.

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Jason pre-robin: Yeah I was smoking on the roof last night-

Dick: YOU DID WHAT

Jason: It's not like it's dangerous

Dick: -_-

Dick: I'm gonna kill you one day I swear to god Jason.

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.

Another dream lol, I’ve been sitting on this one trying to put it into words

——

Something terrible happens on patrol. It’s one of the rare nights that Bruce is completely alone, the rest of the family too angry to even be in the same room as him. Bruce understands, he really does. He hates himself too.

So, instead of sitting his family down and risking the inevitable fumble of his words, which would ultimately just make things worse, he does what he always does. He dons his cowl and he roams the streets, looking for someone to save, even if he can’t save himself.

It rough. It’s like all the petty criminal somehow got the memo that Bats was going at it alone. Bruce hardly had a moment to breathe as he jumped from alley to alley, just doing what he could.

Whether or not Bruce gets distracted by trying to protect an innocent civilian, overwhelmed by sheer number of perps surrounding him, a flashback of intense trauma, or another reason; Bruce gets shot.

Batman takes down the criminal who shot him with ease, pretending that the bullet missed or was deflected by his cape.

Bruce stumbles into an empty and desolate alley, bleeding severally from his side as he slumps down against a wall. He can’t help but remember his parents in a ln alleyway so similar to the one he was in now.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make him want to see his family. So, he calls them. The rapid blood loss making his hands shake and his vision swim with every movement.

Dick first. His first baby that he made so many mistakes with, but they still love each other. Dick is a constant in his life that he can always rely on for joy and to see the brighter side of things. Bruce is sure that if he never got involved Dick still would have grown into the wonderful and impressive adult that he was currently.

He goes straight to voicemail

Jason next. He’s not technically supposed to have his number but he’s Batman so it wasn’t that hard to find. Letting Jason down has always been Bruce’s greatest regret. He’s happy where they are now in their relationship, but he can’t help but think of the what-ifs. He wonders if Jason truly knows how much he loves him and never regrets taking him in.

He goes straight to voicemail

Tim pulled him out of the most depressive time of his life when not even Alfred or Dick could. No matter what Tim thought, he would always be his little boy, not just the neighbor’s son. He’s so intelligent and kind that Bruce feels his hearts swell every time he sees him

He goes straight to voicemail

He wishes with everything in his being that he had been in Damian’s life since the beginning. He wishes that he could connect with him now. Damian is so sweet and kind, not only with animals despite what he and a lot of people think. Bruce loves seeing him grow and learn away from the League of Assassins.

He goes straight to voicemail

Alfred has taken care of Bruce since the very beginning, even before his parents died. Even if Alfred would never acknowledge it, he knows that the three of them were in love with each other. Alfred took the place where his father would be if he was still alive. He’s always been there to set him straight or encourage him. Alfred promised him, when he was just a boy in a world of unknown, that he would always answer when he called.

…

Bruce finally calls the Batmobile and has the car auto drive to his location. He limps into the front seat and watches his city fly by.

When he gets to the cave he collapses in a cot, shivering slightly, wondering why that cave suddenly feels so cold and why he feels so tired.

Bruce doesn’t have any time for that. He patches himself up, extracting the bullet from his side and stitching up his wound. He writes his report, keeping it simple and void of an unnecessary actions and emotions.

If anyone asks him, Bruce will tell them that nothing happened. It was a quiet night.

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Okay, so hear me out. There are species of animals that reject their offspring if they don’t “smell” right. Like something about the pheromones are off and thus the vibes are bad. You can’t be mine, you smell funny. Similarly, we know that hormones and neurochemical reactions play a large part in bonding between human babies and parents. Our brains are swimming in chemicals that have us looking at our squishy, decidedly odd-looking newborns and saying “it’s so cute, I wanna bite it.”

My dudes (gender neutral). My people. My fellow nerds. Superman initially rejecting his clone because he doesn’t smell right. The kid was in a soup of artificial, clone-making chemicals and he doesn’t smell like he should. But what the fuck is he supposed to smell like? Superman having no frame of reference for this crazy feeling, for this intense dislike of a person with his face, and struggling internally with it because he knows logically that this deep revulsion doesn’t make sense. Problem is, he physically can’t help it. Something about this kid makes his teeth itch and his fingers twitch.

Then the kid takes a shower and changes his clothes and oh. Why would I push him away? That’s my baby. Hate him? How could I hate my baby? My baby. My sweet, perfect, amazing angel baby. My baby. My baby. My baby. Mybabymybabymybabymybaby.

And it’s probably hilarious from the outside looking in, because Superman looked ready to light the kid on fire a minute ago and now he’s all gooey-eyed. No thoughts, just sappy smiles and burying his nose in the clone’s hair. He’s ready to pluck the moon from the sky and hang it on a string for his kid. It’s sweet and adorable.

It’s also completely, utterly terrifying. Seeing how quickly one of the strongest beings in the known universe fell victim to his own biology, how wildly the pendulum swung from one extreme to the other. Batman’s immediately planning a trip to the Fortress to gather intel on this reaction. How long does it last? Is it normal? Is it supposed to be like this? Does it have anything to do with the clone being a teenager and not a newborn? Would it be worse with a newborn? Does the League, does he need contingency plans for this?

And Superman—Clark recognizes the sudden shift, but can’t do a thing about it. He should be scared of how every concern in his mind gets swept away by this out-of-control hormonal response, but he doesn’t want to do a thing about it. He can’t help the smile plastered on his face when Kon—what a perfect name, a beautiful name for my baby, mybabymybabyMYbabymyBABYMYBABYMYBABYMYBABY—sighs contently in his sleep or scrunches his nose in disgust at new foods, new sensations.

Something in Clark’s eyes says “I don’t know what’s happening, help me,” but it quickly gets snuffed out by “I will flip this entire universe over if a single hair on my baby’s head is out of place.” And honestly? Yeah, it’s scary, but every parent he knows—Bruce included—totally gets it.

if we’ve been mutuals for long enough i don’t even care what you post anymore. if one of my mutuals of two years suddenly gets really into competitive caber toss i just accept zenlike that half my dash is going to be gifsets of burly men hefting logs forever now. i adapt to all online conditions like an animal with high toxicity tolerance

I know Harvey pops a pro boner everytime Bruce gets that post orphan adoption maternity glow

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