I can't help but to think that one of the major, core things about Jason Todd is that he loves people more than they love him, or at least he loves people that can't show him that they love him in specific ways.
Bruce: accused him of murder at the age of 15 and didn't believe him when he said he didn't do it, didn't notice that he left the country (I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that was the case), put up the case™ calling Jason a 'good soldier', shit talked Jason and blamed him for his death after Tim and the others came into the picture, threw a batarang at Jason's throat and left him to bleed out in the rubble, dragged Jason to the site of his murder instead of asking him how he got back like a normal human being, beat the shit out of Jason and kicked him out of his home city after Jay 'shot' Penguin instead of using his words and asking Jason why, didn't apologize but simply justified his actions as Jason needing to be smacked around once in a while, Gotham...War. He says that he loves Jason but still did these things and Jason still goes back to him after rocking his shit a little.
Alfred: apparently also shit talked Jason after mourning for a bit. Also, I'm pretty sure that I read somewhere that he's the one who came up with the 'A Good Soldier ' plaque. Jason would still do anything for him.
Sh*ila: saw this 5'3 kid who placed his complete trust in her and wanted to help her to the best of his ability and almost eagerly led him like a lamb to the slaughter to gain an advantage, smoked with watching him get beat with a crowbar, only gave a shit about her actions when it was her turn to find out. Jason tried to protect her from the blast.
I can't really blame Catherine for anything because she was sick and it is what it is. It sucks ass and it's shit but what could have anyone really done?
He looked up to Barbara and one of the first things that she said to him was that he'll never be Dick Grayson.
The point is that it seems like he gives too much of himself to people or hold them in high regard and they either leave him because of extenuating circumstances, die, or decide to go, "fuck you, specifically".
He's been failed by almost every single parent he's ever had and he keeps going back to them. Any other relationship turns to dust at his fingertips. He's like the opposite of King Midas. His story is a tragedy and I love him so much.
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My frustration with Jason Peter Todd is that there is a universe out there where he was given a decades-long character arc; one where he could learn from his mistakes, and make amends where necessary, all the while still acknowledging the pain both caused by himself, his actions, his decisions, as well as the flipside, the harm he has personally lived through intentional or not.
This is a character that will always have his motives and ideology shaped by the trauma he lived through and died for, but the way it feels like current comics interact with that trauma is just one big bad event that everyone else has gotten over and yet he is never allowed to move on from. All he is ever allowed to be is the self-proclaimed black sheep, the one who died, but he's not able to deconstruct what all that meant for him, his morals and foundational beliefs as a character, because we had to shove it all aside way to quickly to make room for big happy bat family.
His entire existence feels like it is there to either serve as a punchline or surface level angst when needed. No one knows what to do with Jason anymore because they never gave him the space for real character growth when it was necessary.
I feel like I'm always like haha yeah Jason Todd, I wish he was worse. I wish he was in more pain. I wish he was alone, and he hated everyone again and vise versa. But it's more that I find his personal morals and ethics fascinating, I just wish they were properly fleshed out and given the time and consideration to evolve and expand along with his growth as a person. I want him to be wrong. I want him to fuck up, and fuck up again. His passion is what makes him interesting!!
I also want him to learn and grow into his skin without throwing away everything he stands for. That he could actually become a solid argument to the status quo that mainline comics can find themselves falling into, one that you get the sense he was originally brought back to be. But instead, he's the angry one that is insane and kills people, or swing way too hard in the opposite end, and all of his claws have been filed off— he's just a sad boy with no real poignant internal dilemmas anymore.
Idk, maybe I like the idea of a guy being able to heal over time. Maybe the idea that you are doomed to relive the mistakes of the past forever is exhausting. But what we have right now is so boring and lame that I'm out here advocating for them to just kill him off again.
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was thinking about this again and... i mean it’s not really the prompt but it did remind me of the ghostspeak-from-afar thing
anyway have this thing that was sitting in my notes for ages
.
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“Once the doorway has been opened, it cannot be so easily closed again.”
Clockwork’s warning rings in his ears, over and over again, even as he helps the rest of his fright pack their things into the Spectre Speeder.
It is a risk. Perhaps not one he should be taking, as King-to-be, but...
There is an ache, a hollow place where another of their little ghostly family used to be. Something had ripped one of their own from them, and ghosts are not beings who let go easily. Team Phantom will not give up hope of finding their lost member any easier.
So they gather what they cannot leave behind, unsure when they will be back (if they will ever be able to return) and sequester it all away in the Speeder, along with everything they’d need to build a portal or three to the Ghost Zone, their weapons, and enough ectoplasm to keep a city running for thirty years; they say their goodbyes without fanfare and promise to call if they can get the Fenton Fones working where they’re going.
And then they leave, disappearing through the portal in the Fentons’ basement.
Clockwork said that Jason had been forcibly returned to whence he came. That is their only clue, except for the stories he used to tell - about a dark city, and a man dressed as a bat, and rooftops guarded by gargoyles.
They will start with that.
.
Jason is angry, and mourning, and half-convinced his memories of the time in between dying and living are little more than strange fantasies.
The other half of him already knows there is no way back, even if the memories are real.
(His fright is gone and it hurts- )
He tells no one of the memories. He speaks nothing of ghosts, and infinite realms, and a half-dead boy and his friends and the things they did together. Instead he settles back into a life he had left behind, a skin that feels too big for him and yet far too small, a world that is familiar in the worst of ways.
He goes along with the woman who dragged his soul back into his walking corpse until she turns him loose on Gotham, and he rages and kills and taunts the Bat with all his failures because he has nothing else.
He wrestles with the corrupted energy of the Lazarus Pit and does things he regrets. He stands on a precipice, balanced precariously between what he thinks he can live (hah) with and what he knows he cannot. He decapitates drug lords. He avoids the new Robin. He kills those who harm the innocent. He doesn’t interfere when he sees the bats in trouble. He claims Crime Alley as his turf (his haunt, wails something inside of him) and becomes a crime lord. He can’t help himself from leaving clues for the bats, that the boy they buried might not be truly gone.
He fights the Bat, once. It is violent and bloody and when it’s over Jason is left seething with rage that both is and is not his own.
So the next time they cross paths, he fights the Bat again.
And again.
And-
(There is a sound like a bell, like ice shifting, like whale song, like static and the caw of crows and a million other little things; the silent ringing of the space between stars, cold and heat and light and colour. It is a roar and a whisper and a siren’s call, a voice so familiar to him that it soothes the jagged, broken pieces inside of him.
It rings across Gotham, not heard so much as felt down to your very bones; once, twice. He is still, no breath in his lungs, and though Batman is mere yards away with hands on a batarang and a grapple, Jason pays him no attention: his sight is riveted on the horizon, searching for a figure he knows like his own soul.
The third time, Jason answers in kind: a trilling that is too loud to have come from his physical throat. It sounds like glass splintering and the silence after an explosion and the click-click-click of picking a lock, like the clang of metal against metal and the strange sound that lingers in the air afterward, like wings beating and the lyrical call of a lone bird, like a fire burning dry grass.
It contains all the things that have gone unsaid for the past two and a half years he has been alone. Pain and loneliness and anger at things he cannot change. And relief. So much relief that his limbs are weak with it.
They’re here. They’re here they’re here they’re here
They came for him.)
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