Boke---hinata---boke - • ¡ L O ü L O ü ! •

it’s the way I felt so fucking called out for me

i just need a father figure

Studyblr Intro Post™

I already had an intro post but I'm revamping this blog now so here we go again

About me:

- I'm a Latin American student in my second year of university, getting a Bachelor's degree in Animation

- I am an adult, queer, and use he/him pronouns, you can call me Icarus

- I have ADHD, which means that even though I'm formally studying Animation, I may be interested in 112 different things at any point in time

Blog stuff:

- Mostly chaotic academia shit, tips for studying with ADHD, photos of my journal and desk, and maybe rambling about topics I'm interested in

- Posts about my study schedule, classes, topics, grades, etc etc

- Maybe, maybe, I'll share some of the artwork I do for classes. Just maybe.

My interests:

- Art and animation, obviously. My main interest is in 2D game animation, but that might change as I progress through college

- Language learning. Currently, I can speak Portuguese (native), English (around C1/C2) and Japanese (B1)

- Biology! Mostly human biology, but biology in general fascinates me

- Music of any kind, good or bad, as long as I can vibe to it I'm in

- Journaling, planning, organization, stationery supplies, I love paper and anything you can do with it

- History is also a big interest of mine, but usually I'm more focused on niche topics like the life of a specific person or a particular time period of a specific country or culture, that kinda stuff

That's basically it, I just wanna interact with people in the studyblr community and share tips and photos and whatnot, studying is fun so I wanna share that fun with more people ^^

NOBODY FUCKING MOVE.

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH PLEASE TATTOO IT INTO MY EYEBALL SO I ALWAYS HAVE IT WITH ME

How to get fined and expose people | CL16

Charles Leclerc x detective! Reader

Summary: This is the story of how Charles Leclerc finds love, and brings down an entire corrupt organisation, but that's just the background plot. Not really though. Come for the plot, stay for the rookies.

Warning(s): Mild Language, Drivers being idiots, plotting schemes, the FIA is shit? But we've been known about that. Driver shenanigans. Y/N will be introduced next chapter actually.

Part 1 ~Series Masterlist~

"I'm in the business of misery, let's take it from the top."

Charles didn’t know why he agreed to this.

Probably because Carlos texted “mandatory group therapy at Lando's, bring snacks or fuck off” and then followed it with a thumbs-up emoji.

And Charles, being the responsible, curious idiot he was, thought "yes, therapy sounds lovely."

Instead, he found himself in the middle of a Monaco flat that smelled suspiciously spring rolls, and something that could only be described as “boy.”

Carlos was already there, legs stretched across Lando’s coffee table like he paid the mortgage.

Alex had brought a six-pack of something suspiciously non-alcoholic, which Max was side-eyeing like it had personally insulted his mother.

“So,” Lando said, flopping onto the couch beside Charles, “have you heard of this fucking absurdity they’re actually pushing forward with now?”

Max, who had his entire upper body halfway into the fridge, let out a groan. “You mean the swearing thing? Godverdomme. Bunch of fuckers," he poked his head out the fridge, "Lando! There’s no Red Bull in here. I hate this place.”

Lando didn’t even look up. “We don’t carry Red Bull in this house. This is a Monster Energy zone.”

“Fuck you, mate.” Max slammed the fridge door and grabbed a questionable-looking apple. “Hope your sink clogs.”

"Eat shit, Max"

Charles rubbed his face. “So we get fined for swearing ? Like... for real? Real money?”

“Real our money,” Alex chimed in. “Forty grand for a ‘fuck.’ Eighty if you say it while looking too sexy.”

Carlos snorted. “I’d be broke by lunch.”

“Cabrón,” Lando wheezed, “you’d be fined just for existing with that hair.”

That was when Charles looked over. Carlos’ hair really was… suspiciously shiny. Glossy, not greasy. Regal, almost. Did it move in the light? Was that a beam of sunshine catching it just so? It was giving shampoo commercial in the best, most infuriating way.

Carlos noticed him staring. Flicked his head just slightly, like a slow-mo ad.

“Don’t even try, mate. It’s genetics. L'Oréal Paris tried to bottle this, saying it was them.” He smirked.

“They failed. Obviously. No shampoo can handle this kind of fabulous.”

Alex nearly spit his drink. “Don’t let George hear you say that. He’ll sob into his Dyson.”

Carlos scoffed. “George can do all the Dyson-sponsored TikToks he wants. But this,” he gestured dramatically to his hair,

“this is art.”

“More like black magic,” Charles muttered.

Why did it feel like he was in an alternate reality?

Then, slightly louder, “Do you think they’d fine me if I told the FIA to go fuck themselves in song?”

“They’d probably double it,” Lando said. “Add royalties.”

“FIA peuvent aller se faire foutre,” Charles said, with all the elegance of a penguin.

“That’s the spirit!” Alex raised his glass. “European flair with a hint of rage.”

Max bit into his sad apple and frowned. “Seriously, where is the money going? Like... forty grand? For saying what 'shit'?”

He looked around. “That’s a new set of tires. That’s a Rolex. That’s a very, very expensive escort in Amsterdam.”

"....................."

Max shrugged. “What? I googled.”

“They never tell us anything,” Charles muttered. “All these fines. These ‘regulations.’ And not once do they show us receipts.”

There was a pause. Then, deadpan, Charles added, “Gosh, I wish we could just, you know, secretly pay someone to find out what the fuck they’re doing with our money.”

That got murmurs of agreement. Alex said something about shady Swiss bank accounts.

Then the Thai muttered, “bet they’re using it for private jet charters and...uh..body wax. Yes.”

Lando, unusually quiet, sat forward.

He looked at all of them, dead serious—well, as serious as Lando Norris could look while wearing socks with little racecars on them.

“I actually might know someone who can help us.”

Everyone froze. Even Max stopped chewing.

“You’re not joking,” Charles said, brow raised.

“No,” Lando said, eyes gleaming. “Not even a little bit.”

“Who?” Alex asked, suddenly intrigued.

Lando just grinned like the cat that swallowed the paddock. “Let’s just say… they’ve got the skills. And zero respect for authority.”

Charles leaned forward. “Are they hot?”

“Obviously,” Lando said. “I don’t work with amateurs.”

Max pointed the apple core at him. “If they get us arrested, I’m blaming you.”

“You’re Dutch. You’ll probably be the one who gets us in jail.”

"Why are you being racist towards me, oh my god"

"Shut up guys" Carlos groans.

Charles, for his part, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. This was insane. Utterly idiotic. Deeply illegal, maybe.

But also…

"I'm in" He says as he looks around at the faces of the drivers around him, all slowly starting to smile.

If I didn't know what was going on, I'd think it was creepy if they started smiling at me at the same time.

"Want a monster, Max?"

"Fuck off, Norris"

"I've got a monster, it's in my pa—"

"CARLOS!"

_________________________

From his window seat near the front of the jet, Charles Leclerc glanced over at the quietest part of the plane—a square foot of peace occupied by Jack Doohan, fully unconscious, hoodie over his face, and completely unaffected by the circus onboard.

Unfortunately, the rest of the jet was a violently different experience.

“I can literally just ask him,” Max growled, shoving a Red Bull can into the cupholder like it personally offended him. “He works for me. I pay him.”

“Ugh, you’re such a Libra,” Lando groaned, sprawled across his seat sideways, his feet on Carlos' lap, like a particularly irritating cat.

“That’s not the point, Maxie. It’s my secret mission. You get to be the muscle.”

“I’m literally a four-time world champion.”

“And yet you’ve got the mystery-solving skills of a wet paper towel.”

Max threw an empty redbull can at him. Lando caught it and aimed it perfectly at a bin, all while grinning at Max.

Max thinks if he kills Lando right now, everyone in the jet would be considered an accomplice and he wouldn't be alone in prison.

But the rookies have such bright futures ahead. His brain whispered to him. It sounded like GP.

So he just leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, trying to calm down.

één...twee..drie

Nearby, Oscar was curled up by the window, fast asleep like an angel in a hoodie.

Alex was standing in the aisle infront of his seat, camera up, trying desperately to snap embarrassing shots of Oscar sleeping—but George, unfortunately, was in the background of every shot, adjusting his own angles and muttering under his breath.

“Why do I look like a melted Victorian candle in every photo?” George scowled at his reflection in the mirror of his phone.

“Maybe you just have that vibe,” Alex said cheerfully. “Haunted British antique. Sort of works for you.”

“Oh, shut it.”

Meanwhile, the rookies had claimed the back half of the jet like a boarding school on wheels.

Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman had found the mini wine bar and were crouched in front of it like they were preparing for battle.

Gabriel Bortoleto stood behind them, arms crossed, clearly helping—though his version of help might’ve just been reading the French labels out loud and offering strong opinions on corks.

“Guys, I’m just saying, this Bordeaux is probably older than us,” Gabriel murmured.

“Perfect,” Kimi said, yanking on the wine fridge handle like it had wronged him in a past life, it wouldn't budge.

Ollie opened another fridge and blinked at the vast array of redbull cans in it, "this bitch empty, just redbull," he turned to Kimi, "keep going, whatever is in there, it's sure to be iconic"

“It's sure to be Illegal,” muttered Liam Lawson from nearby, but he was distracted—he and Isack Hadjar were both gazing around the jet like tourists on a class trip. “I think this jet is bigger than my first apartment.”

“Mate, I think this jet is bigger than my entire family tree,” Isack replied.

Max sighed loudly, watching them from the aisle with arms crossed. “This is the first time my jet has ever felt so.… full.”

Lando didn’t even glance up from his phone. “That’s because you have no friends.”

“Fuck you, Lando.”

“See, this is why you don’t get invited to things.”

“You’re in my jet!”

“Yeah, and somehow still regretting letting you convince me to take it.”

Next to a silently cursing Max, Charles was doing his best not to lose his mind while getting absolutely obliterated by Carlos at chess.

“I don’t even know why you try anymore,” Carlos said smugly, adjusting a bishop with entirely too much confidence.

“You're not even that good,” Charles muttered, glaring at the board like it had personally insulted his family. “You just talk so much I forget what my next move is.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Carlos cooed in a faux-dramatic voice, it reminded Charles of that one clip with Kris and Kylie Jenner.

“You already said that to Alex.”

Carlos smirked. “Are you jealous?”

Charles made a noise that was definitely not a denial and absolutely not a pout, then turned his attention toward Oscar, still asleep, and Alex, who was trying to get a picture of him,

but kept being photobombed by George adjusting his jawline and moving his hand through his hair.

“You’re ruining the shot with your hair, George,” Alex whined.

“My hair is the shot!” George snapped.

From the back, Ollie raised his voice over the chaos. “Guys! I can’t believe we’re actually doing this! Like, full-blown operation.”

The rookies nodded solemnly around him like this was the Avengers assembling.

“I heard about the driver strike,” Isack whispered reverently.

“Same,” Liam said. “Absolute carnage.”

The older drivers exchanged glances across the cabin.

Silent, knowing. They hadn’t meant to bring the rookies.

In fact, they'd specifically tried not to tell them. But somehow, all five of them had been at the airport when the group arrived—already packed, caffeinated, and suspiciously ready.

They probably have a group chat.

“Just how bad can it be?” Max muttered to no one in particular.

Which, in their language, meant incredibly bad. Catastrophic. Delicious.

Charles leaned toward Lando, still scowling from his chess loss, and asked, “This person we’re staying with... do they at least have air conditioning?”

Lando just smiled, far too pleased with himself.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Charles blinked. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Me?” Lando said. “Never.”

Max leaned over. “Can we please just land already. I swear if I don’t get on land soon, I’ll throw Lando out the door.”

“You wouldn’t,” the brit said, grinning. “You love me too much.”

Max growled. “I’d aim for the rocks.”

From the back of the jet came a loud crash.

“WHO GAVE KIMI A CORKSCREW?” someone yelled.

Charles closed his eyes.

This was fine. This was normal. It's only been two hours since the sunrise. This is normal.

This was definitely going to blow up on their faces.

________________________

The plane landed with a subtle bump and an ominous silence.

It wasn’t the silence of anticipation, or awe, or respect.

It was the silence of what the fuck is this.

Charles looked out the window, squinting against the blinding daylight.

Grass. Dirt. More grass. A single squirrel, maybe. And in the far, far distance—what looked like a manor? Or possibly a haunted vineyard. It was hard to say.

“Did we crash into a farm?” Max’s voice cut through the cabin, sharp and offended.

“Is this someone's private field? Where are the buildings? Where are the people? Why does it smell like hay?”

Charles blinked. “I think there’s an estate over there.” He pointed vaguely, like that would solve anything.

Carlos leaned over Charles’s shoulder. “Big house. Very big. Like… murder-for-inheritance-big.”

“Definitely too big,” Alex muttered. “It’s like, really far, two days of walking maybe.”

“You didn’t even bring extra snacks!” Isaack groaned, dragging his hoodie over his head like a defeated blanket ghost.

“My phone won’t load anything!” Liam added.

“Do you guys… not have Wi-Fi?” Gabriel asked, looking horrified, like someone had just said “dial-up internet.”

“Lando,” Carlos said calmly, turning in his seat, “you didn’t get us a driver’s lounge receiver?”

“You didn’t even ask for it, and because we’re not at a normal airport,” Lando said cheerfully. “We’re on a secret mission."

Then he frowned at everyone. “God, you’re all so entitled.”

Max looked like he was ready to commit violence. “You kidnapped me from my home and flew me to a barn.”

“It's not a barn,” Lando sniffed, perking up. “Oh! Look, the van's here.”

Everyone turned.

A huge black van rumbled down the dirt road, kicking up dust like it had emerged from the void. It was the kind of van that looked suspicious in a very Netflix docuseries sort of way.

Lando, inexplicably cheerful, clapped his hands. “Alright! Group up! Bags—well, don’t bother, they’ll get delivered. Everyone count off.”

He started pointing as the drivers started moving towards the exit. “Max, Jack, Carlos—rookies with Carlos please—they're you go Kimi —Carlos hold on to Ollie, he looks a bit peaky—Isack, Gabriel, Alex, George, Charles—” he hesitated.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Uh… guys?” said Liam awkwardly from the back. “I think Oscar’s still asleep.”

There was a beat of silence.

Carlos blinked. “We were going to leave a man behind.”

“Typical,” Max grunted. “McLaren drivers. Useless.”

“I’m right here,” Lando said.

“Exactly, I'm not talking about Oscar.”

"Gosh Max, you're so rude to me."

Jack yawned so hard his jaw cracked. Isack stumbled into Gabriel, who stumbled into Kimi, who was holding a bottle of Max’s $800 wine like it was a sippy cup.

Ollie was giggling at nothing.

Charles gave them all a long, quiet stare.

They were flushed. Sweaty. Slightly glassy-eyed. He could practically see the wine fumes floating around them like ghosts of bad decisions.

He pressed his fingers to his temples.

If one of these kids died of alcohol poisoning on his watch, he’d have to personally call their parents. Explaining things in English to Isaack Hadjar’s French-Algerian mother? He shuddered. He didn’t have the range.

But then he looked again.

They were… fine. A little wobbly. Very jetlagged. Possibly wine-poisoned. But alive.

“Surprisingly resilient,” he murmured.

“I once saw Kimi eat a whole jalapeño pepper at a press event,” George, whispered. “He’s built different.”

“Do we get Oscar or just—leave him?” Liam asked, visibly considering it.

“Oh my god,” Alex groaned. “We are the worst people.”

“I’ll get him,” Max said, turning back toward the jet.

“Wait,” Charles called. "Give him a bottle of water. And maybe tim tams, they're in my bag. He gets violent when he wakes up hungry.”

“I’m awake,” Oscar’s voice mumbled faintly from behind them, blanket around his shoulders like a sleepy gremlin.

“Jesus,” Max jumped. “Where did you come from?”

“Dreamland,” Oscar muttered. “Why is the ground moving?”

“It’s...not,” George said.

Oscar blinked. “Oh.”

The van honked.

Lando gestured like he was conducting an orchestra. “Alright, children. Into the mystery van. We’re going to meet someone very special.”

“Is it Santa?” Ollie asked, slightly slurring.

“I hope it’s a doctor,” Isack said.

“Or a therapist,” Gabriel muttered.

“Can I lie down?” Jack asked no one in particular.

Max pushed past everyone. “I swear to god, if this place we're staying at, doesn't have Redbull I’m suing you, Lando.”

Charles stepped off the jet last, the warm sun hitting him like a slap in the face. Dirt underfoot. Weird smells. A probably-haunted manor in the distance.

He sighed.

Carlos stood next to him, yawning. “So, do we trust this van?”

“No,” Charles said immediately. “But I’m too tired to care.”

Lando stood infront of all the drivers, and beamed at them.

“Welcome to phase two, bitches!”

Charles closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.

_______________________

Vrrrroooom.

The van jerked forward, spitting up gravel, and took off down the path like it had somewhere much more important to be.

Charles watched it vanish down the road with a rising sense of unease. “He just—he just left.”

“He LEFT?” Lando echoed, stepping out and raising his hands dramatically.

“I mean, yeah, obviously he left. That was the plan.”

“Wait, what do you mean that was the plan?” Carlos asked, frowning.

“I told him to drop us off and go. Y’know. In case someone was following us.”

“Following us?” Charles turned so fast he nearly pulled something. “Why would someone be following us? Lando what the actual fu—”

“I don’t know,” Lando shrugged. “Felt dramatic. Adds to the vibes.”

“Vibes?” Alex said, voice cracking. “We’re eleven drivers, some of whom are legally still teenagers, abandoned outside a giant murder mansion with no Wi-Fi or food, and your priority is vibes?”

The silence that followed was broken only by the distant sound of someone’s stomach growling. Possibly Isaack’s. Or Charles’, Hard to say.

The wind picked up. The ivy rustled.

The manor stood still and silent before them. Waiting.

Charles shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and sighed.

“Fucking brilliant,” he muttered. “This is how horror movies start. And we’re the dumbass cast.”

"You think they will make a documentary about us if we go missing?" It was one of the rookies, one who didn't sound drunk, so maybe Jack or Liam.

Charles wasn't sure anymore.

He groaned out loud again.

It wasn't even noon yet.

___________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this part, please leave a like, a comment and a reblog!

I wrote this before I got into the accident, and now I've decided this is going to be my coping muse. I'm doing better now, getting the electroshock therapy and I have gained a weird obsession with yogurt of all things. Love you all.

Also, for anyone who didn't see the post, the Taglist is closed (Don't want to make another one, I'm way too tired for all of that)

As an alternate option, You can follow the tag "Julie's F1 rambles" this tag will only have my works.

Jules♡

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @evie-119 @that-one-little-soybean @six-call @stressed-cherry @il0vereadingstuff @whatevenisthisxxxxx  @freyathehuntress @verstappen-leclerc-inchident @allthings-fandoms @larastark3107 @myescapefromthislife  @wertyuizxcvbnm @halleest @hs2016 @lucyysthings @justaf1girl @bernelflo @mendes-bae @chelseyyouraverageluigi @llando4norris @sid-is-gr8 @henna006 @hurtblossom @quinquinquincy @ts1mp0ne @spidercat-soccerfan @kodzuvk @wherethefuckisthething @hellowgoodbye @prttylight @l4ndonorizz @edgyficuselastica @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner @1mverstappen @inchidentofftrack @blackmage24 @angelluv16 @alice-went-away @teamnovalak  @wierdflowerpower @sunshine-and-midnight-rain @maxswhore33 @glow-ish @lazybot @weekendlusting @milky-rose2 @sugarfreerbr @prttylight @martygraciesversion381

YSJDBFSDJB

A basic ADHD study kit

Snacks and a bottled drink. Something like dried bananas will have a consistent texture, only need one hand so you can keep working while you eat and provide stim, are nice and has is good for your brain. Caffeine relaxes ADHD brains making it easier to study, but please be careful of your caffeine intake, caffeine overdoses are real and can be very dangerous

Stimmy stuff. Hair ties, bracelets or squishy stuff. Something to do with your free hand.

A high stim playlist (post about this with options)

An app/site blocker, where you can ban distraction sites and apps for a time period of your choosing, (I prefer freedom, but here is a Masterlist of app blockers) Coloured pens and highlighters for notes and practice qs

Exam practice questions. Active recall is great and being able to physically see what you've accomplished gives you dopamine and many exam paper books have spreadsheets where you can mark off or colour in the questions that you've done

Flashcards, so many flashcards

A study space - a clean desk, a comfy couch/bed, a library, whatever works for you

Get started

I'm not against superstar or well known actors in the Percy Jackson series. I would actually encourage it. but only under specific circumstances.

the demigods all have to be unknown kids because that's who they are the demigods aren't some mighty heroes of song, they're kids trying to survive in the modern world.

The gods on the other hand... now that's where you put the superstars. The names and faces everyone recognizes. The actors that always look so good that it's almost not human.

imagine watching a show with kids trying their best to act but child actors are only so good, they have acne, their scrawny their voice breaks here and there. And contrast that with putting a professional actor as a god. They look flawless, they're acting is flawless, and they have that air of better than you around them.

I want to see a dingy elevator full of sweaty tourists in the Hoover damn contrasted by Gal Gadot, flawless hair and makeup giving the tour. Henry Cavill all perfect cheekbones in a suit suggesting he will blast Percy before the profecy comes true. Morgan Freeman telling grover to take care of the wild.

not to mention that there is only one man on earth I would trust to play the god of revelry, wine, and parties. because if we don't get jack black as Dionysus we riot.

yes

jason's the only person who can win in an argument against damian and nobody knows how until one day the boys get into a debate about whose plan to use for a case and damian threatens that if they don't listen to his plan and let him take the lead in an attack he'll make their lives a living hell forever and dick and tim don't know how to get him to step down until jason goes out of nowhere 'yeah ok demon brat why don't you take the lead and while you all fight i'll go have sex with your mom again how about that?'

silence for fifteen seconds. damian agrees to do jason's plan. dick and tim are fucking terrified.

---

My terrible guide to my awful process of writing college application essays:

Blind panic. Read that question and freak the fuck out. Really judt overtime and let that question permeate your fucking bones

Turn off your brain. Put something stupid on in the background that distracts you from the overthinking but not too distracting that it keeps you from writing

Madman that bitch. Just start fucking writing. Pick the weirdest part of your idea and just keep going. It doesn't have to be good, just keep the ideas flowing until you have about 3/4 or more of the essay written. Seriously. Take the weird ideas that are close to your heart and write those. Tell them all about your favorite lizard or how to crochet. Just do it and worry about it being composed later

Edit. Don't delete anything fully, just rearrange, cut things and put them lower in the doc, rewrite sentences and add more to places that need it

Self loath and ask someone else to read it because if you have to try to do any more of this on your own you will explode

Put it down for a few days

Go through the comments and edit your paper

There you go! That's a completed paper

If this sounds terrible and stressful, that'd becuase it is. The most important step in the madmanning with your brain off because that is where you will write the best parts of your essay with the least about of self loathing

Não sei se isso é muito clichê, mas imagine uma leitora morcego (ela também é uma justiceira) que era extremamente próxima e amorosa de Jason enquanto ele estava vivo, sempre se certificando de deixar claro o quanto ela o adorava como seu irmão e sempre querendo incluí-lo em tudo (imagino que ela fazia parte de um time de heróis quando era mais nova, e um dia ela simplesmente chegou na base do time com Jason e com um sorriso brilhante no rosto, praticamente dizendo: "Este é meu irmãozinho, eu o adoro e acho que você também deveria."), mas então um dia um palhaço psicótico simplesmente aparece e OPS! Caixão e vela preta para o pequeno Jason Todd. Anos depois, agora liderando seu próprio time, a leitora acaba em uma missão com a Liga dos Assassinos que termina em um confronto físico entre seus companheiros e os assassinos, mas o cara com quem ela está lutando é terrivelmente familiar e luta como seu doce e falecido irmãozinho. (Desculpe se ficou muito longo, eu realmente não sei como resumir as coisas😭 E também vi que você já tem outro pedido na sua frente, não quero que se sinta pressionado a escrever o meu!)

Thank You, Until We Meet Again

Pairing: N/A (Platonic Jason Todd) Warnings: Mentions of decapitated heads near the end and canon typical violence Summary: The death of your little brother hit you hard, but life moves on and so do you. Until, you are sent off on a mission to fight some assassins from the League. Translation for the request is at the bottom of this post if you want to read it, but it's basically the summary I wrote but more detailed

Thank You for the request anon! <3

You missed the days before, when not everything was perfect, but at least your little brother was still with you. You missed Jason, when your memories of him weren’t tainted with the pure, dark blacks and the sombre mood of a funeral, when both of you still had that naïve hope in you.

When Jason had first come to the mansion, you were still filling in the hole that Dick left as Robin. You didn’t stay as Robin for long though, with Jason taking that role almost as soon as Bruce and Alfred deemed him ready to defend the night. Instead of Robin, you created a new identity as Shrike, keeping the theme of bird names in mind.

You remembered when you two first went on patrol together. He had followed you around like a puppy, and from then on, you two had been attached to the hip. Back then, you had been part of a team of vigilantes. You had been reluctant to introduce him to them, with the team only formed recently at the time, but he had begged to meet them and so he did.

“This is Robin, my little brother. If any of you hurt him, best believe you’ll regret it.” You threatened them, and if looks could kill, they would be dead. Your team did not waver though, instead, they were more focused on the stark contrast between you two. Beside you, Jason was smiling brightly.

You remembered that day like it was yesterday. Your team had easily grown fond of your little brother. You had all sworn to protect him, to do your best to not have any harm come his way.

What a great job you did. Not only did he get hurt, he died. The Joker tortured and killed him, mercilessly.

The grief had struck you hard, you mourned him and what he could’ve been. Your family had not taken it better. Bruce had gone on a rampage, even almost killing The Joker himself. Dick had the misfortune of finding out about Jason’s fate after the funeral. All of you had rage simmering inside, some directed at the same person and some directed to other people. As for you, you had blamed yourself for his death. You were his older sibling, the one he had trusted the most. You had sworn to protect him, and you failed. What a vigilante you were.

It had been just a little more than three years since his death. Your family had grown, many more members joining your group of vigilantes. Many changes had occurred, one of which was that you were now leading your own group, the same that you had introduced Jason to.

You finally felt alright. You finally felt like you didn’t have the feeling of grief weighing down your heart every day. There were days you still blamed yourself, but you had mostly moved on. You appreciated the memories you had with Jason, instead of mourning them.

You and your team were on a mission tasked by Batman himself. The League of Assassins had made another move on your family, and with everyone dealing with their own villains, you were put to handle the mission.

These assassins were hard to track, not something unexpected from the League of Assassins, but when your father was the World’s Greatest Detective, they didn’t stay hidden for long. You had a new lead into the location of the assassins that were sent, and you and your team were headed there. As you did, you mentally prepared yourself for the battle that was to come. It was part of your routine, a way to keep yourself mentally stable in this line of work.

When you had arrived, you and your team lurked in the shadows farther away, waiting for the right moment to pounce. When the time had arrived, you pulled out your spetum from its place at your back and held it offensively as your team charged to the assassins.

The fight was mostly evenly split, 6 assassins to 5 heroes and vigilantes. You had all mutually agreed that you would take two, and the others would fight the rest. Both the assassins you were fighting were holding melee weapons, one with a staff and one with a sword.

They were difficult to take down, their training clearly showing through their moves. The assassin with the staff was easier to take out, knocked down in a few minutes, though not without a few injuries to you. The second assassin was harder, more experienced, but as they moved around, you felt a sense of familiarity.

It terrified you.

Both of you danced in a familiar battle. Weapons clashed together in familiarity. Yet, instead of being calmed by knowing who it was most likely to be under the black mask, you felt doubt and dread. After all, why would your little brother, who was definitely dead, fight you? And fight for the enemy, no less.

But their movements were too similar to deny it. You knew your little brother’s fighting style, you knew it like the back of your hand. You two had sparred and fought rogues and villains alike together so many times, it was impossible not to, even after all these years.

You slowed your movements, allowing him to continue his strikes as your moved into a defensive position.

“Jason?” You muttered quietly, only for yours and his ears to hear. The outlines of his eyes through the mask widened and you see his movements falter. “It’s me, [Name].” Your suit had gone through many changes, to the point it was almost unrecognisable, so you could understand why he hadn’t recognised you through the mask.

His movements stopped altogether. Never did he take off his mask, but you knew it was him. You could tell he was hesitating before he ultimately decided to speak up. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll be back eventually.” Immediately after, he called out to the other assassins to retreat, carrying his unconscious ally as they all disappeared into the shadows.

Your team had attempted to run after them, but you put a hand up to stop them. “Don’t. It will be futile.” They looked towards you in confusion, usually your team would track the enemy until the mission was finished, so this behaviour was unexpected, but they did not dare to disregard your words.

The morning after that mission was a difficult one. You had so many thoughts and emotions to process, yet such little time had occurred since.

You felt betrayal. Why was he fighting for the assassins? He knew that the League and Batman were rarely ever on good terms.

You felt confusion. How is he alive? You had seen his marred body after the explosion and at his funeral.

You felt relief. He was alive. Your little brother, whom you so dearly loved, was alive and strong enough to be back fighting.

One thing was for certain though. You would follow his words, staying silent of his resurrection to your family. You trusted him, believing that he would come back to Gotham sooner or later, but until then, you would wait patiently for that day to come.

When he eventually does come back to Gotham, his arrival isn’t warm. In fact, quite the opposite.

On his first night back, he apparently threw a duffle bag full of heads of Black Mask’s lieutenants in front of a number of gang leaders

Safe to say, he had easily made a name for himself that night as Red Hood

When your family had found out that Red Hood was Jason, they didn’t take it well

Many fights and confrontations occurred, many morals were broken and much more hurt was felt in the family

You honestly didn’t know how to feel about Red Hood, yes he was ridding Gotham of it’s most heinous criminals, but you couldn’t say you agreed with his methods all too well

To you, Red Hood and Jason Todd were two different individuals. Red Hood was a crime lord, an anti-hero who sometimes worked with your family. Jason Todd was your little brother, a man with questionable morals, but still your brother nonetheless

One day, you will come to accept both sides of him, but today is not that day

Wowee this one took a while, I'm sorry anon for the wait 😭

Trying a different layout than my usual black and white, idk if I like it

Btw, a spetum is a type of polearm used back in the 13th century if you guys didn't know

Anyways, my little knowledge of DC caught up and I actually had to research stuff to make this at least a bit right. It definitely isn't canon compliant, I think, but it's the best I could do with my limited knowledge

Mistakes are free to point out and will be fixed!

This request's title comes from the english translation of one of my fav tagalog songs, 'Di Na Muli by The Itchyworms

Anyways I'm going to bed now, it's like 2 am for me lol

Have a great night/day everyone <3

Translation:

I don't know if this is too cliché, but imagine a bat reader (she's also a vigilante) who was extremely close and loving to Jason while he was alive, always making sure to make it clear how much she adored him as her brother and always wanting to include him in everything (I imagine she was part of a team of heroes when she was younger, and one day she just arrived at the team's base with Jason and a bright smile on her face, practically saying, "This is my little brother, I adore him and I think you should too."), but then one day a psychotic clown just shows up and OPS! Coffin and black candle for little Jason Todd. Years later, now leading her own team, the reader ends up on a mission with the League of Assassins that ends in a physical confrontation between her companions and the assassins, but the guy she's fighting is terrifyingly familiar and fights like her sweet, deceased little brother.