#kneel down to my level and be like yeesh dude. youre a kid. why are you doing this anyway

[nutzworth]

something that really bugs me is adults being like minors dni on the interwebs.....

i read something on tumblr a while ago about the chronic separation of the generations and how if we stay isolated we will never learn from each other. and we wont be united obviously lol. i hate hate hate that. i hate being separated and i love community. community is SO INTEGRAL to humanity as a species. why dont you wanna talk with kids

i have friends that are adults. i have two beautiful wonderful friends that are both 24 years old and theyre great. and i go on ponytown or whatever and its like "im 20. minors dni!!!!!!" like what are you so scared of. i can only kind of empathize with the whole "i dont want to talk to like edgy 13 yr olds" but also... you can help them bro......... kids are awesome. and so interesting. why would you want them to stay away

i can never understand age limits on interactions. what do you mean ONLY people 15-20 can interact with you. what are you so SCARED of? if someone in your group has a 21st birthday does that mean they have to get kicked out? or when YOU age your limit goes up to 16-21? i dont get it. i dont understand. i want to see everything and talk to everyone

i saw someone on ponytown with like "DNI: adults who make friends with minors (groomer behavior!!!!!!!)" and i hated it so bad i got so angry. what? what? what the hell do you mean? theyre just people. you know people can be kind right? thats SO ugh whats it called. overgeneralizing. are you kidding me. do you know how much kids can LEARN by having adult friends? will you condemn the elderly who befriend kids and they do puzzles and shit together? will you condemn the teachers who keep in touch with their students and help them with life growing up? do you hate family friends

uugh i hate it. i wanted to talk about it cus i saw it again. i hate hate hate it. you can have your boundaries i guess but rrrrrgh dont be so diminishing to kids. kids are people too and thats really important to remember

notably im not saying like 18+ places are bad i understand the use of them. esp in adult-only content. but thats not like.... like thats a place. a website or a bar or something. thats not a PERSON. if YOU in general are like NO KIDS can interact with ME. whats your problem. if youre in a place and youre like NO KIDS can be here. (because its not safe or etc) then thats like. yeah. makes sense. im not going anywhere with this i just want to say i understand adult-only stuff its just when it comes to the individual's boundaries its so stupid to say no one under 18 can even SPEAK to me

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hi, could you please write something about the family seeing Jason's autopsy scar for the first time? Thank you very much

Super sorry this took me so long to write, anon! I got halfway through before I suddenly got a better idea for the story so I had to rewrite the whole thing. Anyway, I decided to use Jason, Dick, Tim, and Cass for this one. Enjoy!

Jason breathed heavily, trying to stay calm. The bullet he’d taken to the chest only minutes ago already burned something fierce, and he was pretty sure his shirt was just about soaked with blood by now. It wasn’t anyone remotely dangerous who’d shot him; an average mugger who clearly had no idea how to use a gun. The guy had run away the second he fired the bullet. Had Jason not been preoccupied with a bleeding bullet wound in his chest, he’d probably have gone after him and given him a piece of his mind, (and maybe a broken kneecap or two).

“Hood, you there?,” a voice came in on the comms. Jason inwardly thanked his lucky stars that he’d gone on patrol with the few of his family members who had chosen not to take the night off for Bruce’s charity gala. Failing to hold in his groan, Jason reached the communicator on his helmet.

“Ngh, hey Nightwing. I’m good, sort of,” he answered, his voice level despite the pain.

Dick paused. “Sort of? What happened?”

Jason half-smiled, rolling his eyes. “I might have been shot a little bit. No big.”

Dick cursed and Jason could hear him talking to someone in the background. Probably either Tim or Cass, who went with them that night. “Where are you?,” Dick demanded worriedly.

Jason tried to remember where he was, but the blood loss was making his head kind of foggy. “Uh… The alley by the corner of Cabell and Hornestead I think.” He heard some more muttering on the line. He noticed he was fairly vulnerable lying in an alley like that and tried sitting up a bit, but he fell back just as quickly. It felt like fire down his chest.

“We’re on our way. How badly are you hurt?”

Jason closed his eyes as he answered. “GSW to the chest. I think it’s right over my right pec, but it’s not too deep. It's bleeding a lot, but I don't think it's more than a flesh wound. Hurts like hell, though.” He punctuated that with another groan.

“We’ll be there in two minutes. Just hang on till then, okay?”

Jason mumbled a tired “‘kay” and tried to get a look at the wound himself. He pulled off his helmet, exposing his face to the cool Gotham air. He craned his neck to see, but raising his chest even the slightest bit made it even more painful.

He focused on some breathing exercises that Bruce had taught him to manage the pain. He did that for a couple minutes, listening for his family’s arrival. After a while he saw them run into the alley; Nightwing, Red Robin, and Black Bat.

At once Tim kneeled down beside him and started to examine the wound while Cass rummaged around in her belt for some medical supplies. Dick tried to get Jason’s attention. “Jay, you still doing okay?”

Jason gave him a less than confident thumbs up. “Fit as a fiddle, bro.”

But then he felt Tim starting to lift up his shirt, and Jason paled even more than he already had. At once he grabbed Tim’s wrist, keeping it from pulling his shirt up any more. “Hold on, what are you doing?,” he demanded.

“I need to get a better look at the injury,” Tim explained as if it were obvious, which it was. But Jason had a reason he didn’t want his chest and abdomen exposed.

“Nuh uh, just take me home and I’ll fix it myself.” Jason pulled himself up until he was leaning on his elbows. The pain was excruciating, but he didn’t let his moans escape his gritted teeth. He protested against the hands pushing him back down.

Dick narrowed his eyes behind his mask. “Knock it off, Jay, just let us help. Yeesh, you really can’t let anybody help you, can you?”

Jason didn’t bother telling him that that wasn’t it. He felt Tim tugging up the hem of his shirt again, and he swatted him away his hands. “Seriously, Tim, cut it out.”

Tim sighed and sat down cross legged with his arms folded across his chest. “Okay, I’m used to you being stubborn and all, but this isn’t funny anymore. Why don’t you want me taking off your shirt?,” he asked.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. He knew they wouldn’t relent without an explanation, but he also definitely didn’t want them to see what he was hiding. “Listen, after what happened with the Joker my body is sort of… broken. So I don’t think you’d all love to see a bunch of scars and stuff,” he told them. That might not have been the whole truth, but Jason figured it would be good enough to get them off his back.

Tim shrugged. “Jay, we’ve all got scars. Comes with the job.” He reached again for Jason’s shirt, but Jason growled in response. 

“Shirt stays down.” Oh how he wished he had just taken care of this himself and risked bleeding out in favor of being scrutinized like this.

Dick grabbed Jason’s arm, keeping it away from his shirt. “Please, Jason, just let us see the wound. We don’t care about any scars or whatever, okay? And if you don’t let us see it you’re either going to bleed out or get an infection. Please.”

Jason clenched his jaw until his teeth started to hurt. Slamming his head back into the ground he gave in. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But you asked for it.” Too late now, he supposed.

Tim sighed thankfully and used a batarang to cut Jason’s shirt up the middle. Jason felt the cold air stinging his chest at the same time he heard all three collectively gasp at what they saw. Told ya so, he thought.

“Holy-,” Tim choked.

“Jason,” Dick breathed as his eyes roamed his brother’s chest. “What happened to you?”

On Jason’s chest were dozens of scars. They ranged from gunshot wounds, to burns, to long slashes that looked painful just by looking at them. One couldn’t look two inches without seeing a scar. And that wasn’t even what so horribly caught their attention.

No, the worst was the largest one, a long scar that stretched all the way up Jason’s middle. It went from his navel to his sternum before branching into two separate lines that ended at his shoulder joints. The scar was long and thick. It looked like it was made with almost medical precision, which was unusual compared to the other messy scars littering his body.

The gunshot wound was nearly forgotten in comparison to the scar, so awful that it was impossible not to focus on it.

Cass pulled down her cowl to reveal her shocked face. Eyes wide, she lightly touched the scar, running her cold fingers along the length of it. Jason shuddered.

Cass looked at her brother with sad eyes. “You were hurt,” she said quietly.

Jason shrugged, but winced when it stung. “Not really. I mean, I was dead at the time, so…” He trailed off, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

And that’s when it clicked. Tim’s jaw dropped as his eyes continued to trace the scar. “This is from your autopsy,” he realized. Jason averted his eyes and nodded.

He felt oddly ashamed, like it was his fault he had this mark, though he knew that wasn’t true. He started to feel uncomfortable with the heavy stares and wished to be covered up again, away from the prodding eyes. He coughed conscientiously. “Hey, if you’re finished with the horror movie, this still kind of hurts,” he said pointedly.

Tim didn’t move. He was still frozen, with his eyes stuck on the scar. Dick nudged him, and he blinked. “S-sorry,” he stuttered out. He resumed fixing up Jason’s wound, but his eyes kept lingering on the autopsy scar every few seconds before he diverted them.

There wasn’t much noise after that besides Tim’s muttering to himself as he worked on Jason’s injury and the sound of traffic that drifted through the city. Tim had some difficulty removing the bullet, and Jason groaned at every stab of pain he felt while the kid rummaged around the site. What he wouldn’t give to have Alfred here.

“Hey, Jason?,” Dick asked, breaking the lengthy silence.

Jason hissed again from Tim’s prodding. “What?,” he said through clenched teeth.

“How come the Lazarus pit didn’t heal the scar? I thought it fixed all your injuries from… you know.” He chewed his lip apologetically, but he couldn’t help his curiosity.

Jason considered not answering, but thought better of it when he realized it wasn’t like he had anything to hide anymore. They already knew anyway, so he had nothing left to lose. “I dunno, maybe it just works differently on scars. Never really thought about it before.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I always hated it, to be honest.”

Dick tilted his head curiously. “Why?”

Jason rolled his eyes at the obviousness. “Dude, I’ve got a freaking autopsy scar on my chest. Every morning when I look in the mirror I’m forced to see proof that I died. Proof that a crazy guy dressed like a clown woke up one day and decided 'Hey, you know what might be fun today? Killing a child.’ Proof that after said death, I had a bunch of people cutting me open and poking around my insides to figure out exactly how aforementioned clown murdered me. So yeah, I think I have good reason to hate the scar.”

Dick seemed surprised by the outburst, and his following silence had Jason hoping that the subject might be put to rest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

“To be honest, I kind of thought you might be proud of it,” Dick continued.

Jason sighed tiredly. “And why is that?”

Dick shrugged. “It’s like your battle scar. Sure, it’s proof that you got killed and all, but it’s more than that. It’s also proof that you overcame something as powerful as death itself. If it were me, I’d be showing off that scar to everyone I meet. It’s like you have the last laugh, in a way.”

Jason considered that. But after a while he started to feel unnerved with all the earnest emotions and changed the subject. “You almost done, Tim? I’m getting cold here.” He muffled a shout when another stab of pain flashed through his chest barely a second after he finished the sentence.

Tim held up the bullet proudly. “Got it,” he smirked. He put a field dressing on the wound, pocketing the bullet after. “I’m keeping this, by the way.”

Jason rolled his eyes and attempted to sit up, being wary of the gauze and bandages. He swayed a bit, so Dick supported him with his arms until he was righted. He felt cold without a shirt, and he realized he probably couldn’t go all the way back to the manor like this. Especially if Bruce was already hosting a party there. “Listen, I’ve got an apartment a few buildings away. I think it’d be better if I just went there instead of all the way across Gotham,” he said.

Dick was about to object, but Jason interrupted. “Dude, I’m gonna scare people with this scar. And as funny as it would be, I don’t think Bruce would want rumors of the Red Hood being a zombie circulating around Gotham.”

Dick pursed his lips but relented. “Fine.” After a moment of thought, “Then we’ll just crash at your place tonight,” he grinned.

“Excuse me? I don’t recall inviting you.”

Tim smirked. “It would be irresponsible to leave you alone with a hole in your chest,” he pointed out smugly. “Plus I know you have an entire cabinet full of Oreos in your kitchen and I want some.”

Cass nodded in agreement. “Me too.”

Jason was about to object some more but thought better of it. “Fine, but on one condition. Not one of you can ever tell anyone about my scar, okay?”

“Why not?,” Dick asked.

“Because if Bruce finds out he’s going to be all depressed and moody about it. The only other people besides me who know about this are Roy and Alfred, and now it’s bad enough that the three of you know too. So your lips stay sealed, got it?”

The three considered this and nodded. Everyone had their secrets, and Jason’s was certainly justified. Satisfied, Jason turned on his heel and started in the direction of his apartment, pulling the edges of his jacket closer together in an effort to hide his middle. He heard the sounds of three pairs of footsteps following him at a distance. It felt strange, having them see his scar. Embarrassing, sure. He absolutely loathed feeling weak. But, in a way, there was a weight off his shoulders now that he hadn’t been aware he’d been carrying.

Sure, dying sucked, and coming back to life sucked even more, but the autopsy scar was different. It wasn’t only a reminder of the worst days of his life– it was like a taunt. It was death having the last laugh. “You might have escaped me this time, but I won’t let you forget for a day of your life that I won.” It was proof of his weakness. Proof of his failure.

He assumed sharing this would make his siblings think less of him. They’d see him for what he was: Broken. Damaged. Defeated.

But shockingly enough, if anything, they now viewed him as someone who beat death itself. The scar wasn’t a reminder; it was a battle scar. It was his mark, telling the world that he was a survivor and that anyone who tries to knock him down will find it impossible, because Jason Todd can’t be beaten. Jason Todd is a survivor.

As he walked, Jason found himself walking a little straighter as that thought resonated in his head. He’s a survivor.