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Stray AU

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Tapping my foot at DC comics "why aren��t they hanging out?"

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Jason: *staring blankly into a streetlight* throwback to that time I didn’t realize astigmatisms existed and I thought everyone saw lights as the distant, brighter cousins to sea urchins Tim: *in the middle of bandaging his brother’s knife wound* *pauses* wait. You’re saying they don’t? Jason: Jason: we both need glasses

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kiss me 🏹❤

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8 heads in a dufflebag this, beating up Robin that, why has no one mentioned that the best part of Jason coming back in Under the Red Hood is him using Talia's money to become the majority shareholder of Kord Industries, which Bruce is using for Batman R&D, and giving himself access to all of Batman's toys while undercutting Bruce's operation. That shit was brilliant, and he was like 17

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I think Jay can be a Gym leader in Pokémon

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I reread this fanfic jayroy so I have to draw them hehe

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robin, robin, robin, robin and robin

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Jaybin with a Batman Plushie 🦇

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Is this anything

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real

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Did I really draw Jason in the shower? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

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some stickers for the November drop 😋

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a big reason some of you don't see what bruce does to his sons as abuse is because you unconsciously don't view men hitting other men or boys as abuse, or as serious as male on female abuse. it's the same reason dc doesn't think there's any problem with depicting bruce as someone who hits his kids. those kids are boys/men.

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0816

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Short silly thing

The alley reeked of damp concrete and rat piss. Red Hood moved like a storm, a flurry of fists and heavy boots, each strike precise, unforgiving. Nightwing, a blue streak, danced through the chaos, his escrima sticks singing against bone. They were a well-oiled machine, dismantling the gang with ruthless efficiency.

Jason slammed a goon face-first into a dumpster with a brutal crunch, then spun, his gun clattering to the ground, dislodged during the close-quarters skirmish. He bent—a quick, economical movement—to snatch it up. The denim of his jeans stretched taut, riding low on his hips.

Dick, mid-kick, froze. His foot hung in the air. A flash of vibrant scarlet, impossibly delicate, peeked from beneath the waistband of Jason’s jeans. Not the tactical red of his gear, but something… lace. A tiny, ruffled edge of it, peeking out from beneath the rugged denim. A thong. Frilly. Red.

The image seared itself into Dick’s brain. His breath hitched. A jolt, hot and sudden, arced through him, stunning him senseless. His balance evaporated. His elevated leg, forgotten, wobbled. He tripped over his own feet—a gasp escaping his lips—and face-planted hard into the grime-slicked asphalt.

The burly goon he’d been mercilessly pummelling, now dazed and sprawled on the ground, blinked. He wiped blood from his lip, staring at the vigilante currently sprawled in a heap. “Uh… you good, man?” he mumbled, genuinely bewildered.