#it gives him a weapon of his own (like how dick has the escrimas and tim has the bo staff)

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Overall I didn't mind the comic but god why did they have to give Jason a crowbar. Who decided that would be a good idea?? "because bruce is scared of bats" so??? Why re-traumatize him with the weapon used to KILL him????

i actually have no idea why everyone is mad about the crowbar thing tbh. in that case you should all be pissed about the red hood identity as a whole because jason took the name of the man who killed him. the crowbar is jason's way of owning his fear, same as when he put on the red helmet. also it looks cool and this is a comic book

#if i were the writer i'd do the same thing #it's a good transition from the guns #it gives him a weapon of his own (like how dick has the escrimas and tim has the bo staff) #and it makes sense narratively when you take into account why jason became red hood in the first place #i don't see a single thing wrong with this #lay it on me papa bob

[iphoenixrising]

DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

**

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

**

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

**

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.

#dicktimweek2021 #talon!tim #winged!tim #dicktim #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #cassandra cain #oracle barbara gordon #batgirl stephanie brown #bruce wayne #so many feel #get your feels ready #hurt/comfort? #angst #i wanted more angst but welp didn't get there #this isn't too bad but i could do better #did you need those feels? #nah ya didn't #my fic #my writing

[official-impravidus]

Shovel Talk

Dick hasn’t seen Roy in forever. The two have fallen out over the years as they’ve found their own places in the vigilante world, but Dick misses him! It’s been too long.

So, with a carton of Roy’s favorite Chinese takeout, a six pack of cheap, shitty beer, a box of cheaper, even shittier Valentine’s day chocolates that were on sale at the grocery store that Dick hopes Roy still splurges on, and a new Barbie for Lian, he approaches his door with anxiety practically radiating off of him.

He knocks on the door, but there’s no response. 

Dick frowns in confusion. It’s a Thursday evening on a school night. Lian would usually be at ballet practice at this time until eight and Roy wouldn’t be out on patrol yet. 

There’s a yelp from inside and a crash. A chill shoots down Dick’s spine. 

Glad that he always carries around his retractable escrima sticks, he sets his bag on the ground and he holds his weapon in his palm tightly. 

Dick rushes to the roof and scurries down the fire escapes to Roy’s apartment. 

Grateful for his shitty window locks, he slips in through Lian’s bedroom and stalks quietly to the door.

There’s another crash, a loud thud, and a cry. Obvious signs of struggle.

Dick tiptoes to the door and peeks through the crack. Dick freezes.

Roy sits on the kitchen counter with his head tilted back and his eyes shut blissfully, lips parted, while a shirtless Jason — yes, that Jason, his little brother Jason  — stands between his spread thighs and attacks his throat with his mouth, one hand braced against the counter and the other slipped down his—

“What?!” Dick cries, the words tumbling out before he can stop them.

The two men freeze. Their heads snap to the door, Jason already grabbing his gun.

“It’s me! Don’t shoot!” Dick exclaims. He pulls open the door which only makes them tense more, Jason’s face stony and annoyed and Roy’s face in a casual grin.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason demands.

“What are you doing here?!” Dick replies, voice a high squeak.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Jason raises an eyebrow.

Dick ignores that statement and whips to face Roy. “Jason?!” he questions, voice filled with disbelief.

“Please don’t kill me,” Roy says.

“Jason,” Dick repeats, voice now a growl.

“I know,” Roy responds with a wince.

“What— when did—” Dick’s hands flail hysterically. “How long has this been going on?”

“Like a year?” Roy says meekly.

“A year?!” Dick screeches.

“We weren’t exactly talking,” Roy starts.

“Uh uh. Nope. I don’t want to hear it.” Dick’s eyes flicker to Jason whose chest is covered in hickies and back pink from scratches. Dick gags slightly. “I never needed to see this. Ever.”

“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore,” Jason says, arms crossed over his chest.

“But you’re still—!” Dick cuts himself off. “I know after everything… you might… you think we don’t care, but Jason,” Dick gives him a soft smile, “you’re always gonna be my little brother.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Stop being sappy. It gives me hives.”

“And because you’re my little brother,” his eyes shift to Roy again. “Roy,” he says, voice clipped and sharp.

“Yes?” Roy replies, sinking slightly.

“May I speak with Roy alone, please?” Dick says, voice unnervingly calm, eyes not straying from Roy.

“Uh, fuck no?” Jason says. “We were kinda in the middle of something?”

“Sorry, Jay, but Dick, despite his name, is a major boner killer,” Roy says. “And I don’t think he’s gonna take no for an answer.”

“I can make him take no as an answer,” Jason says, knuckles cracking as he clenches his fists.

“Jay,” Roy says gently. “Just go. We obviously aren’t gonna be able to finish this tonight. Not when he’s so—” Roy gestures vaguely, but Jason seems to get what he means.

Jason, begrudgingly and very hesitantly, huffs an affirmation. “Fine. I’ll go.” He narrows his eyes and points at Dick. “I am gonna get back at you, Dickwad. Just you wait.” Jason slips his shirt back on and exits (surprisingly) through the front door.

“So…” Roy says awkwardly.

Dick gives him his sternest ‘big brother’ face. “Let’s just get straight to the point. I don’t care that my baby brother is a trained mass murderer with a body count higher than my SAT score. I know he can handle himself.” He walks closer, his teeth baring in a scowl. “But if you do anything to hurt him, I will come and personally rip your testicles out of your body with my bare hands. And that’s a promise.”

Roy gulps. 

“Understood?” Dick asks, voice low.

Roy nods. “Crystal clear.”

Dick smiles, body loosening into his usual bouncy self. “Good!” He claps a hand to Roy’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Now, I’ve got some Beijing Beef on Lo Mein, a pack of Bud Lite, an arrangement of milk chocolates, and…” He opens the door where (thankfully) his things still sit, “the new Asian Barbie.” Dick holds them up with a raised eyebrow. “So, what’d’ya say?”

Roy, relaxing slightly, grins. “Well, what’re we waiting for?”

“You got anything on your TV that isn’t Strawberry Shortcake or Peppa Pig?”

Roy taps his chin, pretending to think. “Can’t promise I do.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to see.” Dick goes to sit on the couch but Roy suddenly shouts.

“Don’t sit there!” 

Dick freezes. “Why?”

“You… don’t want to know.”

“Is there any surface in this apartment that I can sit?” Dick asks.

“...probably not?”

Dick shudders. “Yup. Don’t want to think about that.” Dick goes to Lian’s room and grabs her tiny bean bag chair. “This safe?”

“Ew, gross, of course it is!” Roy says, disgusted at the thought of otherwise.

“Well, in that case,” Dick plops down onto the bright pink cushion, “pass me a beer.”

And if Dick passive aggressively threatened Roy throughout the rest of the night, then so be it.

#royjay #jayroy #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #roy harper #arsenal #batman #batfam #fan fic #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction

[bigskydreaming]

Is it true that gymnasts can't work much when they're 30+ ? Is it like an Olympic gymnast thing or just stuntwork in general? I saw some people concerned over Dick's back causing him problems as he gets older. But then a lot of martial art guys like Donny Yen, Jet Lee are still pretty flexible aren't they?

I see this a lot in fandom too, anon, and as often happens, lol, I myself cater to the ‘fandom’s got it backwards’ take.

Fandom specifically focuses on Dick’s body giving out early on in life compared to the rest, due to acrobatics being ‘his niche’ but in reality - or as close to it as we can come in a universe that tbh really demands suspension of disbelief over the fact that any and all of the Batfam take as much punishment as they endure.....

Thing is, Dick is actually one of the family most likely to have the LONGEST longevity of physical fitness.

This is because fandom keeps correlating Dick’s niche as gymnastics, rather than what it IS - acrobatics.

Yes, gymnastics is typically considered a ‘young person’s game.’

ON AVERAGE.

But, something to keep in mind, is that there are different TYPES of gymnastics. There’s competitive artistic gymnastics, but also rhythmic gymnastics, aerobic gymnastics, and a few others. Olympics gymnasts are primarily competitive artistic gymnastics, but even there, there are specializations so to speak. All Olympic gymnasts are usually cross-trained on the various events/categories, but the teams overall put up their best gymnasts in each category to compete in that category when possible....because for the most part, someone who excels at say, floor routines, is not going to be the most optimal choice to do the high bars or the vault. That’s because floor routines emphasize more rhythmic gymnastics, whereas something like the vault is more in the arena of a power gymnast.

And these different areas of focus put different kinds of strains on the body.

So yes, while its true that a lot of gymnasts retire early and the Olympic teams as a whole tend to see their gymnasts exiting the game by 30 at the latest......the latter is because those gymnasts are expected to be at least capable and at elite levels in ALL events, so they can compete as needed for the overall team....BUT, in the case of the former, the gymnasts that retire early completely.....those are almost universally the power gymnasts, the ones who specialize and emphasize in the hard-hitting events like the vault, the beam, the uneven bars, etc.

I say hard-hitting, because I literally mean hard-hitting. 

Because these are the high impact events. The ones that see a gymnast land with the full weight and impact of their body on their feet at the end of a successful (and exponentially force-multiplying) flip, handspring, dismount, etc. 

That kind of impact puts TREMENDOUS strain on your joints....and that, specifically, is what leads to a lot of early retirements, and a lot of early wear and tear on the body. That’s the kind of punishment that the body can only withstand at elite levels for so long.

But that’s not the only kind of gymnastics, and its definitely not the thing that Dick’s known for specifically - that’s acrobatics. And while there’s similarities and crossover, that’s another ballgame entirely.

In fact, where the similarities and crossover tend to happen is in the areas of rhythmic gymastics, aerobic gymnastics.....the kind of things that you see in events like floor routines, the rings, the parallel bars, the pommel horse.

Those gymnasts, the ones who specialize primarily in those areas of focus......they tend to retire from the OLYMPICS around the same time as the others, because again, everyone on those teams needs to be on the top of their games and CAPABLE of being pitted against the power gymnasts of other teams on events like the vault if they need to fill in in a pinch.....BUT they don’t often retire at age 30 overall.

You wanna know where a lot of them end up going after that?

Cirque de Soleil.

Dead serious, I shit you not.....a ton of elite level gymnasts after leaving gymnastics end up....essentially running away to the circus, lol. A full third of Cirque de Soleil’s performers ARE former professional gymnasts.

And a lot of them end up....acrobats.

Because after all, there is a lot of crossover in the two, in terms of feats.....but the difference, the thing that lends acrobats more longevity than most power gymnasts and the like.....is the latter endure most of the abuse to their bodies and joints....when their bodies hit the ground at the end of their feats.

Acrobats, in contrast.....are kinda focused on.....not being on the ground.

A lot of the same wear and tear simply doesn’t happen on their bodies, and allows them to perform much further into life....because there’s simply less strain in the types of aerial feats acrobatics focus on, while suspended high up off the ground.

And we see this reflected in the Batfam and their various styles of fighting and focus, which is why I say despite people focusing on Dick’s body giving out soonest, as the quote unquote athlete of the family -

(Which tbh, I kinda...eh, about, because it feels often like one of those things where people NAME him ‘the athlete of the family’ just to give him his niche without having to acknowledge him as being the equal of any of the ‘brainy ones’ in that regard like Tim or Babs or Bruce, etc.....but honestly, when was the last time you saw any significant focus put on Dick being able to do something physically that the other members of his family COULDN’T do, because they’re not ‘the athlete’? Y’know what I mean? Like, there’s a lot of MENTION of how he’s the most athletic or acrobatic or all of that.....but that never seems to hold any of the others back from doing any of the equivalent physical feats one is inclined to write them doing, or allowing them to be written as sizably less skilled as fighters in any meaningful way. So focusing on Dick as being the most specifically physically minded and oriented of the family feels a bit performative, tbh, and that puts the focus on his body being specifically vulnerable to wear and tear, moreso than the others a bit.....suspect imo. BUT I DIGRESS).

My point is, regardless of that, my take is the focus on Dick’s body giving out soonest is ironically just....completely backwards. Because actually compare his form of physicality to some of the others, and you see what I’m saying:

Bruce and Jason for instance - they’re perfectly capable of high-level gymnastic feats when necessary, but their overall approach to flips and jumps and grappling swinging and the like is to use it as a means to an end. Its always in service to getting them ON THE GROUND as quickly and efficiently as possible....where they can use their brute strength and mass and physicality to its most effectiveness, wading in to brawl hand to hand with combatants anywhere possible (excepting of course when Jason is using guns from a distance, or Bruce his Batarangs, but you get what I mean in terms of overall styles).

But THAT kind of thing....is far more the realm of the power gymnast. The kind of high impact landings and force-multiplying jumps and flips meant to just....cut straight to it. Hone in like a heat-seeking missile. Deliver the full force of them as quickly and efficiently as possible.

In contrast....Dick’s style is entirely different, and hails directly from his origins and his strengths as an acrobat. He’s NOTED for basically spending as much time IN THE AIR during a fight as possible. He soars above when possible, rather than engage up front and hand to hand. He’s more likely to leap over criminals’ heads, kicking out and navigating upwards on his way to ‘tag’ the next one in any manner he can....dodging in and out, using confusion, weaponizing evasive maneuvers, getting his opponents to get tangled up in each other’s way...that’s HIS style.

Dick deliberately keeps himself at a distance as long as possible, not out of fear but out of basic awareness of his own strengths and weaknesses and his instinctive (due to being a born and raised athlete every bit as much as Damian and Cass are born and raised fighters) drive to look after his own body and keep it maintained and honed and efficient for as long as he can - something that I don’t doubt was drilled into him by his acrobats-as-their-livelihood-family from the very first moment they began training him. 

The less he HAS to engage hand to hand, the less he HAS to land feet flat on the ground after a flip rather than using the balls of his feet to simply spring off even further and then transition into firing his grappling hook mid-air, the less he HAS to block a strike with the side of his forearm or strike someone fist to face rather than block with an escrima stick and strike with the other.....

The longer Dick’s body stays in strong enough condition to remain his most effective weapon.

And that’s not something everyone in his family can claim, or even point to as a priority of any kind.

Which is why I maintain that focusing on Dick’s body giving out young is not only a bit....eh....given they all perform equivalent levels of physicality in their vigilantism day in and day out.....its also, IMO, focusing on the wrong family members entirely. 

(Overall, personally I’d rate Dick, Tim and Cass the ones most likely to retain their physical fitness the longest based on their respective styles and how they’re typically depicted in fight scenes).

[itsmeevie01]

Bio!Dad Bruce Day 12- Little Mari OUTLINE

Super sweet

Rly creative lol

Fidgeted a lot

Mom is BAMF and Bruce is the fucking batman lol

Martial arts queen

Super committed to her fam

Loves Gina and actually knows Jason (trope lolz)

Loyal af to the fam

She has a small group of friends

Chloe

Nino

Kim

Max

Alix

Marinette is smart. Scary smart.

She skipped at least two grades

She took shit from chole bc of it, but she put her foot down and then they were besties 😊

Marinette loves her parents, but they don’t have the abilities necessary to take care of her and run the bakery

She is very individual and likes to care for herself

She started sewing between 6 and 8

She makes everything the fam owns later on

She slays all day and is introduced to jagged and other celebs through Chloe

 Bruce knew of her before he knew how involved in design she is.

(trope) it isn’t until a gala that the fam even knows that she has her own line

M high key is not clumsy but plays it up so that when she’s a bamf ppl don’t think it’s her

Mari totally did gymnastics as a kid

Combined with her martial arts stuff I mean… Is there any more needed to be said?

Mari totally would know how to handle weapons w/o any help from Bruce.

Am I saying that Jason stayed with T&S for a while after his time w/ Talia? Yes absolutely

Gina found him and thought some physical labor and a steady schedule would be good for him

He meets Mari then and she’s still a kid?

He starts to teach her things

Like how to use weapons.

He totally got escrima (Spell??) sticks like what Dick uses for Nightwing

And she slays at them??

Before he leaves, he gives her a lot of knives and other things that her family DEFINATLY wouldn’t approve of

Its his fault that she knows sword play? 

When she and Kagami meet, she recognizes the fencer and they end of sparing?

Ft a shooketh Chloe

this one has been simmering for a while and i wanted to get it published lol

#b!dbwm2020 #b!dbwm #ml x dc #maribat #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #my writing #outline 2

[bat-losers-inc]

Song of Cassandra: Chapter 1

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

                              _____________________________________

“To select a victim, to adorn it, and to drive it towards the enemies to be killed by them in time of crisis - such is the ancient rite of substitution.” — The War That Killed Achilles by Caroline Alexander

The bone-saw pinwheeled through the air and smashed into the stone facade beside them. The event wouldn’t have been nearly so noteworthy if Dick hadn’t just yanked Damian out of its path only a second ago.

“Hey, Robin,” Jason called, “get your head in the game before you lose it completely!”

In front of them, Red Hood had swapped out his dual guns for a set of brass knuckles. All around him the Dollotrons and their improvised weapons fell to the ground.

Not helping, Jason.

Robin’s domino mask hid multitudes behind its whiteout lenses. Dick read what he could from the pinched lines of Damian’s mouth and the taut muscles in his neck which trembled through each unsteady swallow. He could feel the effort it was taking him to reign it in.

“Robin, you good?” He placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder and tried to draw his attention back from wherever his mind had just drifted off to. It wasn’t the first time that he’d asked that question tonight and he doubted that it would be the last.

“Fine,” Damian replied but jerked free of his grip with a suddenness that could only mean his pride had been bruised.

Damian snatched the fallen bone-saw up off the pavement and hurled it back into the mass of flailing limbs where it sliced deep into a Dollotron’s shoulder and sent the man staggering.

“Incapacitate only, Robin!” Batman’s voice boomed over the noise of the brawl unfolding before them.

The hope was that they could save at least a few of Professor Pyg’s failed creations if they got them prompt medical attention. Robin, however, had been one-step behind the entire evening—breaking with their predetermined strategies and acting on reflex more than anything. Dick could only chalk so much up to rustiness from being out of the field.

As Robin ducked back into the fray, he had no choice but to follow him in the hopes of preventing further bloodshed. It was going to be a long night.

Back in the cave, he watched Damian unbuckle the utility belt from his waist, his uniform glowing brightly in the cave’s dim interior. His movements were calm, but the distracted look in his eyes betrayed him outright. It was much too soon for him to be back in the field after his death at the hands of the Heretic and subsequent resurrection and it showed on patrol this evening.

Dare he say it, but tonight Robin was... sloppy. And didn’t that just make it worse, he thought to himself, remembering Jason’s muttered comment earlier that night, you can’t blame Damian, the last thing he wants to do is disappoint his father.

Well, what the hell was a kid supposed to do when Batman was your father?  

Dick’s gaze cut to Bruce at the Batcomputer, oblivious to everything except finishing up his report of the night’s mission. He wanted to chuck an escrima stick at his stupid pointy head. But no matter how satisfying that would feel in the moment, it wouldn’t be productive. So instead Dick did the adult thing and waited impatiently for Damian and Tim to change out of their gear and head to their respective beds to sleep away the rest of the dark hours.

When they were alone with nothing but the clicking of keyboard keys to fill the silence, Dick cast a final confirmative glance Jason’s way. Jason raised his arm and tapped at the imaginary watch on his wrist.  

It was now or never. “Bruce, can we talk for a sec?”

Bruce turned in his chair and faced him. “About what?”

He took a breath and forced the words out before his confidence failed him. “I don’t think Damian should be back in the field.”

Bruce held up his hands, his expression transforming from mild to exhausted in a fraction of a second.  “Dick, no. We’ve discussed this. I’m not having this conversation again.”

Again, he said, like he’d ever really taken the time to listen to him the first time around.

“You agreed to give him time! We only just got him back and already you’re putting him back in the line of fire?”

He’d thought that would have been the last thing that Bruce would have done. They’d all witnessed how Damian’s death had driven Bruce to the edge, Jason especially. It had taken hours of persistence to get Jason to even agree to come here, let alone stand with him on this, after the stunt Bruce had pulled in Ethiopia.

Bruce sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly. “I’m not putting him anywhere. I put the decision up to Damian and he told me he felt ready to put the uniform back on.”

Those walls that Damian had started to lower during their time working together were back up now that his father was around, but not before the damage had already been done. Dick had glimpsed the vulnerable side of Damian that just wanted to prove his worth. He couldn’t stand by and watch the kid get hurt, even if he had to step on Bruce’s toes to do it.

Jason pushed off the clothing lockers that he’d been leaning against for the past ten minutes and walked up behind Dick’s shoulder. “You sure he really meant that? Or was he just saying what he thought you wanted to hear?”

Bruce’s face was quickly losing its composure. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, he was raised knowing he was the son of Talia al Ghul and Batman. Not Bruce Wayne— Batman. He might not think he has a choice in putting on the cape unless someone tells him otherwise.”

“And you think I didn’t?” snapped Bruce. As quick as that anger appeared, it was snuffed out just as fast and replaced with a measured response. “Robin is the one thing that gives Damian purpose. I won’t take that away from him.”

“Can you honestly say that his actions tonight didn’t worry you?” asked Jason. “He can take down Dollotrons with his eyes closed, but tonight he was distracted almost to the point of defenselessness. If we didn’t tag along and babysit him the entire patrol he might have ended up in the med bay or worse.”

“I think it’s understandable that he’s having some trouble adjusting.”

Adjusting, Dick wanted to scream. Did you see the look on your kid’s face out there? He’s not adjusting to anything.

Jason sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “C’mon, B. You know I don’t stick my nose in things unless they’re serious. This is serious. We’re worried about him.”

Bruce glanced between them, eyeing them both critically. “Think back to when you both were Robin. Would you have appreciated someone coming in and telling me to bench you because they thought you weren’t ready for the role? Without even taking into consideration how you might feel about the matter.”

“We aren’t saying that—” said Dick.

“Are you sure? Because it seems like you only just made this mistake with Tim.

The comment hit Dick like a slap to the face. “That was an entirely different situation—”

“You took Robin away from Tim when you thought he wasn’t in a position to handle the job anymore and gave it to Damian. Now you’re trying to take it away from Damian.”

“Robin was my mantle,” Dick said slowly, an anger months in the making rising in him. “I created it and I’m so sick of you telling me what bearing that name means or who that uniform gets passed down to like I don’t have any say in it! Especially with Damian. When you ‘died’ you left him with nothing. He was your blood son but you never bothered to give him a place in this family beyond that. So you want to talk about Damian’s place and his purpose ? Well, I gave those to him, not you.”

He thought you were going to be the one to take Robin away from him. He was so scared that his place in your legacy would be erased the moment you returned, despite all the work he had put in to change his nature.

Bruce was in his chair one second and standing over Dick in the next. “Despite what you might still believe, you’re no longer his guardian nor are you his mentor. You gave up the right to parent my child when I came back from the dead. I’m Batman and it’s time for you to go back to being Nightwing. Understood?”

Go back to not having a say, you mean, Dick thought to himself, remembering a time when all he wanted to do was go back to being Nightwing—to not have to make the hard choices. But not anymore. He’d been Batman and had a Robin of his own and those protective instincts don’t just magically turn off with a snap of the fingers.  

Sometimes I feel the need to protect him, even from you.

“I said is that clear?” Over four years since he’d worn the uniform and taken orders from Batman, but Dick’s body still jumped to attention like it did when he was Robin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that even Jason wasn’t immune to that tone of voice.

He absolutely hated it.

“Crystal.”

Bruce’s cape whipped him in the legs on his way out.

“C’mon, get changed,” Jason placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded his head towards the exit, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

It would take more than a year for him to realize he should have tried harder.

                              _____________________________________

By the time Jason shoved into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him, it was two hours short of daybreak. He jerked to a halt when he caught sight of him sitting in his living room, and clutched his apartment keys in one limp fist.

“Hey,” he said, voice a rough croak.

Dick stood up to greet him. “Sorry. I didn’t think to text you and I had a key—”

He paused when he caught sight of Jason’s face illuminated under the overhead lights. “What happened to you? I thought you went to talk to Steph.”

“I did,” Jason dropped his keys in the bowl by the front door. “Or at least I tried to. She was more interested in hitting something than having a heart to heart.”

It was too soon after Tim’s funeral for Stephanie to be back in the field. Even, Kate had suggested that Bruce intervene before someone got hurt on the job. Dick had wanted to laugh at her choice of phrase. Hurt? Didn’t she realize that the reason they were in this situation in the first place was because the stakes had risen way past that already?

Still, they all knew it was no good to try to force yourself back into the vigilante lifestyle before you were ready. Damian had proven that only a year or so ago and Gotham’s citizens had borne the brunt of his mistake. So Bruce had tried to step in, but it felt like all he’d really succeeded in doing was pouring salt into the gaping wound that Tim’s death had rent into their little family of heroes.

I’m so sick of you pretending like you care. Dick remembered the way Steph had flung those words at Bruce just hours ago. You only care when people can forgive you. Because all you really care about is continuing your stupid fucking mission!  

Dick could already make out the puffy bruised skin that circled his right eye and colored his cheekbone a dark purple. “Right, so the obvious conclusion was to offer up yourself as her human punching bag.”

“Better me than Bruce.”

Just the idea of it made him sad. Jason and his stupid martyr complex. The kicked-puppy of the family. “I disagree.”

There was an image that Dick couldn’t get out of his head. It lurked in the back of his mind, even now. Steph’s features pulled tight from anger and grief, her icy eyes staring holes into Bruce as she spat out, You keep pretending to care about me to what? Absolve you for what happened to Tim? Well, I don’t, Batman. I don’t absolve you!  

No, it should have been Bruce that bore the brunt of her violence. Bruce who sported a fractured cheekbone for the following week, a consistent reminder of his failings. Not his little brother who had warned them all time and time again about Bruce’s bad habits and all of the endless justifications he had to explain them away. Not Jason, who’d said Bruce shouldn’t be allowed to have sidekicks if he couldn’t keep them alive into adulthood—that if he wanted to fight crime so bad, let him, but keep the kids out of it.

Jason winced as he fingered the delicate skin around his eye. “We both know from past experience how unsatisfying it feels to go after him. It’s like punching a brick wall—he doesn’t give anything and it just ends up hurting you more in the long run.”

He knew Jason was right, but that still didn’t make it fair.  

Jason went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen green beans which he pressed to his face with a relieved sigh. “What are you doing here, Dick?”

Jason never was one for small talk.

Dick stared at the bookshelf in the corner of Jason’s living, the titles on the spines were illegible to him all of a sudden like he was viewing them from a great distance. “Tim’s dead.”

“Yeah, I know. Alfred called me after it happened, same as you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” Dick shook his head. “He was supposed to hang up the cape and go to college with Steph. I thought he was going to make it, but instead, he sacrificed himself on that rooftop for Bruce’s endless goddamn crusade.”

“Careful, Golden Boy. You’re sounding a little blasphemous there.”

“Good,” snapped Dick. “because I’m fucking angry. Angry that Bruce seems content to maintain the status quo while my siblings get blown up and stabbed and tortured.”

“You’re also grieving,” said Jason. “Which might explain why you’re slumming it around my place instead of spending time with Babs. When you work your way up to the bargaining stage I suggest trying Damian because I’m not helping you find a lazarus pit.”

“Fuck you,” he replied, but he couldn’t force any heat into the words. Not when his chest constricted again with that tight pain that stabbed at his lungs. He couldn’t stop the tears that pooled at the corners of his eyes and spilled over.

When he glanced up at Jason, the other boy was nothing but a watery figure standing out against the dark room. “Those missiles incinerated Tim into a pile of ash. There’s no body left for us to try to bring back this time.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut tight like something was paining him. He didn’t go to Tim’s funeral, Dick remembered and wondered which stage of the grieving process he was on: denial or acceptance. Either way, it was clear that even he was having trouble hiding it behind that cock-sure snarky mask of his.

Jason shook his head slightly. “I think you should leave.”

“What?” Dick wiped furiously at his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I can’t tell you what you came over here to hear.”

“And what’s that?”

“That everything’s gonna be alright. That Bruce is gonna change his ways.” Jason shrugged and tossed the bag of beans on the counter. “He might change a bit… adapt like he’s done in the past. But it won’t happen fast enough to stop another Robin from dying on the job.”

“You don’t know that.” Dick wanted to punch him for how cruelly and casually he said it.

“Don’t I?” Jason grabbed his Red Hood helmet up from where it rested on the kitchen counter and flung it at Dick’s chest like it was all the evidence he needed in the world. It was. “Just because you want someone to change, doesn’t mean they will.”

“Go to him with me. If we talk to him together we can make him listen—”

“The same way he listened to us before, with Damian? Like how he listened to Steph tonight? She yelled the harsh truth right in his face, even gave him an ultimatum. And she failed, just like you did, because the truth is that he doesn’t want to hear it.”

“We just have to try harder this time—”  

“Dick… please leave. I can’t do this with you right now and I won’t lie to you just to make you feel better.”

Dick threw Jason’s helmet onto the nearest piece of furniture. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that? I’m standing here trying to tell you that I need your help and you can’t even bring yourself to listen to me.”

“That’s because I’ve already learned this lesson. Just like Steph did tonight. And it’s a really simple one at that … if you love someone, you do what’s best for them even if it’s the hard choice. Damian, Cass, Steph, Duke… they won’t be ‘safe’ until they’re out of the lifestyle entirely. And it’s become increasingly clear that Bruce can’t, or won’t, give up being Batman so what makes you think he’s going to tell them to stop?”

Jason’s words were no different than the ones that occupied his thoughts of late. So why did it feel so much worse to hear them spoken out loud?

“I can’t lose another sibling, Jason. I won’t be able to take it. Please… there’s got to be something we can do.”

Jason hesitated, his eyes dropping to the kitchen counter. The sky was starting to lighten as dawn approached. In the ever-shifting dim of his apartment, it felt like ages before Jason finally spoke again. “I want to show you something. Maybe it will help.”

He walked past Dick to his bookcase and pulled a collection of books off the shelf, revealing a hole in the wall. “I started it about six months back for Steph. Her relationship with Bruce has always been rocky. I knew there might come a time when she went off to do the vigilante thing on her own.”

He reached in and pulled out a saran-wrapped package. “I want her to know that she had money waiting for her—to get a place of her own and new gear if she needs it.”

He tossed the package to Dick. It was a brick of cash, bundled into individual stacks with currency straps. Based on the various conditions of the bills it looks like Jason had swiped them during his many run-ins with Gotham’s criminal underbelly.

“You saved all this for her?” asked Dick.

Jason paused in placing the books back on the shelf and shrugged. “Well, yeah. We know how hard it is to go it alone—the way you have to swallow your pride and values at a certain point because you need Bruce’s help, or money, or his connections. Steph deserves better than that. If she made the decision to leave the fold, I want her to go and not look back.”

Jason leaned against the edge of the bookshelf. “It’s not much when you’re coming from Bruce Wayne’s trust fund, but maybe we could start doing the same for the others; Damian, Cass, Harper, Duke... What do you think?”

“There’s certainly enough dirty operations in Gotham to fund it, but we’d need a better place to store it than a hole in your wall.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Dick’s mind was already racing with the possibilities. “And we don’t have to stop at cash. I’m sure we both have old safehouses that we don’t use and contacts with other superheroes and scientists that we can share—”

“Whoa, whoa! Dick…” Jason rubbed at his face. “What you’re talking about is building Batman’s resources from the ground up and not even that, doing it all in secret.”

“Are you saying we can’t do it?” asked Dick.

“Not necessarily—”

“Well if we have all the resources then why are we hesitating?” asked Dick.

He held out his hand. “So are we doing this?”

Jason took his hand. “I guess I officially have to stop calling you Golden Boy now.”

#song of cassandra #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Stephanie Brown #Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #hurt comfort #bruce wayne a+ parenting #emotional abuse #emotional whump #nightwing #red hood #robin #spoiler #Red Robin #DC comics #batman #My writing #LittleDarlingXOX

[sun-moon-stars-jedi]

Give It Up

Chapter 1

Dick can't see a way out of this and Jason will have to pay the price.

-

Dick can’t see a way out of this. His eyes are roving around the room, cataloguing every thug surrounding them, every weapon pointing at them, every closed off exit and he can’t see a way out of this for him and Jason.

The odds are stacked heavily against them, they are outnumbered 20 to 1 and are both already exhausted. Neither of them is seriously injured yet, but with the way their limbs are getting heavier, their dodges narrower, he knows that won’t stay true for long. To top it off their comms are fried and they are both weaponless, Hood’s guns long since out of (rubber)bullets and his own escrima lost earlier in the fight. Same for all kinds of Batarangs or other throwable weapons they had.

Dick chances a look at Jason, who is still trying to stand strong against the relentless assault of three men the same size as him, and he knows they can’t prolong this any further. Just as he has this thought, his own opponents make use of his momentary distraction and manage to take him down, hard.

He lets out a pained shout when he hits the floor, feels his arms immediately being restrained behind his back as he hears his brother’s modulated voice call out “Nightwing!”

He is held so firmly against the floor he can only barely turn his head towards Jason and manages it just in time to see the moment his brother’s opponents overwhelm him as well, bringing him down just like Dick. Once Jason is also restrained, Dick feels hands grip his shoulders and he is pulled up to his knees and placed next to Jason, who is now in the same position. A pair of hands stays on each of their shoulders, but the rest of the thugs retreat, settling into a circle around them.

“Well,” says a familiar voice out of the darkness, footsteps slowly drawing closer. “That was easier than I had expected. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble if you give up so easily.”

The owner of the voice steps into the circle right in front of them and Dick just glares at Black Mask. He can hear Jason growling lowly next to him, but he seems to be holding his tongue for now.

Black Mask steps closer, coming to a stop just out of arms reach from them and looks them over. Dick notices how his gaze stays far longer on Jason than it does on him, how he is taking his time to take in his brother’s entire body and something twists in his gut.

Read more on AO3

#Jason Todd #Roy Harper #Bruce Wayne #JayRoy #Roman Sionis #please read the tags #batfam #my writing #currently at chapter 7 #should only be two or three more #Dick Grayson

[megaguardain]

Support me!: Patreon - Kofi 

May have forgotten to post this since the derecho hitting my town...Whoops.

Name: Bruce Wayne

Nickname/Alias’: Batman

Titles: CEO of Wayne Enterprises

Species: Human

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Black

Height: 5’ 8” (formerly), 6’ 0” (currently)

Weight: 195 lbs

Gender: Male

Orientation: Heterosexual

Birthday: April 17th, 1914

Timeline

1914- Bruce Wayne is born to Martha and Thomas Wayne.

1923- Thomas and Martha Wayne are killed by Joe Chill in a mugging, leaving Bruce an orphan.

1928- Bruce Wayne graduates high school early.

1931- Bruce Wayne graduates college at 17 and leaves Gotham.

1938- Bruce Wayne secretly returns to Gotham and begins operating as a vigilante. After being injured by criminals, he debates letting himself bleed out before a bat crashes into his study. Bruce decides to live, and become a bat to scare criminals.

1939- Batman investigates Apex Chemical during a murder investigation. During the investigation, Alfred Stryker falls into a vat of chemicals and is believed dead First public sighting of Batman

1940- Batman encounters Hugo Strange’s Monster Men and kills them. He realizes that they were innocent people Strange experimented on. Batman vows to never kill again and to never use firearms unless neccessary. Batman aids other heroes in retrieving the Spear of Destiny from Hitler. He joins the Justice Society of America. Bruce Wayne adopts Dick Grayson after his parents are killed. Bruce trains Dick to help him get justice for his parents. First public sighting of Robin

1941- Bruce Wayne and Julie Madison break up when Julie becomes fed up with Bruce’s playboy persona. Batman and Robin arrest Oswald Cobblepot, exposing his crimes as the Penguin. First public sighting of the Penguin

1942- District Attorney Harvey Dent has half his face scarred by an assassination attempt. He is driven insane by his reflection. First public sighting of Two-Face.

1944- Harvey Dent accidentally kills his fiance. He surrenders himself and is treated for his insanity, and plastic surgery is used to heal his face.

1947- Dick Grayson, now an adult, leaves the Robin role and Bruce Wayne after an argument.

1951- Due to the American Government thinking the JSA were secretly communists, they disband.

1952- First public sighting of the second Two-Face (George Blake)

1955- Bruce Wayne marries Selina Kyle in a private ceremony.

1957- Helena Wayne is born to Selina Kyle-Wayne and Bruce Wayne.

1960- Batman aids other heroes in repelling the Appellaxian invasion. He does not join their Justice League.

1961- Batman uncovers evidence that leads to Bill Jensen’s arrest.

1967- Alfred Pennyworth passes away. James Gordon retires as Police Commissioner, his son Tony Gordon, takes over. Barbara Gordon saves Bruce Wayne from being kidnapped by Killer Moth First public sighting of the first Batgirl

1969- The Joker announces his retirement to Batman by robbing several banks and disappearing.

1970- Batman responds to a burglary in ACE Chemicals. A man in a red hood falls into a vat of chemicals and is presumed dead.

1971- Helena Wayne is kidnapped by the League of Assassins Batman rescues Helena from the League after refusing to become their next leader.

1972- Against her parents wishes, Helena Wayne becomes the new Robin. First public sighting of Robin II

1977- Helena Wayne, becoming argumentative with her parents, abandons the Robin role and becomes the Huntress First public sighting of the Huntress

1979- Bill Jensen is released from prison and is granted power by the sorcerer Soul Thief, under orders from a mysterious court, and used his new power to attack Gotham as revenge against Batman. Batman is killed by Bill Jensen’s overloading power.

2010- The Blackest Night falls from the sky.

Powers and Abilities

Peak Physical Conditioning: Bruce Wayne has trained his body to the limit of human condition. He is as skilled or better than Olympic level athletes and soldiers.

Acrobatics: Bruce is one of the best athletes in the world from his training.

Genius Level Intellect: Bruce Wayne is an incredibly intelligent person. He’s travelled the world and acquired knowledge in medicine, deductive reasoning, military tactics and many more areas of study in order to fight crime in Gotham. 

Engineering: Bruce Wayne is a skilled engineer, able to build or disassemble complex machinery even if it’s not his own design.

Investigation: Bruce Wayne is the World’s Greatest Detective for a reason. He is able to notice tiny details that other investigators overlook or miss, and can accurately deduce scenarios whether it’s a murder or a villain’s scheme. 

Driving: Bruce Wayne is a skilled driver, able to remain in control of a vehicle moving at high speeds and under attack. 

Piloting: Bruce Wayne is a skilled pilot. Able to fly planes and helicopters while under attack.

Weaponry: Bruce Wayne has been taught and mastered many different weapons from swords, staves, escrima sticks, knives, archery, thrown weapons and even firearms.

Martial Arts: Bruce Wayne is a skilled martial artist. He has mastered boxing, jujutsu, taekwondo, ninjutsu and has even developed his own martial art called Bam Pow.

Stealth: Bruce Wayne heavily relies on stealth while crime fighting. He is able to sneak around most people and even some superhumans. He is notable for leaving in the middle of conversations without being noticed.

Intimidation: Bruce Wayne is skilled at intimidating people to get information out of them. His reputation proceeds him in the criminal underworld after years of crime fighting that some people do not need to be prompted by him to give him information.

Escapology: Bruce Wayne has studied how to escape from restraints and various traps he might be locked in.

Equipment

Batsuit: Bruce Wayne created the original Batsuit. Originally made of simple cloth and leather, Bruce added metal pieces of armor underneath the suit to protect him from gunfire and blades. Bruce continued to make improvements to the suit.

Utility Belt: Bruce has a utility belt with the Batsuit that houses all sorts of gadgets and weaponry for him to use in crimefighting.

Batvehicles: Bruce Wayne first created the armada of bat-themed vehicles he and the members of the Batfamily use to fight crime in Gotham and around the world.

Pistol (formerly): Bruce Wayne used to carry a pistol with him as the Batman. Since his encounter with the Monster Men in 1940, he has very rarely used it or any other firearm.

Black Lantern Ring (formerly): The Host must Rise from the Grave for the Blackest Night. This has earned them a Black Lantern Ring:

Reanimation: Black Lantern Rings reanimate their Hosts corpses. They are able to access the Host’s memories and powers they had at the time of death, though the soul of the Host is no longer part of their body.

Black Energy Constructs: Hosts of a Black Lantern Ring can create energy constructs by willing them into existence. Constructs can be manipulated to allow certain people or objects to pass through them, become transparent or opaque, or radiate certain wavelengths like Kryptonite. 

Kryptonite Generation: Black Lanterns can have their constructs generate Black Kryptonite if they know the proper wavelength.

Energy Blasts: A Black Lantern Ring can fire blasts of energy. The energy are typically lasers or plasma in nature. The Energy blasts can be attuned to different wavelengths.

Phasing: A Host can phasing through objects they normally cannot pass through, this takes considerable effort and energy from the Ring’s battery.

Universal Translator: Black Lantern Rings will automatically translate spoken word into language the User can understand and translate the words of the User.

Energy Absorption: The Black Lantern Ring can absorb a variety of energies; from technological, magical and alien.

Wormhole Generation: The Black Lantern Ring can allow the Host to enter hyperspace to travel great distances in little time, this takes concentration to maintain the wormhole and emerge unscathed. If multiple Hosts use the same wormhole it becomes easier to maintain.

Regeneration: Black Lantern Rings can completely regenerate their Host so long as the Ring is intact.

Emotional Spectrum Reading: Black Lanterns, being technically reanimated corpses, cannot ‘see’ in a traditional sense. Instead they can see the current emotion Subjects are feeling as colors. Subjects feeling multiple emotions appear as multiple colors. Black Lanterns cannot see those who don’t experience emotions. 

Umbrakinesis: Black Lanterns are able to manipulate darkness by generating depleted protons.

Emotion Spectrum Nullification: Black Lanterns can nullify and deplete the energy of other Lantern Rings by manipulating darkness.

Death Charging: Death is their emotion. Instead of normal Power Batteries, Black Lanterns share a collective charge amongst their rings. They increase the charge by killing sentient beings and devouring their hearts. Those who are killed by Black Lanterns are recruited into the Corps to spread Death.

Death Infection: Black Lanterns can infect Subjects, slowly turning the Subject into another Black Lantern.

Peaceful Death Weakness: Those who experienced a peaceful or content death are unable to Rise and become a Black Lantern.

White Light Weakness: Life is the antithesis of Death. Black Lanterns are vulnerable to destruction by White Lanterns, or by two Users of different Lantern Rings.

Earth-96 Story

Batman needs no introduction. Everyone knows who he is and what he does and why. So why am I making this? Because my interpretation is a bit different. The most notable difference is Batman used to kill.

While that’s seems almost sacrilegious, it fits well with his early adventures in comics. He literally throws a man into acid and says it’s a fitting fate for him and he hangs a monster man from the Batplane until he dies. With that second example however, it was an innocent man who wasn’t in control of himself. This will give rise to Batman’s famous “No Killing” and “No Guns” rules. 

And, like 99% of the characters in this Universe, there must come an end. I personally like the death of the original Golden Age Batman. A man named Bill Jensen is imprison for a crime he thinks he didn’t commit, so he plots revenge against Batman and Bruce Wayne (who becomes the police commissioner on Earth-Two). He is even granted powers by a sorcerer, which overload when he discovers that Bruce and Batman are the same person, killing them both.

I also wanted to connect Bruce’s death to hold more meaning. Bill Jensen was just some rando, even in the comics. He didn’t exist until the story where he killed Batman. So, who sent the sorcerer to give Bill powers? That’s a story for another time...

#dc comics #earth 96 #earth-96 #my art #my writing #bruce wayne #batman

[awhitehead17]

A Teenager’s Nightmare

Tim & Dick, TimKon, Humour, Spots. 

Summary: When Dick finds Tim’s apartment broken into, he automatically assumes the worst, however he did not expect to find Tim having a melt down because of something like puberty

Enjoy! :D

One thing that Dick wasn’t expecting as he approached Tim’s door was to find the lock broke. Stopping short of the door he studies it, finding that the handle has been crushed with incredible strength and how the entire mechanism is busted. Tim will definitely have to get a new door.

Taking caution Dick brings out his collapsible escrima sticks and gently pushes the door open. A million questions run through his head as he forces himself to stay calm. Had Tim been attacked? Why hadn’t he called for help? When did this happen? Who attacked him? Is he alright?

Dick takes light, careful steps into the apartment as his brother’s potential attacker could still be around. He gets no further than the hallway when he hears pounding on a door. His heart begins to rapidly beat as he picks up the pace and runs through the apartment in search for Tim. His attacker was still here. 

He follows the sound of the pounding and eventually he finds himself in front of Tim’s bathroom. He comes to an abrupt stop once he sees whom is pounding on the door.

There stood Kon-El, who was repeatedly knocking his fist against the wooden door and rattling the handle. Dick couldn’t believe it. Why was Conner attacking Tim? Surely his brother’s boyfriend wouldn’t attack him.

Conner hadn’t noticed his arrival and continues to bang on the door. “Come on Tim, open up! Unlock this door, I don’t want to break this one as well.”

Dick stares at the half Kryptonian’s back debating what to do. It didn’t seem like Conner was furiously attacking Tim, so he didn’t really know whether to attack Conner himself or not but he didn’t let his guard down just in case.

The meta finally notices him, when he looks over at him he instantly freezes. One hand was still on the door handle while the other was raised to pound on the wood once again. If Dick wasn’t super confused to what was happening he’d find it rather amusing about how Conner was looking like a deer caught in headlights.

It’s silent between them as they stare at one another. After a few blinks Conner’s eyes wonder down to the weapons in Dick’s hands before glancing at his own hand on the door before looking at Dick once again.

He quickly lets go of the door and steps away with his hands in the air. “I swear it isn’t what it looks like.”

Dick observes Conner, he meta seems earnest and even panicked about the situation so he’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He relaxes from the defensive stance he was in and gives the meta a look, “Then do you mind telling me, what is happening?”

“Uh…” Conner hesitates as he starts to rub the back of his neck in a sheepish way, “Well Tim and I were supposed to go out today but he refused to let me see him and I didn’t know why. Then he locked the door so I couldn’t enter, I got angry and broke it, Tim then ran and hid in here and I’m trying to get him out. I’m this close to breaking this door, I don’t want to because then I’ll feel bad.”

Dick continues to blink at Conner as he digests the story he’s been told. After a moment he slumps in relief, because okay good, Tim wasn’t being attacked by his boyfriend. He puts away his weapons and walks up to the bathroom door. Conner moves out the way and Dick knocks.

“Timmy, open up, it’s Dick.” He waits for a moment, unsurprised when nothing but silence greets him. Dick rolls his eyes and knocks again. “Come on Tim, open up before Conner has an aneurysm.”

“That’s not possible.” Came the muffled reply on the other side of the door.

“Yeah well, let’s not test the waters okay?”

Another moment of silence passes, it was when Dick was about to knock again that a lock unlocking could be heard. Before either he or Conner could react the door was being swung open and a hand appears through the gap. It grabs Dick by the shirt and yanks him inside of the room.

Dick stumbles in and as he gets his footing the door was being slammed shut and locked once again. He straightens up and turns to face Tim.

“Tim what’s going on? What’s with the weird behaviour?”

Tim had his back to him and Dick just waits patiently for him to explain. It’s obviously something that’s seriously bugging him or he wouldn’t be acting this way.

“It’s because of this!” Tim yells as he spins around and faces Dick, as he turns he wildly gestures to his face.

Dick startles at the sudden shout but quickly gets over it, he gives his brother a once over trying to work out what’s exactly wrong. There was nothing different or wrong about him, not that Dick could see anyway. He voices this to Tim and in return gets a scowl.

“Are you being fucking serious? Dick, look at my face! It’s covered in spots!”

Dick pauses, now that Tim’s pointed it out he could see them, but in his opinion it wasn’t even that bad. He rolls his eyes and gives Tim a look.

“It’s not even that bad Timmy, getting spots is a normal teenage experience.”

“That’s not the point Dick! I can’t let Kon see me like this! I look hideous.”

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs at Tim’s dramatics. “Tim, Conner isn’t going to care that you have a few spots. You’re being ridiculous.”

His brother throws his hands up in the air, “Of course you would say that, you have immaculate skin. I have to cover it all up and shit. I can’t let Kon see it because he too has immaculate skin!”

This time Dick shakes his head in disbelief, because really?

“Why don’t you just cover them up then?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have any concealer left.”

Of course it’s never easy is it? Dick opens his arms up and shows Tim his empty hands, “Well I can’t help ya there Tim. Anyway it doesn’t matter. Conner will not care, so stop stressing over nothing and go see your boyfriend.”

Tim buries his face in his hands and almost wails, “I can’t!”

Dick rolls his eyes at his brother’s behaviour. Teenagers. Deciding that he’s not going to deal with it anymore and how Tim needs to get over it, he makes his way over to the door. He loves Tim, he really does, but dealing with a hormonal Tim who’s nearly crying because of spots is something he’ll pass this time round.

He gets his hand on the bathroom lock before he’s suddenly yanked away from it.

“No!”

Dick simply spins around and dislodges Tim’s grip on him and pushes him away. “Oh my god Tim, knock it off!” He escapes Tim’s grasping hands and grabs the lock, this time he’s successful at getting the door unlocked and opening it.

Keeping a struggling Tim at bay, he faces Conner who was staring at him with a mixture of hope and confusion.

Giving the meta a bland look, he says, “He’s all yours.” Dick then quickly steps out of the way, just in time to avoid Tim tackling him. After missing his mark, Tim stumbles forward straight to his boyfriend who easily catches him and grips him tight so he couldn’t get away again.

Dick side steps them and starts making his way back through the apartment, over his shoulder he says, “So you guys have some things to talk about, have fun. Tim, I’ll just come back another time to talk to you alright. See you guys later…”

#dick grayson #Tim Drake #Kon-El #fanfiction #timkon #humour #spots #tim being dramatic #big brother dick #teenagers

[themusicplayedherlife]

Night Out

this week @forevans​ and i shared the prompt: "Are you calling me an angel? Ha, how sweet of you, but you're off. I breathe fire and hoard treasures, remember?"

pairing: dick grayson x reader characters: dick grayson, goons, you word count: 1.5k warnings: brief fighting, dick being cocky,  brief mention of blood and injuries, mostly fluff summary: only dick would get himself in this mess.

forevan’s bucky story will be linked as soon as posted!

This was supposed to be an easy bust—in and out, but no, Dick just had to go and do something stupid and get caught. And like always, you have to save his fine ass.

“I told you to wait for me,” you hiss into the coms, watching from a vantage point in the warehouse used by Penguin’s men as a weapon’s cache. You have a clear view of him tied to a chair surrounded by at least nine thugs. They’re taunting him, trying to get a rise out of him, but if there’s one thing Dick is is resilient.

“And miss out on all this fun?” he says to you, or the thug—mostly you, if the smirk thrown your way is anything to go by.

Another punch is thrown his way—a jab to his cheek. He doesn’t wince, only continues to smirk—how does he do that? Is hiding your pain part of the Batman regiment training? “What was that pretty boy? You think this is fun?”

“He should’ve aimed lower,” you joke, pushing aside your worry and mild anger to focus on looking for a clear path to drop down and do your thing. “You think you could handle a couple of more hits for me?”

He spits out blood, right at the thug that hit him. “Of course. Only because it’s you asking, sweetheart.”

The grunt snarls and launches another jab, his buddies egging him on and asking to take turns, but Dick takes it all in stride.

Wincing, you take another quick look around—there are too many wooden crates, and a couple of diesel tanks stored in a corner of the room. If you use your powers, you might accidentally cause the warehouse to explode with you and Dick still inside and half of the dock. Guess it’s hand to hand combat—Black Canary would be so proud to know that you’re not just relying on your powers.

If you drop down behind him, there’s a chance the thugs won’t give you the opportunity to release him from his restraints—unless… Spotting the fire alarm on the other side of the building, closer towards the entrance, you get an idea. Setting it off will most likely send a few of them to check it out together—too afraid to travel alone and face whatever set off the alarm on their own. They’re all predictable. And cowards. How Dick allowed himself to be caught by them is beyond you.

Walking on the high beams, you set yourself right above Dick and his captors. You reach into your utility belt and you pull out one of the spare Wing-Dings you stole from Dick—you really need to talk to him about changing its name—and press a small, hidden button before throwing it as precisely as possible towards the red alarm. The shuriken like boomerang releases an electrical shock near the fire alarm, setting it off.

Just as suspected, four of them travel together towards the entrance, the rest of them turning their backs on Dick and yelling over the alarm—there’s your opening. With a smirk, you drop down, breaking your fall with the asshole that took aim at Dick the most, your knees behind his shoulders and pushing him down to the ground face first. At the same time, you quickly throw another Wing-Ding to the grunt closest to Dick, and he falls just as the boomerang returns to your hand. The three remaining thugs are too stupefied to react, giving you enough time to break him free.

“Thank fucking god they didn’t use handcuffs,” you tell him as he pushes himself away from the chair to block an incoming attack from the men with his Escrima Sticks.

“Why? Not kinky enough for you?” He yells over the alarm, swinging his batons fast and hard, occasionally turning on the tasers to take them out. “Incoming!” He warns as the wayward thugs run into the fight after realizing your deception with the alarm.

“Got it!” You drop to the floor and sweep your foot to kick the legs of a thug, successfully, dodging a charging attack from another and causing him to crash into a pile of wooden crates. “I prefer your handcuffs. They’re sturdier,” you tease with a wink, kicking a thug in his chest towards his direction and he responds by knocking him out with one of his batons.

“Want to try them out when we get home?” He asks, just as the two of you double team once more to take out the remaining thug. You clap your hands and send a wave of mild heat towards him, blinding and immobilizing him for a moment and giving Dick the chance to roundhouse kick him into stacked crates.

You send in the tip to Amy Rohrbach through your holographic computer implanted in your wristband whilst he ties them up nice and pretty for the police. It won’t be long before they arrive on scene. “After pulling a stunt like you did earlier, I don’t think you deserve play time tonight.” You lift your gaze to find him staring at you, a lopsided grin on his face that only ever means trouble for you. “What?”

“When you jumped down, I swore you looked something heavenly.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes behind your mask and head towards the exit. “Are you calling me an angel?”

“Always,” he practically purrs, right on your tail.

“Ha, how sweet of you, but you’re off. I breathe fire and hoard treasure, remember?”

“That was a one time thing!” he protests, following after you and stopping you with an arm around your waist, tugging you against him. “And to my defense, you were dressed as a dragon and I was, what, fifteen and totally in love with you? Teasing you was the only way to get through to you.” You roll your eyes. "And didn't you almost burn down the cave?"

“Hey! First of all,” you start, poking his chest with every syllable, “it was a onesie! A very comfortable onesie! Secondly, I did not appreciate your teasing, whether you were in love with me or not." He chuckles fondly. "And thirdly, you and the rest of the Team wanted to check if I could breathe fire!”

He tilts his head, looking down at you. “It was pretty cool.”

You scoff, splaying your fingers across his chest, right where his Nightwing insignia rests. “It was so not cool.” Your hand trails up to cup his bruised face. “If it weren’t for Kaldur, I really would’ve burnt down the souvenir room.”

“Was still pretty cool, and hot.” He presses a feather-light kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, chuckling when your nose twitches involuntarily. “Really hot. Literally and figuratively.”

“Only you would think that.” You run your thumb over his split lip and frown when he winces. Maybe you should’ve worked a little faster. “You okay? Want to stop by the cave to treat your wounds?" 

He kisses your thumb and he cups your jaw in his large hands, his playful expression sobering up. “I’m fine. Are you? You took down most of them.”

“They didn’t even touch me,” you say, proud of the fact. 

“That’s my pyromaniac,” he teases, brushing a lock of stray hair falling over your mask behind your ear. He leans down, and brushes his lips against yours teasingly.

“You’re hurt,” you whisper against his lips.

“So?”

“You’re going to start whining like a baby if you put too much pressure on your wound.”

“If I get to kiss you,” he breathes slowly, “I could care less.”

As much as you hate to kill the moment, the sounds of sirens going off in the distance reminds you of where you are and what you were doing. You reluctantly pull away before he can deepen the kiss, opting to hold his hand. “All right, bird brain, we need to get out of here before Rohrbach and the rest of the BCPD gets here. I really don’t want to explain how we found Penguin’s men or the warehouse.”

He laces his fingers with yours as the two of you leave the warehouse. The cold night air hits you for a second before your internal temperature balances itself to its regular heat—higher than an average human. He leads you towards his parked motorcycle gifted to him by his old mentor. “Can I still convince you to try on my handcuffs?”

“If you dress up as a dragon, breathe fire, and hoard treasure, then maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Huh. That’s doable. I have to look up dragon onesies as soon as we get home and I’m going to need your help to breathe fire—but totally doable,” he says jovially, squeezing your hand. “As for the treasure? Well, it’s a good thing that the only treasure I hoard or care about is right here with me.”

You grimace, trying to fight off the smile threatening to split your face in half. “Oof, yeah, no. Handcuffs aren’t happening, tonight, or ever.” 

He brings up your laced hands and kisses the back of your hand gently, before hopping onto the bike. “Oh, come on. I thought it was pretty good. You’re my treasure, my tesoro, comoara mea, mon trésor, babe.”

You bite your lip and shake your head, slipping in behind him and wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. “Keep it up and you’ll be spending your nights on the couch for the rest of the week.”

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson imagine #batfam imagine #reader #reader insert #young justice imagine #nightwing imagine

[river-bottom-nightmare]

The Nightwing Suit

There are some absolutely incredible artists out here on tumblr, and seeing their fanart makes me cry tears of joy. Dick Grayson, one of my personal favs, is always a wonderful contender for fanart. His innate grace and agility and flexibility translate beautifully on the artistic spectrum. Bottom line: I love all the Nightwing fanart. However, there is something I want to address with his suit. I’ve been an aerialist ever since I was 7 years old, and I’ve taken gymnastics since I was 3. Now, I specialize in Lyra, while Dick obviously specializes in Trapeze, but when it comes to costume, we’ve got many very important similarities.

DON’TS

When it comes to aerial, we want as much mobility and flexibility as possible. So here are some things that absolutely will not be on his suit.

1. Shoulder Pads. I will scream it from the rooftops if I have to. The Nightwing suit WILL NOT have shoulder pads!! Red Hood? Definitely. Red Robin? Those shoulder pads are important for bo staff strength and support. Robin? Damian probably doesn’t need them, but they won’t hurt. Nightwing? No way. To me, one of the most important parts of my body when practicing and performing are my shoulders. They pull me into hangs and holds, let me rotate myself around, and basically support the rest of my body. This is partially due to user preference: I prefer arm-based stunts and hangs rather than leg based. But it honestly doesn’t matter that much. Nightwing will absolutely need 100% use of his shoulders. Him being able to freely rotate them can be the difference between life and death with his style of fighting. Shoulder pads will just hamper that flexibility. I will admit that shoulder pads look badass, but in this one hero’s scenario? Shouldr pads are a no-go.

2. Sleek Arm Braces. Nightwing, while being well recognized as a solo hero, does often work with a team. And on a team, he isn’t the type to huff angrily and say he can do this by himself. Emotionally? Yes, of course. Physically, and in a fight? He takes all the help he can get, with absolutely no would to his pride. When performing his flips and tricks and such, the other partner will grab hold of him by usually his hands or his arms. I’m just going to straight up say: catching someone by their hands is a Bad Idea. You will not believe the speed we travel when we go through the air, and catching by the hands will lead to dislocations and pain. For a few stunts it’s okay, mainly for the visual aspect of a performance. But when it’s life and death combat? Hands are a last ditch effort if you can’t catch someone by the arms. Because that’s what really counts. The forearms. When Dick is fighting with someone, and that other person has the strength to catch him/throw him from a drop or a flip, they will catch him by the forearms. If Dick’s wearing sleek ‘n sexy arm braces, he’s going to slip right out of their grip. I prefer to keep my forearms bare, but in regards to protective armor, the fabric around the arms better have a grip.

3. Extra Fabric. This one is a given. However, I want to get into the specifics. When you’re in the air, momentum is your most powerful ally, and if there’s anything opposing or hindering that momentum, that spells trouble. Extra fabric can sometimes be good, such as around the legs. Not too much, obviously, but wearing loose or baggy pants while fighting with Nightwing’s fighting style works (as long as you can, you know, actually fight in them and not trip over the extra cloth). Around the middle? Nuh-uh, nope. Anything looping around your waist, hips, or rib cage is a liability if it’s not skin tight. The belt that Robin often wears is okay, as long as it’s wrapped pretty tight around him and doesn’t move. For the kind of stunts that Dick pulls off on a daily basis? I don’t think anything but a skintight bodysuit will help. For arms, extra fabric is ~okay~ but not preferable. And anything strapped to his back, as long as it’s securely in place, will actually help his momentum (so his escrima sticks or any other weapon/item you want to put in there is fine). Nothing around the neck, at ALL. That one issue in Batman where Dick wears a scarf is hot as hell, and sort of makes sense because they’re in the desert. But on missions, at the speed Nightwing fights and flies through the air, anything around his neck will choke him. This entire section definitely wasn’t an excuse to say you should just keep Dick in a skintight outfit, nope, not at all.

4. Spandex. While we’re on the subject of skintight outfits, I just want to point something out that isn’t necessarily important or anything. It’s just a general preference for me. I prefer costumes with a little weight on them. The adrenaline rush is intense for some of my more advanced stunts, and those are things that I bet Dick would consider basic. I prefer something with a little substance/weight/texture to it. Nothing too serious, and nothing too restricting, just something to keep me grounded and focused. We all know how much Dick likes being in the air, but I’m willing to bet he also needs a little extra touch to keep his head in the game. So if you’re designing a serious Nightwing suit, not for crack or fun headcanons or anything, I would steer clear from the spandex, gauze, and showy-light-gossamer fabrics. They do provide extra mobility and flexibility, but that’s because they’re one drop away from naked.

5. Joints. Okay this may seem a little contradictory based on the last point, but around the joints, especially hips and shoulders, the protective padding needs to ease up. It’s one of the hardest areas on the body to injure, after all, even for a professional. And second, I know I’m sounding like I’m repeating the obvious, but flexibility is of utmost importance. If the fabric doesn’t bend with Nightwing, then there’s no point. It can’t chafe, it can’t grind against itself, it can’t break. The material around major joints needs to be malleable.

Dos

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about what you can absolutely add to Nightwing’s costume to give it either a little pizzazz, or just your own personal touch.

1. Boots. Yes yes yes, boots are an absolute must! And it’s not just me thinking thigh-high boots are cool. Coming out of a big drop and other major stunts requires rolling on your back and then onto your feet. But Nightwing doesn’t fight with the one-hit-and-done style. (That’s more Jason’s thing. He plants himself like a tree and puts power behind a punch, kinda like Bruce, which is why boots-especially boot soles- are important for them.) Nightwing gets in a punch and flips away, then bounces back and gets in a kick and flips away, then bounces back and gets in another kick and flips away. You see where I’m going with this. Dick is constantly on the move, constantly on the verge of flipping back. The main way he does this is with his feet: landing lightly on the balls of his feet to absorb momentum before using that to hit back. Boots with fricion-specific soles are important, he cannot slide or skid. Also, ones that go higher up aren’t bad either: extra support is always welcome. As long as they don’t cover his knees and allow for ankle flexibility, they’re good to go. They may even help stop ankle dislocation. Anything you want to add to the boots? Go ahead. As long as it’s not gauzy ribbon or something too extra, or something that can easily get caught in something else, it’s good to go. In my performances, I like to cover my shins with something, it can range from simple high socks or performance boots to go with my costume. I particularly like Damian’s long lace up boots, especially in Super Sons. It’s a cute outfit, and it won’t hinder his fighting at all. As long as Dick double knots, he can wear those, and any other variants of boots.

2. Gloves. I’m not actually sure if Dick has ever been called “Fingerstripes” in canon, but I’ve seen it in fanon plenty of times. Regardless, it’s one of my favorite nicknames for him, and it does have a basis. The stripes on his gloves are an awesome artistic choice, and useful too. Assuming they have a different texture than the rest of his gloves, those fingerstripes could help with grip. Grip is one of the most important tools an aerialist can have. I have had grown men look at me with shock when they shake my hand because of my firm grip (and the calluses, ugh). I firmly believe that Dick Grayson has one of the strongest grips in the DC non-meta world, and I bet you he surpasses even a good amount of metas. Having a good, no-slip grip is essential, even if you’re just swinging from the surface for a second, or if the surface is another partner’s hand. Gloves, once again as long as they’re not too restricting, would be awesome with helping with that.

3. Wrist Braces. I said before that Dick can’t have arm braces because of the whole partner-grip thing. But with the amount of force and pressure Dick exerts on his hands on a daily basis, dislocations and sprains should be as common as a bruise. Hell, I’m sitting here typing this and my left wrist is sprained. Fanfic writers, here’s a helpful tip: you can write Dick with a sprained or dislocated or just a plain sore wrist anytime at all, and having him rub his hands with a grimace, rubbing lotion onto them, or doing wrist exercises in his free time is a go-to for if you need anything filler. Or, you know, it could even be part of the plot. Wrist braces help with this, they keep the joints in place and add a little extra stability to his movements. As long as they’re not interfering with wrist mobility, wrist braces are a very very good idea. When you think how long, think about the length of Peter Parker’s handmade web shooters. Long enough to be there, but not immediately noticeable. Also, make sure the material is something cloth, wrap, or gauze based. Anything too hard could scrape against the skin, cause cuts and bruises, and even cut off circulation. Unless it’s armor, it’s not comfortable or easy to do aerial maneuvers with.

4. Back Harness. To be honest, I have no idea what the official name for this piece of equipment even is. But the thing that holds Nightwing’s escrima sticks to his back. The thing that holds Deadpool’s katanas (in the movies, not the comics). The back-strap-harness thingy. That’s a go-for-it when it comes to costumes. Not only does it look badass and hot when it’s on your costume and you draw your weapons from it seamlessly like a boss, it’s practical and doesn’t interfere with your fighting at all. As I said, a majority of Nightwing’s moves rely on momentum. The back harness thingy won’t harm that at all. As long as it’s strapped to your back, unmoving and steady, it stays out of the way and may actually help you with your momentum. Drawing weapons from it is easy and seamless, and one of the quickest moves you can perfect, aside from drawing your weapon from thigh/calf holsters. But as I said before, Dick would probably stick to the back because, once again, momentum.

Okay this got much longer than I thought it would. But regardless, I hope this helps if you’re ever drawing or writing about the Nightwing suit and need specifics. Or hell, if you’re a cosplayer and need some information on how to make an accurate costume, here you go. Now I need to take a breather and chill, because while I considered myself a pretty recreational comic reader and not much of an analyzer, I had no idea how much I picked up about Dick’s individual fighting style and how that fits in with my own aerial experiences.

#i have no idea what to tag this #suit analysis??? #superhero costume dos and dont's?? #nightwing #dick grayson #meta #dc #nightwing meta #dick grayson meta #dc meta #nightwing suit #river thinks too hard

[blackandbluegrayson]

63 or 98 for the prompts if you like. Thanks so much!!!

(I’m so so sorry that it have take me forever to answers that one. Life have been a bit crazy. Hope that one is not to bad.63 : “You look pretty good,considering you just got shot.” 98 : “Nothing is going tohappen to you.”)

The night hasgone from bad to worst to shitty fast.All starts when a snowstorm begins during a stakeout to stop a weapon dealcoming from Blüdhaven. As much as Bruce has worked on a type of thermal pant thatdidn’t obstruct Jason’s movements it wasn’t there yet. Scaly underwear and capethat stops at the butt are still a stupid way to dress to be out in Gotham’scold weather. Jason blames Dick terrible fashion sense for the reason he isfreezing his ass off.Speaking of Big Bird, he wasn’t supposed to be there tonight but seem that hewas doing his own investigation and has journeyed back in Gotham.

Jason havebeen glad to see him after he has witnessed the size of the operation and thequantity of arms goons. It wasn’t the point of view of either Batman orNightwing. Bruce insisting it was a Gotham problem, so they can deal with it whilethe younger hero refuses to back off saying it was being taken care because itcame from his city.

Normally theymanage to keep those verbal fight only in the cave, but it appears the weather isaffecting everyone temper tonight. So, while they are having a piss contest,Robin choose to move to the edge of the building to continue the surveillance.After all his time as Robin, Jason have learned better than stay around when thosetwo get into it.

That whenall hell has broken loose. Maybe one of the goons has spotted Robin or has heardthe not to subtile argument between Bruce and Dick. Anyway, a bunch of themhave made their way to the rooftop where they are and decide to get rid of thebat and birds’ invasion.

During thebattle Jason have nearly lost his footing because of the snow and one of thecrooks use that distraction to throw him over the edge of the building. He onlyhears Nightwing and Batman screaming for him as he plunges down.

He was luckyenough to have his drop break by an open dumpster but not enough to fall in theright way as his left knee hit the metallic ledge. His cry of agony is coveredby the sound of the metal lid closing. The pain in his leg and the impact withthe garbage have left him dazed. Jason has no idea how long he has been therein the dark.

After whatfeel like an eternity, Jason could hear some noise outside. He moves slowly toget is batarang out of his utility belt ready to defend himself. He holds hisbreath as the lid is lifted. “Little wing?” A familiar voice calls but in his state of mind the boy wonderthrew the weapon even before he can think about it. It was simple self-preservationinstinct. Nightwing training gives him the reflex to bend back to dodge. “Hey it’sme,”

Jasonswears. “Maybe a little warning next time….” He hisses between his teeth.

Nightwingclimbs on the ledge of the dumpster. “B try to reach you, but your com probablybeen knocked out in your fall. He is taking care of those goons.” He says as hemoves inside. His weight makes the garbage bag and boxes shift as pain flair inJason’s leg.

“Robin?” Theolder man asks to see how pale the boy was. He looks him over and curse. “Thatlook painful.”

“Youthink!?” Jason growls. He couldn’t stop a yell as Dick’s touch on top his knee.“Don’t touch!”Nightwing open his mouth to apologize or comment but was cut by someone elsevoice outside. “Boss, ’think I find the brat.” A man claims, and they couldhear a gun’s cocking.

Robin looksup at the older vigilant try to no show how he was panicking internally. He issitting duck in here. Nightwing seems to understand without needing him to sayanything. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” He promises in a whisper. BeforeJason could react, he jumps out of the dumpster. The sudden movement sends ahot white pain through all the teen leg, making him feeling sick and lightheaded.Robin could vaguely hear the commotion of the battle over the roaring of hisblood in his ears.

The gunshot istoo clear.

The noiseseems to resonate forever against the metal. As much the sound was freighting,the silence that follows was an even worse.  

Jasonfrowns. That wasn’t good. “Wing?” He calls out trying to keep his voice steady.He knows that stupid, but he is getting really worry. Nightwing is never quietin combat.

When he didn’treceive an answer, he takes a deep breath and brace himself as he forces hisbody to sit up. Again, his leg seems to burst into flames, but he keepspushing. He needs to be sure Dick is okay.

Jason managesto grab on the side and pull himself up to look out. He froze on the spot atthe scene. The gunman is on the ground clearly unconscious, one of Nightwing’s escrimassticks near. The owner of the weapon is slumbering against the brick wall headlow. Jason could see the blood on the wall behind him but couldn’t spot whereit comes from because of the dark fabric of his uniform.“Nightwing!” he yells and force himself out of the dumpster. He falls wrong onhis legs, the pain that flair was too much. He blackout but not before he hearsthe familiar sound of a cape ruffling. *****************************

First thingJason is aware, is that he is warm, and his head feel weird. His head isfeeling like it was wrapped in cotton and his mouth dry. He is drugged. Thatwasn’t good.

The secondis that something not quite heavy or light is pressing him down. His eyes flyopen when his brain acts up with the situation and he tries to fight his wayout of here whatever trap that was. The pain that fair in his legs was enoughto make him whimper and stay still for a moment. He wouldn’t want to attracthis captor’s attention. He attempts to catch his breath and move his head toknow where he is. Even in his state, he didn’t forget he was Robin and use whatBatman has taught him.

He blinks afew times as he recognizes the plain decoration of his room at the manor. Lookingdown and realize with some embarrassment that what he has thought has restrainedis his blanket. Alfred probably been the one tucking him in and trying to stophim from hurting himself more. He turns his head to spot a glass of water onhis nightstand and a pair of crutches.  Jason slowly sits up and pushes the covers to inspect his leg. Even with theminimal lighting coming from between the curtain, he could see the splint coveringhis left leg.

Snowstorm. Fall in the dumpster. Gunshot.Nightwing’s blood.

As the events of the night rush in his mind, his stomach twist with worry. He needsto check on Dick. He takes the crutches and get out of bed as fast as he canwithout disturbing his injury. The trip to Bruce’s office never feels this far away.Jason is only half way there, and he is ready to crash. His whole body iscomplaining.

“Littlewing? What are you doing up?” The nickname is enough to make him stop. The onlyperson that calls him like that.

“Dick!” Hespins around toward the voice and lost his balance a bit. A hand on his elbow helpshim stay up.

“EasyJason.” Dick says. “You look awful. You should not be up.”

The youngerman could finally face his predecessor, and he doesn’t look hot either. The looset-shirt, that Jason suspects being Bruce, he can see that his right shoulder inheavy bandages. His arm is in a sling close to his body, and he is pale.

“Sure, likeyou can talk. You look pretty good, considering you just got shot,” Jason sayssarcastically.

Dickchuckles weakly. “I deserve that one.” He comments as he gently pushes Jasontoward the room he just exited. The new boy wonder realize it was the library.“Come sit down before Alfred catch the both of use up.” He helps him to thecouch in front of a light up fireplace. Dick takes a blanket off the cushions andput it on the arm.

Jason groansa bit as he let himself fall on the couch. “What are we doing up stairs?”Alfred normally insisted on keeping them in the Batcave’s infirmary for a leastthe night after a big injury.

Dick sits atthe end and reach to help him settle both his leg on his laps. He put theblanket on top of them. “The snowstorm has knocked the power out, Bruce andAlfred are working on the repair. We would have frozen down there.

“That make sense.” Jason says. For a few minutes the onlysound that could be heard was the wind outside and the crackle of the woodburning. It is strangely relaxing.

“You didn’tanswer my question.” Dick comment breaking the silence. He tears his eyes fromthe fire and glance at Jason. ‘Why are you up?’

Jason sendshim a glare. “The last thing I remember was you bleeding in an alley… I want tobe checking on you.” He replies before he looks away. He not sure how Dickwould react to this. It wasn’t like they were close or anything. They arenothing else that kids Bruce Wayne takes under his wing. At least the olderteen doesn’t seem to hate him as he was when they first meet.

He couldfeel Dick’s gaze on him. ‘Jay…’ he begins but Jason cut him.

“You should bein bed as much as I do.” He mumbles before Dick could say something that would probablybe embarrassing.

The acrobatsighs a bit. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decide to come here and read until mybrain shut up.” Jason raises an eyebrow. He never really imagines Dick Grayson sitting down andquietly reading. Silent and immobile don’t seem to be modes the first Robin caneasily achieve, even least both at the same time. The fact that here asabsently drumming his finger on Jason’s uninjured ankle is just reinforcingthat image. ‘Don’t look like it is working well.’ He comments. ‘Something hurt?Maybe Alfred can give you another round of painkillers.’Dick shakes his head. “The shoulder is not too bad.” He says. “Trust me, youprefer me like this that drugged out of my mind. I become more a mess that I’malready are.” He jokes but the humour feels really force.

“Then what’swrong?” Jason asks. He knows he is a bit blunt, but it makes him uncomfortableto see his predecessor like this.

For a fewminutes he thinks he won’t answer but finally Dick drop his head on the back ofthe couch and look at the ceiling. “You have fallen Jason…” he says. “I can’tstop replaying it in my mind. You could have…” He stops but the word was unsaidbut still hang heavily between them.

“You could have died.”

Jason looksdown, biting his lowers lips. They might not be close, but he realizes whatthat means to him, how painful that must have been for Dick. He moves his goodleg to dig his heel in the taller man’s thigh. It’s his way to tell him that heis there and alive. Dick smiles weakly and squeezes his ankle gently.

The tensionbetween them seems to drain.

“So, whatwere you reading?” Jason asks. Books are easy and familiar for him.

Dick chucklessoftly and reaches to pick up something on the side table and gives him abatter copy of The Merry Adventures ofRobin Hood. “It’s my comfort reading. I have gone through that one somany times, I’m pretty sure I can recite it by heart.”

Jason opensthe book carefully. He can say that this book has been well loved. It was notone of the hardcover prints that were in the Wayne Library. It’s a soft coverthat can be found for cheap in a bookstore or retail shop. All the book he haspossessed before coming to the manor was like this. Jason still has them in hisroom. “That one is yours.” He comments.

“That theone my parents used to read to me. I was so worried to loss or damage it that Idecide to let it here.” He smiles weakly. “Nothing is safer than under Alfredwatches.”The new Robin nods bad continue to look through the book but more carefully. Herealizes how precious that book is. He is touching that Dick trust him enoughwith something this personal. “So, is that why you name yourself Robin when youjoin Bruce on the street? Always think it have been B ideas.”

Dick shakeshis head. “No…” he seems to hesitate. “It was the nickname my mom was using forme. I was her little Robin”

Jason froze beforehe looks up at him. “Dude… I didn’t know.” Now Dick’s anger when he has learnedthat Bruce has given him the title make so much sense. He feels a bit sick.That was wrong. He shouldn’t be the one carrying that name. “If you want…”The older man raises a hand to stop anything he was about to say. “It’s okay,Little Wing.” He declares, clearly seeing his distress. “You deserve the suitand the alias. I’m in peace with Bruce’s choice. I know my mom would have lovedyou.”

The younger heroglance away. He has big doubt he would be the kind of person Mary Grayson wouldhave wanted to associate with her son nickname. Normally he would have gottenup and just walk out of that discussion. In his state Jason feel he might justfall on his face and look pathetic. Not like Dickhead would let him go.

He gazesback at the book in his hand. That could be a good distraction as any. “You sayyou could recite this text by heart?”

Dick turnshis head toward him. “Even with the painkiller messing with my brain… Yeah, Ithink so.”

Jason opensthe book on the first chapter and grins at the older man. “Prove it…”

“Challengeraccepted Jaybird.” He laughs a little before he throws his head back on thecouch and begins to talk. “In merry England in the time of old, when good KingHenry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the green glades ofSherwood Forest…”

Jasonnuzzles against the cushion as his eyes fly over the words as he let Dick’svoice bring him in the story. He not sure when he has closed his eye, or if himor Dick have fallen asleep first.That how Alfred find them a few hours later. He might or not have taken apicture before waking the boys up to send them both to their rooms. No onewould be able to prove it.

#my writing #answers #dick grayson #nigthwing #Jason Todd #Robin II #batfamily prompts

[jinmukangwrites]

I’m not sure how this bad things happen bingo is supposed to work..... but can we get a newly-struck-out-on-his-own teenage nightwing getting held up by his neck?

X/done diamond/next fire/requested

@badthingshappenbingo

Sorry I took forever, and also sorry in advance of this chapter isn't as great as the others. I hit a major writing block on this one for some reason (hense why I took forever) but I pushed through it. I think it's okay, idk, whatever, I almost kill Dick again so it's all good.

I'll add a keep reading when I get to my laptop.

Also look! I have a bingo coming up!!!!! Yay!!!

-o-o-o-o-

Nightwing landed hard but silent at the top of a metal structure by the dockside. The moon had rose to its highest point and the cool night air, air that was somehow colder than Gotham, breezed past, ruffling his loose hair and sinking through his suit. Below where he perched were a group of classic baddies doing classic baddie business. He watched silently as one hefted a box into a shipping container and another marked a tally on a clipboard.

He didn't know what were packed into those boxes being loaded, but he did know that the man leading the operation wouldn't be taking charge of innocent boxes of cereal. No, Gave Jones—a leading force in Blüdhaven's gangs that was not someone to cross unprepared—dealt in drugs.

Nightwing had been tracking Gave for the better part of a week, which is just a bit shorter than the time Dick Grayson had been in Blüdhaven. He was Dick—Nightwing's—first bad guy since he moved out of the manor, well, first actual bad guy. In the time he'd been in Blüdhaven, he'd definitely had his fair share of criminals show up during his patrols. Back in Gotham, perps got the idea pretty quickly that they had a small window to actually try to mug someone or rob a bank before Batman and Robin showed up, but in Blüdhaven it was like the purge became a reality. Corruption ran all the way to the mayor's chair and cops did nothing about it. Nightwing ran into a criminal every other street all the way into the morning, and even then crime did not sleep. It bled into the day and continued onto the next night. Crime was like a fire ant nest, you can take a couple soldiers and workers out, but they'll continue to swarm and build up until they're fighting back with a nasty bite.

But Gave wasn't a soldier or worker, more like a general. A man no one messed with, who controlled instead of worked. Not quite a queen ant, but taking him out would throw off a whole fleet.

Therefore: first bad guy of Blüdhaven.

Right now, Gave and about twelve underlings and five hired guns moved boxes too and from crates, taking things out and putting others in. Nightwing figured that whatever were in the crates was bad, and whatever they were putting back—probably as an exchange—was just as bad. If not worse. Bad guys usually sell the bad stuff rather than buy it.

Something suddenly crashed and Nightwing tensed as Gave whipped around from where he was counting goods and began to stalk with a face of murder to a young man who dropped a box that he was attempting to lug into a crate. The man whimpered before he hurriedly began to apologise profusely but Nightwing wasn't paying too much attention to that; what he was paying attention to was to the fallen crate with shattered walls, halfway laying on the ground, halfway collapsed into it. Around the cracks pooled a yellow substance that Nighting wished would just go away.

"Of course," Nightwing growled to himself quietly, "of course it's Venom."

It's like every time he and Batman get rid of it, more of it pops out somewhere, stronger and more dangerous. Civilians that use it never learn, at first they take it as an untraceable steroid, and then the addiction gets to them and they turn into raging King Kong's, the only difference is that women they kidnap don't usually end up leaving their meaty fists alive.

It looked like they were sending Venom out of the country, not in. That fact both relieved and worried Nightwing, because at least he knew it wouldn't be Blüdhaven that will be flattened by humans turned Hulk; but third world countries—where, to Nightwing's best judgement, the Venom was most likely going—were harder to infiltrate and clean up. That also meant that somewhere in Blüdhaven was a secret Venom lab that Nightwing hadn't found.

Hopefully, taking out Gave would lead him to that lab.

"How stupid are you! Are you trying to make us lose profit!" Gave was screaming, catching Nightwing's attention.

"Oh heck," Nightwing cursed himself. He was too busy glaring at Venom to notice that Gave had pulled out a gun and was ruthlessly shoving it into the chest of the man who dropped the crate. Other workers averted their eyes and continued their work as the hired guns snickered and watched the cowering man with blood thirsty eyes.

"I'm sorry!" The man sobbed.

"Do you have any idea how much this costs?" Gave snarled and Nightwing flexed his muscles when Gave's finger brushed over the trigger of his gun. "This is coming out of your paycheck!"

Nightwing watched as Gave suddenly stopped yelling and a thoughtful look appeared on his face. Nightwing instantly knew what was going to happen.

"Or, we can just eliminate your paycheck all together," Gave said with an evil smirk.

The man got a confused look, and then a look of dawning spread through his features and he attempted to back up in horror.

Okay, enough is enough, Nightwing thought with a sigh. He had been waiting for the perfect moment to make his move, but letting one casualty—even that of a criminal—slip by wouldn't make Nightwing that much of a bigger person. Ends don't justify means and all that stuff.

Gave readjusted the hold on his gun and Nightwing grabbed an escrima stick from the holsters strapped to his back—heavens above did he love his escrima sticks, definitely a step up from a pole—and launched it through the air. It whizzed and hit directly on Gave's gun hand, snapping the weapon out of his fingers and probably breaking a couple small, fragile bones. Gave screamed in pain as a shot of electricity—god he loved his escrima sticks—ran through his body, disorienting him just enough for Nightwing to remove himself from his perch and begin his attack.

He quickly dodged and hid behind a beam of metal scaffolding when one of the hired guns did the admittingly smart thing and fired in Nightwing's direction, where the stick came hurtling from out of nowhere. Nightwing saw another hired gun leave his spot and start running over, but Nightwing didn't worry too much about that guy, he was heading towards juuuust the wrong direction.

Silence fell over the group of criminals as Gave spat and hissed like a wounded alley cat, clutching at his hand and swearing up the wall.

"The fuck?!" Gave screamed finally and the man he had been previously threatening whimpered. "Was that!?!"

"I think it's that Batman wannabe," sad a hired gun that run over to Gave's side, probably to protect him for another flying stick. He was eyeing the offending stick—that was casually sitting on the asphalt like it hadn't just broken a man's hand—with distrust.

Nightwing both bristled and smirked at the recognition in the hired guns voice. Finally he was gaining a rep in Blüdhaven, but it still stung to be compared to Batman. Maybe he should just tell everyone that he used to be Robin. That'd scare em.

Gave growled unintelligently and started to command the hired guns to find "that Batman copycat" and at the workers to work faster. Nightwing squeezed himself into a nook when he saw the gun that had ran over to find him had turned in his direction. At that same moment, Gave grabbed the cowering worker with his good hand and shoved a syringe into the man's arms.

Nightwing's blood froze when Gave hissed, "make yourself useful."

"Crap."

He spun from his hiding spot and ran in the shadows directly to the hired gun. The hired gun only got to see Nightwing for a brief second before Nightwing has roadhouse kicking him over the temple. The man let out a strangled sound of surprise and then fell to the ground, knocked unconscious. Nighting continued his sprinting, jumping bar to bar until he was down on ground level, but he was too late.

The man who dropped the crate dropped the syringe onto the ground with shaking hands.

"Crap." Nightwing repeated.

The man doubled over and clutched at his stomach, erupting into a painful scream as muscles we're already rippling and growing at a gross and alarming speed. Nightwing jumped from the shadows and sprinted through the dock, alerting every criminal there to his presence in quite a spectacular way—"oh where's that Nightwing guy? Woah, he's running suddenly towards us!!!"—and jumped onto the back of the Venom infested man. He whipped out his other stick and tried to knock the guy out, but the Venom took over and the man threw Nightwing with a mighty yell that would make the Hulk jealous.

A fist that was five times the size it was a couple seconds ago knocked into Nightwing's side and sent him hurtling through the air in a similar way his escrima stick had a few minutes ago. He let out a moan when he felt his ribs give in just a bit as he spun in the air. Thankfully, he quickly orientated himself and landed—albeit sloppily—on the pavement before launching himself to the side as bullets sprayed where he had just been. The bullets ricocheted off the asphalt and kicked up bits of stone and sparks.

Nightwing flipped across the ground and grabbed his other escrima stick before taking cover behind a shipping compartment, the sound of bullets hitting metal followed him.

"GET HIM." Someone, probably Gave, screamed through the gunfire.

Nighting only had a second to catch his breath and convince his brain to ignore his jostled ribs before a hand three times the size of Nightwing's hand slammed around the corner of the container, each of its sausage like fingers sunk deep into the metal, bending it in ways that shouldn't be possible. The container was whipped aside, flying through the air and landing on the scaffolding Nightwing had been hiding at a few minutes ago and knocking the whole structure over. Nightwing barely had time to think that the Venom this time was either extremely strong or shouldn't be taken by the vial before he was back flipping out of the way of the hand belonging to the man turned monster. Metal screeched as scaffolding collapsed on itself and the monster in front of his yelled in a chaotic rage. He swung another blow and Nightwing just barely was able to bring his sticks in front of him to at least block the blow.

The force of the blow alone hurt like a mother, but Nightwing was able to force the hit to his side and the monster ended up slipping and hitting the ground with enough power to shake the ground and make a hand shaped print in the asphalt.

Nightwing didn't give the monster any time to recover before he jammed the ends of his escrima sticks into its side, feeding it enough electricity to knock out a gorilla. The monster screamed and spasmed before, in one last attempt, it the out it's arm and swatted Nightwing aside like he was a fly. The monster stumbled and fell to its knees, but Nightwing was more worried about trying to land once again without jostling his ribs that he was sure a few were broken now. He wasn't so lucky this time, he ended up rolling on the the ground quite a few times before coming to a painful stop.

Everything went silent as Nightwing did his best to not throw up.

"Is… is he dead?" Asked a voice, not Gave.

"I don't know, go check!" Ah, there is Gave.

Nightwing heard multiple pairs of footsteps begin to approach him and he went still, playing dead for the moment. A foot jammed into his side and it took all of his training to not grunt out in pain.

"He looks dead to me," the man who kicked him said. Nightwing waited a few more seconds before two more footsteps arrived. His eyes shot open and he launched his attack with a complicated spin on his hands with his legs in the air—it looked more like a hip hop move, but it was still useful for fighting. His ribs protested in pain as his feet connected with the faces of three out of four conscious hired guns and he flipped onto his feet and got into a fighting position. Because of his ribs, the move wasn't as effective as he would have liked, only knocking one of three out and making the other two stumble.

Nightwing launched his attack viciously. There were two burly looking men standing in front of him with guns they definitely knew how to use, so he had to act quickly before they got the idea to pull their triggers. Nightwing went to hit one of them with his escrima sticks and watched the other one carefully—who was standing off a bit looking pissed off.

The man—who seemed to be buff and fast—dodged to the side and went to sucker punch Nightwing's side, which Nightwing just barely managed to block with his other hand. He quickly returned attack and bitch slapped him across the jaw with his stick. The man stumbled back with a moan and Nightwing was instantly under attack from the other hired gun. He gasped as meaty arms wrapped around his middle, trying to knock him down wrestling style, but Nightwing planted his feet and grabbed his shoulders. His ribs ached with fire yet he continued to ignore it as he shoved the other man away and threw his escrima stick at the first thug who had been trying to aim his gun without hurting his partner. The gun flew out of his hand and Nightwing sprinted towards him to finish him.

The man recovered quickly, which was a sad fact about much Blüdhaven criminals. They weren't skittish like Gotham scum, but hardened criminals that really knew how to fight.

And the fight continued, a fight filled with Nightwing throwing sticks and dodging punches from two men who could be mistaken as bears.

At some point, Nightwing lost both of his Escrima sticks and his hair began to stick to his forehead. He hadn't had a fight this intense in awhile… which is why he had tried to wait for a better moment. He was using his forearms to block blows from the two men who decided to proceed onto him at the same time and slowly backing up with each blow. He growled and was just about to finally return a punch when both the men got horrified looks on their faces and backed away.

Nightwing was just able to feel a little confused before his whole upper body was encased in a giant hand.

He couldn't stop the agonized scream that escaped his lips when the hand squeezed violently before throwing him across the courtyard.

Nightwing landed hard against one of the containers, knocking every body part he had against cold metal, before he flopped down onto the ground. Before he could even take a shuddering breath, he was dragged up to his feet by the Hulk and lifted up by one hand around his neck.

Now he really wished he had that time to take a breath, and now he's being strangled when he's already out of air.

He felt blood trail down his forehead and leak over the lenses of his mask as his feet dangled helplessly below him. The monster was holding him up at arm's length, a length that was just barely out of Nightwing's kicking range. He brought his hands up to the hand around his neck and clawed as hard as he could, both trying to get out of the grasp and hold himself up by something other than his neck.

Nothing was working and his ears were ringing.

To his side, he noticed Gave poke his head out from behind a compartment—the coward—and smirk at Nightwing's. One of the hired men brushed off his hands like he did all the work.

Gave walked up to where Nightwing dangled and his grin widened. "This is the Batman copycat? Pathetic."

"He fights like he's used to someone having his back," one of the guns said.

Nightwing lost the next thing to be said in his own ringing hearing and blurring vision. He felt hot breath on his face and the hand around him felt cold as ice.

He let one hand fall to blindly search for something.

"Just finish him-" someone said through the ringing.

Where…

There.

He grabbed his grappling gun and jammed the pointed end into the hand holding him up.

The monster wailed and dropped Nightwing like a rag doll onto the ground. Nightwing didn't like hurting people, there's a reason he used blunt force weapons instead of sharpened batterangs, but in that moment he was so deep in fight or flight that he didn't care. He somehow kept a grasp on the grapple and it slid out of the monsters palm with a slick pop with him as he landed hard on the ground. Before anyone could question what happened, Nightwing took the arguably heroic—though at the moment he felt like a coward—way out. With black rimming his vision and his whole body in total agony, he shot the bloody grapple towards the distance and retreated. He kept going until the smell of the sea was far behind him and his legs gave out. He stumbled in the dark streets and slid against one of the buildings brick walls, breathing hard.

"Damn," he whispered as the clouds opened up to rain.

"Damnit."

-o-o-o-o-

Wow, whole chapter fit on the post. Neat. That's a first.

#Nightwing #dick Grayson #badthingshappenbingo #bthb #batman #dcu #detective comics #whump #fan fic #jin writes #for like jin finally wrote #gosh this took forever #sorry if this one was a disappointment #ill do better next time

[zombiesbecrazy]

Rainbow Puppies

Summary: Bruce really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided.

Being hit with one of Ivy's toxins now has him babbling like a fool.

ao3

Bruce scowled at the computer screen at his test results, because all they really did was confirm what his body was already telling him. He made his way over to the med bay and hooked himself up to the saline IV line that he already had set up, resigned to the fact that he was going to be out of commission for several hours. There was really nothing he could work on until he could fully trust himself to be objective again. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, but his thoughts continued to run wild even as he feels his brain becoming more sluggish by the minute.

He really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided.  He couldn’t stop his mind from whispering to him that the gas that she had shot him with an hour ago was nothing short of genius and he wanted to give her the credit that was due. It was remarkable chemistry work.

He wanted to be filled with rage, except all that was inside was quickly starting to feel more like rainbows and puppies. Or rainbow coloured puppies. Those would be delightful.

The abundance of positivity was distracting. All the emotions building inside him were startling at worse, but his inability to reign them in was more than concerning.  Just a side effect of the drug, he repeated in his head over and over.

As Bruce was just thinking about how lucky he was that no one was around to see him in such a state, before sleep inevitably takes him, when he heard the roar of a motorcycle come into the cave. He turned his head in time to see Dick jump off his bike and his heart soared in an irritating way to see him stride across the cave.

Without looking around, Dick went straight to the weapons station and started going through the cabinets looking for something in particular. “Hey Bruce. Just making a pit stop before I head home. One of my escrima sticks is causing me problems and I wanted to tinker with its elec…” He pulled out a small voltage meter, then looked towards the computer desk and only now seemed to realize the Bruce was not there like he had obviously assumed.  His eyes scanned the cave and widened when he noticed Bruce laying down. Dick walked over quickly and looked Bruce over with careful, but worried, eyes. “What’s the damage?”

“No physical injuries.”

“So what’s with the drip?”

“Ivy got me with something at the botanical gardens. A sort of pheromonal truth serum hybrid that appears to be having a temporary, but dynamic, upswing of my serotonin and dopamine levels.  I have an antidote synthesizing but it’s going to take several hours before its ready. Effects will probably wear off before it’s done. Trying to flush it out faster.”

“Where’s Alfred?”

“I sent him upstairs for the night. No reason for him to sit with me during this. I’m fine.”

“A pheromonal truth serum affecting serotonin and dopamine.”

“Yes.”

“From Ivy.”

“Yes.”

“You sound kind of drunk.”

“Side effect. Will probably pass out soon. Good pass out, not bad pass out.”

“With no other physical symptoms presenting…” Dick raised an eyebrow slowly. “You’re saying that you are either going to start sleepily spilling positively charged emotional secrets at any moment or are you about to become an angry rage monster and should maybe be restrained?”

“The first one. Please leave.”

Bruce averted his eyes to stare steadfastly at the ceiling, but he could practically feel the smile he knew would be growing on Dick’s face. “Why on earth would I leave? It’s like Christmas came a few weeks early.”

“Because if you stay, I’m going to talk. A lot. I can feel it bubbling up. It’s violating.” And it’s wonderful. He felt amusingly numb and a little bit stoned. Damn Ivy. He felt torn about wanting to go after her or getting her a present.

“Well that’s a shame, because I love talking. It’s one of my top five things to do.”

Always the chattiest of his partners, this was no surprise to Bruce.  He loved that Dick hadn’t lost that trait as he grew up. Still loquacious and witty to the core. “I know.”

“Talking to me is probably better than talking to yourself. You’ll sound less crazy.”

Dick probably wasn’t wrong. If he was going to share his emotions unwillingly, he’d rather it be with his son who regularly wore his heart on his sleeve than anyone else, but he still had enough control over himself to deny it. For now. “Leave. Now.”

“Gee whiz, Batman! Whatever you say!” Contrary to his words, Dick sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Except no. You’re injured and alone. I’m staying put.” He kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed next to Bruce to emphasize his point. Stubborn boy. Following his gut. Nothing wrong with that.

Bruce tried to muster up the words to tell him that he wasn’t really injured, but he couldn’t truthfully do that. He may be physically fine but whatever Ivy had sprayed him with was essentially a toxin to his system. Toxin is poison is injury. “I think you are the reason I may hate extroverts.” Throwing the may in there was just enough to allow the words to sneak though. Made it less definitive.

Which doesn’t actually work because Dick can read him like a book, and he smiles at Bruce and points at him accusingly with the damaged stick. “Liar. You love me. I’m great.”

“You’re right. I love you. And I like extroverts.” And the words are all coming out before he can even think about them. “They have a natural quality I respect. I can fake it for a while when needed, but it’s draining. Draining isn’t even the right word. It’s exhausting. I don’t know how you do it. I wish that I was better at it.” There is something comforting about letting the words come out.  He feels open and light in a way that he can’t remember ever feeling like.  Is this what Dick felt like all the time? “I’m a babbling fool. I like listening to it when it’s coming from you, because it’s normal that way.  It’s off putting to hear it coming out of my own mouth.”

Knowing that this way probably just the beginning, Dick smiled and had a sparkle in his eye.  “Anything else?”

“Hrh.”

“You love me.”

Bruce kept his eyes closed, but gave a small nod. “Yes. You knew that already.”

“I did, but its still nice to hear out loud. We don’t hear it from you often. I’m glad you said it.”

“Did you know you’re my favourite?” The words surprised him, but they were true. It was something that Bruce needed to say. That he needed Dick to hear. Urgently.

“What? No. Really?”

“Yes. You gave me purpose at the beginning, Dick. I put a roof over your head, but you made the manor a home again. You brought light into my darkness. You saved me from myself.” Bruce had heard the shock in Dick’s voice and it confused his already foggy mind. How could Dick not know this? “I know what people say about me. That I’m dark, dramatic, closed off and broody and that it started when Jason was killed. It’s all mostly true, but I was always that way to a point. You slowed that progress significantly. You made me better. Make me better. Having you in my life, having someone to care for who cared for me as well, was the thing that I needed most at exactly the right moment.”

The room was quiet for a few moments and Bruce knew Dick’s eyes were on him. He refused to look back. He heard Dick shift in his chair a little and then felt a hand rest gently on his arm. “Even when things were bad? We were real jerks to each other for a long time”

Bruce swallowed deeply, a little concerned about what was going to fall from his lips. They had spoken about this, of course, but never so direct and raw, without Bruce’s filter between them. “Things were definitely rough, but I still loved teen angst filled Dick Grayson. So much. I was mostly frustrated and disappointed in myself that I didn’t know what do to do with or for you anymore. Just like I didn’t really know what to do with a kid when you first arrived, I was equally unprepared for that kid to grow up and be ready to make his own way. I handled it badly. When you left home and became Nightwing I was so proud of you. Of the man that you were starting to become. Of the little role that I had played to help you become who you are now. You are more than I could have hoped you would be when you first came to live here. Every day I want to thank your parents. For giving you such a good foundation to start with. They were excellent parents. I just tried to keep up.” Dick gave Bruce’s shoulder a squeeze in response, a non verbal nudge to keep going. “It’s not just how you changed me though. It’s about who you are overall. The scale of evil to good in my head quantifiably goes from ‘Joker to Dick Grayson’. You aren’t perfect, but you always strive to be better and you are the best person I know.”

All these words and they still feel like they aren’t enough to describe how he feels, but still, he feels content. Glad they are out there.

“I’m flattered, but you’re crazy if think I’m a better person than Clark.”

“Now you are just taking advantage of me in my drugged compliant state.” He finally opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at Dick. “And yes, I most definitely think you are better. I may be biased though. Clark’s not one of my kids.”

“I don’t deserve all that, and I certainly can’t live up to it, but thank you. So much. For saying that and everything else. I love you too.” Dick took his feet off the bed, moved his chair closer and took Bruce’s hand. “Why don’t you tell us more often?”

“Words are hard sometimes.”

“You sound like Cass.”

“She’s not wrong. I’m not good with feelings. Or talking. You know that. Actions speak louder than words. Even now all this talking and my words make more sense in my head.” He grinned and it felt a little goofy. “Cassandra is definitely my favourite.”

Now Dick straight up laughed at him and it sounded like music to Bruce.  He loved to hear his kids laugh; big or small it meant that they were safe and happy. “I don’t want to sound all school yard jealous or anything, but you did just tell me that I was your favourite less than five minutes ago.”

“You’re all my favourites. Dick, Cass, Tim, Damian, and Jason.” He counts them on his fingers. “Favourites.” He points at Dick vaguely, trying to emphasize something. He can feel himself starting to slip, but this feels important. “That was in no particular order.”

“You are such a dad sometimes.”

“Good. Love being a dad. It’s hard and I’m not always good at it, but taking all of you in were the best decisions I ever made.”

“You should tell the others.”

“Probably.”

“But you won’t.”

“Nope.”

“Of course not.” Dick rolled his eyes, but clearly had affection behind the action. “I really should be filming this as evidence. And I should be pestering you for more things that I can use as blackmail down the road.”

“You don’t need to. You already know all my secrets. If you ever want to know something, just ask.”

“You’ll just grunt at me.”

“Good thing you are fluent in Batman.”

“Very true. It’s a special skill I acquired at a young age. Helps when you are the practice kid. I got to teach the others after me.” Dick’s observing him carefully, the way that Bruce had trained him to evaluate people. Taking in all of the details and profiling. “You look tired.”

Bruce nods and he’s struggling to stay conscious.  He knows that he should go to sleep but part of him is liking this drug, being open and honest, and if he goes to sleep the drug will wear off and he’ll be the same as he was before. It’s been a nice change of pace when most times when things change in his life, there are explosions. “I’m always tired.” He can’t remember the last time he slept more than five hours.

“Sleep now. I’ll stay and keep an eye on things. Fix my stick while I’m here. You have better equipment here than at my place anyway.” Bruce hears the distinctive beep that the voltage meter made when it turns on, and he knows that Dick is lying to him.  He has the exact same voltage meter at his kit at home. Bruce knows, because Bruce gave it to him.  It’s a white lie though.  Nine year old Dick Grayson had once taught Bruce that white lies were sometimes allowed if they didn’t hurt anyone. If they made people feel better.

“You mean you’ll keep an eye on me. You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“That may be true, but I think you’d like it if I stayed.”

“I would. You always have my back, even when you probably shouldn’t. I miss you when you aren’t here, but you’re all grown up. Can’t be here forever.” Silence falls between them again, but there is something else that Bruce needs to say again. Needs Dick to know for sure. “Rainbow puppy.” Bruce hears it come out of his head and knows that they don’t make sense. He tries to explain it to Dick, how the drug makes him feel, how his family makes him feel, but it all comes out like mush.  

Dick chuckled, but it sounded genuine and heartfelt. It always did. “I love you too, Bruce. Goodnight.”

Bruce gave him a small grin, knowing that what he meant got across, and lets the sleep finally take him. The last thing he feels is Dick rubbing his hand gently.  It feels nice and warm. Like home.

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #batdad #batfam #fluff #all the fluff #fanfiction

[bigskydreaming]

Ive been reading some debates on whether or not Dick has LoA training because of the Vengeance Academy stuff and was wondering what you thought about that. Do you think this counts?

Yes and no? I mean, lol, it depends on your purposes for exploring this train of thought.

Thing is, I personally think it would be a mistake to view “League of Assassin training” as some complete singular thing that you either have or you don’t have, like a specific training regimen or course work for lack of a better analogy, that you either make it to the end of and have in its entirety, or else it doesn’t matter.

And I also think that part of the reason for viewing it this way is fandom’s tendency to try and rank the Batkids, according to a lot of various arbitrary variables like skillsets they do or don’t have.....which, if you’ve followed me long enough, you know is something I heavily disagree with, the trying to rank them in skills or competency in general.....as I tend to be more interested in ways this found family that I do ultimately gravitate towards for their ability or potential to be actual FAMILY, can like.....work together and come together rather than so constantly be pitted against each other. Like yeah, I’ll rant to Kingdom Come about times they’ve been pitted against each other in terms of my feelings on those specific instances or how the dynamics played out in them, but that’s in terms of scenes or stories that already exist....for the most part my thing is not really looking to INCREASE the divide between the characters, but rather the opposite.

So like......my point here is I’ve mentioned the League of Assassin training Dick likely has from his time at Vengeance Academy myself, but not in the interest of like......adding to his ‘rankings’ within the Batfam or being like anything the others can do he can do better, as frankly, I don’t think the time Dick spent at VA puts the training he got there as directly comparable to the time Damian or Jason or Cass spent with the League or League trained tutors....but that’s not really my aim in exploring that line of thought. Rather, I look at what League training Dick might have as being more a possible source of insight into experiences his siblings have.

After all, the thing about the League of Assassins is they’re very good at what they do, but what they do isn’t inherently all that different from any of the other hand-to-hand combatants throughout the DC Earth. I mean, depending on what continuity you go with, in most of them Bruce himself trained with the League or various League affiliated teachers before he came back to Gotham to be Batman, and he just sorta took what worked for him and put aside all the more lethal applications of their training and knowledge. But his own training methods when teaching Dick and the other Robins and Batgirls no doubt included more than a little overlap with League skills and training, because not all of their knowledge and expertise is STRICTLY lethal....as Bruce himself has shown, and later on Jason and Cass and Damian....most of what they can do can just as easily be repurposed for non-lethal combat. So in a lot of ways, depending on your interpretation of things and what angle you’re going with, all the Batkids can be said to have some degree of League training.....the same training Bruce himself had.

So when I talk about Dick having League training from his time at VA, Ilike I said, I’m talking more about insight, things he could glean from having firsthand knowledge not just to various League techniques or skills, but also League training methodologies and mindsets. Dick was only there a few weeks, at most maybe a couple months, and the thing is....you can pack a LOT into fairly short term experiences. That’s what boot camps are, essentially, and that’s how I viewed VA....a short term but extremely rigorous and intensive boot camp for prospective League recruits, as Shrike used it to put potential League candidates through their paces with little regard for their health or longterm prospects if they couldn’t make the cut. I called them prospective League recruits but its important that the kids weren’t recruited into VA itself first....they were literally kidnapped off the streets like Dick himself, and forced to prove themselves daily in their training and the missions Shrike set up to advance that. And all of that can be extremely motivating and act as a pressure cooker that packs a ton of training and skill acquisition into very short periods of time......BUT.....that’s not ever going to measure up to all of that being equally in place and acting as a pressure cooker when training Jason, Cass, Damian, etc over even LONGER periods of time, y’know?

BUT. Equally true is all of that is never going to measure up directly to the still extremely intensive and longterm training Dick himself received OUTSIDE of VA....just one on one with Bruce, training with the other Titans, hell, this is a guy who was an acrobat on the world stage before his parents died. Every day of his life he’s been training intensely. VA isn’t just a footnote compared to the lengthier League training some of Dick’s siblings underwent, its a footnote in the overall tapestry of Dick’s own training. And I have extreme reservations about the way League training is referred to as something various Batfam members have in addition to or on top of their other training as reasons for why they’re an even better fighter, etc....same as when Talon training comes up for Dick in AUs....when like......Bruce, Dick and the Batfam overall have never NOT ultimately defeated the League and the Court of Owls every time they come up against them.....so why does assassin training so often get regarded as this ‘leg up’ over the Batfam’s primarily non-lethal approach to combat, as though its a superior skillset? If its inherently superior, why do the assassins keep losing to the Batfam, I’m just saying. So on that front, the idea that “was trained by assassins” is innately translatable to higher elevations in the eternal quest to rank the Batkids, like.....just does not work for me and that specifically tends to be where people lose me here, not whether or not Dick has this training at all in the first place.

Another way to look at things here is like....let’s take one specific skillset: Dick’s use of escrima sticks in his fighting. Now, this DIRECTLY hails back to his time at Vengeance Academy. It was a literal plot point, that VA is where Dick first trained with escrima sticks and discovered an affinity for them. Once he was back with Bruce though, he didn’t do much further with this while Robin, but upon becoming Nightwing, he picked them up again and RENEWED his training with escrima sticks, becoming extremely proficient with them and making them his signature weapon. 

Now, is Dick’s status as one of the best fighters with this particular weapon because of his several weeks boot camp when he was ten? Again - it just depends on what you mean by that specifically. If you’re asking did he gain the proficiency he’s known for with that weapon AS a ten year old during that short span of weeks - hell no. His proficiency comes from the intensive, regular training he does with them here and now, as an adult, over a course of years, still constantly growing and improving day by day. BUT at the same time, you can ask the same question and examine it through the lens of “would he have ever discovered and explored and FURTHERED his affinity with this particular weapon if not for his time training at VA”.....the answer could still very well be no. Thus his training there matters, its just its not the only thing that matters, and the context and qualifiers that go not just with this question but the reasons for asking that question and the purposes you intend for the answer.....all of that matters too.

So to circle back.......do I consider Dick’s time at Vengeance Academy to be him having League of Assassin training?

Yes, but I must specify that my reasoning for that, and for exploring that line of thought, have absolutely nothing to do with my view of Dick’s overall status as a fighter, and everything to do with my view of him as a brother.

I think Vengeance Academy was tough and brutal, and did a lot to increase and hone Dick’s skills in various areas over an extremely short period of time. I think that it absolutely left an impression that shaped his training and fighting in later years whether in terms of preferred weapon choices or even choices he makes in the heat of the moment, like Last Laugh (which I think absolutely built upon Dick’s feelings about having once stood over a similarly unrepentant and mocking Two-Face years earlier, gun in hand, poised to make a choice.....as well as Dick’s awareness of how many times Two-Face, like the Joker, has busted out of jail and hurt and killed more people since that time).

But I also think that Dick would still be one of the foremost fighters in the DCU even without his time at VA, and that his short time there is not anywhere close to being the reason he’s at the heights of skill and aptitude that he’s reached over the course of years and years of rigorous, intensive training.

So while my answer remains yes, he has League training and it matters and counts, my reasons for bringing that up will never be because I think it adds to his status or reputation as a fighter, or is necessary for him to be as highly regarded there as he is.....but more for what his time at VA, his firsthand experiences with their approaches to training, the methodologies and ideologies they train kids with, what all of that gives Dick in terms of insight to members of the League, and to those people League members have trained, like his siblings.

One thing I’ve long wanted to see fandom explore more in the context of Jason’s views on killing is the fact that so much of that was shaped while he was in the pressure cooker of being freshly resurrected, traumatized, still an impressionable teenager, with feelings of obligation towards the League for the Pit’s rejuvenation of his mental faculties, taking him in and training him, and like......feeling isolated and abandoned by everyone else who’d previously known and loved him, thinking that he had no one who really cared about him, and that not only was he dependent on the League for his survival at that time, but like, he owed them and he was that much more open to being persuaded of their way of looking at things. 

And thing is, in terms of like, scale and shit, Dick’s experiences in Robin: Year One and his own mindset at the time and how vulnerable he was mentally and emotionally, they’re not the equivalent of what Jason was going through but like I’m always saying, when you stop looking at trauma in terms of arbitrary rankings and stop pitting what the various Batkids have been through against each other’s experiences and just like......look for potential common ground, this opens up SO MUCH potential bonding, insight and understanding between the brothers and positions Dick to be so much more capable of intuiting even a sense of what Jason went through at the time and why he was clinging so desperately to things he may or may not have actually believed in (at least so strongly) if circumstances had been different, etc....but you get what I mean, I think. There’s so much that can be done with this angle, that’s opened up entirely just by virtue of Dick having SOME shared experiences here.

Because while like I said, in terms of actual training, Bruce has a lot of the same skillsets and knowledge the League does, and his own history with them, its the MINDSET that’s so key here. The one thing that sets Bruce and his experiences when he was a young man with the League and League affiliates apart from Jason, Damian, Cass, etc.....is that Bruce went looking for training, and never was without resources or options. The League-trained Batkids though were either approached (or ‘approached’) by the League at key low points of extreme vulnerability in their formative years, when they HAD no other options (or felt they didn’t) or else were just outright raised by them like Damian or Cass, with no knowledge of anything else until they left or escaped. And that puts everything through an entirely different filter, because its that specific element of vulnerability, of having no one else to turn to or anything else to cling to or put your faith in, that renders you particularly vulnerable to being influenced or exploited by those who seem to hold all the cards there.....and its a shared insight that Dick can have into various of his siblings BECAUSE of his League of Assassins training, as short as that might have been, because of the specifics of why it was so intense and influential despite how short a time it was.

So. In conclusion: 

Does Dick have League training because of his time at VA? My answer is yes, but not if the follow up is anything in the vein of “and how does this factor into which of his siblings he can or can’t beat while sparring.” In that case my answer is yes but YAWN. If however the follow up is along the lines of “and can this open up tons of doors for potential conversations, bonding, trauma-unpacking or camaraderie with siblings due to their own histories with the League and its training methods and teachings and mindsets” then my answer is YES GOOD NOW LET’S HAVE SOME MORE OF THAT PLZ.

[valiantvigilant]

Come Home, Please (Jason Todd x Reader)

I decided to start off my first imagine on here with a Jason x Reader because who doesn’t love Jason? I’m kinda nervous about posting my work considering I haven’t posted any of my writing since my edgy middle school days lmao. Hopefully, it’s gotten better! Well, here goes nothing!

____ It was going to storm in Gotham tonight, per the usual. However, the rain hadn’t started to fall yet. Only the thunder and lightning crackle above, and at any given moment, the sky’s water works could begin. (Y/N) was doing patrol alone tonight. As (Y/H/N) (your hero name) you have saved many people in Gotham. Many villains feared an encounter with you almost as much as they feared The Bat, your mentor. You were his second protégé, after Dick Grayson. You didn’t have the greatest life before Bruce took you in. Your parents died when you were young, and having to make due for yourself on the streets of Gotham isn’t a child’s ideal lifestyle. However, Bruce found you and took you in. You had just saved a lady from being robbed when your 12 year old self beat the living shit of the criminal. And thats when Bats came and your life just went up from there. Not too long after he had brought you in from your grimy life on the streets, he had scooped up him. Jason Todd. He became Robin and you were (Y/H/N.) The three of you worked like a well oiled machine. All of that changed when he died. When your best friend, your other half, the love of your life, died. That was a long time ago. Your Jaybird was dead and that was that. You…never really healed from that. It scarred you. Oh, how you wanted to kill Joker. There isn’t a day that goes by that you don’t want to kill him and send his rancid soul to the pits of hell for what he did to Jason. You two were ever so in love. No one had ever seen two people more fit for each other than (Y/N) (L/N) and Jason Todd. Everyone knew just by the looks you two gave each other that you two were going to last a lifetime. But sometimes in life, things change. Jason Todd, was supposed to be dead. He has been for five long years. Until recently that is. You remembered when you walked down the steps to the Batcave and you saw Bruce hunched over the computer, his forehead resting against his hands that were folded in front of him. You swiftly made your way to his side, placing the mugs of hot chocolate you had brought down for the both of you, down. “Bruce, is everything alright?” You asked, worry evident in your voice. He looked up at you, his cowl was down, revealing tired blue eyes. Those eyes only flicked up to the computer screen in which you saw it. All of the evidence that proved Jason Todd was alive and was now going by Red Hood. Your (e/c) hues widened as you scanned every bit of information on that screen. You clenched your jaw and took a seat, your body shaking with anger and shock. No, no, no. This can’t be real! This cannot be true! He was dead. Gone. You felt his corpse and how cold to the touch his skin was. That body was bloody and broken. It couldn’t possibly be him. Could it? After a bit of denial and a few hours of viewing the facts over and over, you came to except it. The fact that your once dead boyfriend, the man who plagued your dreams at night and your thoughts in the day was alive! He didn’t even say anything to you… You listened calmly as Bruce explained everything. Though, nothing in the explanation was a good enough excuse for Jason not to see you. You had shed tears for him, worked yourself to become stronger so you didn’t lose anyone else, in honor of him. You even used his mask as part of your uniform. Everything you did since he died was in memory of the man you loved. You decided to confront him yourself a couple months after the incident between him and Bruce. You had clung on to a bit of hope that he would confront you at some point, but it never happened. So you decided to take matters into your own hands, keeping Bruce’s warning in mind as your ran the rooftops of Gotham. “He isn’t the same man you remember Y/N. He is…different. Stay alert.” And here you were, typing away at your hologlove (The computer built into the wrists of Batman’s suit and Robin’s as well. It’s in Young Justice if you’ve ever seen it lol) You had gotten a few tips from people in Crime Alley were The Red Hood just might be, and now you had a lock on his location. Smirking, you followed the red dot on the screen that was Jason. Eventually you finally caught up with him. He hasn’t lost his swiftness, that’s for sure. You closed out the computer on your wrist once you made it to the same rooftop as him. You were fast and stealthy. You his behind the roof door of the building and you watched as he loaded the guns he uses for weapons. You put your hand on your hip, double checking that (w/o/c) (wepon of choice) is still strapped to your hip. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment. This was it. You would be reacquainted with the man who still has your heart. Opening your masked eyes you peek your head out one more time and see that he isn’t standing there anymore. You’re about to pull up your hologlove when you sense him. Behind you! Your instincts screamed and you flipped out of the way just as bullets came spitting at you. You tugged the hood of your cloak further over your head so it shielded your face as you dodged and got a good distance away. “Who the hell are you?!” He demanded, stepping into the moonlight to face your cloaked figure. “I know you’ve been following me. What do you want?” His voice was full of bitterness and scorn. He had gotten a hell of a lot taller than you remember. His voice was rougher and his face was covered by that red helmet. You longed to see those seafoam green eyes of his under there. “You have ten seconds before I start shooting again and blow your fucking brains out!” Your lips curl into a smug smile and a laugh escapes you. Faster than he could process, you reach down to the straps on your calves and pull out the pair of escrima sticks that Dick had made for you. (W/o/c) would give it away who you were, so you decided to use these. Jason was fast, but not fast enough. He shot at you once more, but you were faster. You quickly knocked the guns out of his hands and sent them skidding across the rooftop. He let out a growl before sliding out a knife. “I’m going to ask you again, who are you?!” “I’m surprised you haven’t notice by now Jason,” you replied. He gripped his knife tighter. “You’ve gotten stronger, faster, smarter. But so have I.” Your voice was a low snarl, and you felt your anger and hurt start to fill your gut. You yanked your hood down and revealed your face. Rage was etched into your features and you were pretty sure your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the escrima sticks. “(Y-Y/N)?” He questioned. “Who else would be able to disarm you that quick?” You snap back, meaning for it to be a joke, but it sure as hell didn’t sound like one. “Nice mask (n/n),” he said slyly, putting his knife away. You take a few steps towards him and rip it off, showing your blazing (e/c) eyes. He got captivated in them, just as he did the moment he met you. The pools of (e/c) were enough to calm his racing heart. Partially. You were angry. You were beyond angry. You were seething. Perhaps he should have visited you. Said something to you…but why should he? He thought to himself, you kept Joker alive. You didn’t do anything to avenge him! (Or so he believed.) “You can have it back,” you snarl, throwing the mask at him and it flutters to the ground. “Did Bruce send you after me? I thought for sure you would be with Golden Boy if you did come.” “I came on my own accord Jaybird.” He felt his stomach drop as you said this. He normally hated when anyone besided you and Roy called him that. All the times that you said it with love and care in your voice raced through his mind. Now, you said it with clear agitation. “Why?” He says, his voice came out…softer than he imagined. He cursed himself for it. “Why? I came out here to find you, so I can finally see you after thinking you were dead. And, all you can ask me is why?! Why do you think I came to find you Jason? So I can fight you?” You say the last two lines with sarcasm dripping off each syllable. He stays quiet. “I thought you were gone…and now Bruce tells me you are alive. I had to find out for myself if it was true.” “Well sweetheart, as you can see, I’m alive. Fucked up from the Lazarus Pit, but alive!” He replied with an equal amount of sarcasm. You had gotten your anger towards him under control and you were ready to talk to him about why you really came here. Putting your escrima sticks away, you began to speak again. “I know you are different now Jay, but-” “Different?” He said, laughing coldly. “I’m beyond different (Y/N). I’ve decided that just putting the scum you and Bruce capture, in jail, isn’t enough. My little experience taught me that. The only way is to terminate them.” “That isn’t right and you know it,” you respond sternly. “Don’t you see what happens when you keep them alive?! You kept him alive. You and Bruce. And look what happened (Y/N) I was killed.“ Jason spat out. “I thought if not him, than you would do it. That you would kill Joker. He took me from you (Y/N). Me. And you didn’t do a fucking thing about it!” “Don’t you dare say that,” you replied, in a low growl. “I was going to do it. I had him on the brink of death, but Dick and Bruce had to pull me off him. But with the adrenaline, rage and tears, I slipped from their grip before they had to get Clark to hold me back. So don’t you fucking dare say that I never did anything about it. I almost lost myself because he took you from me.” Tears were forming in your eyes now as you stood before your once dead lover. You took a deep breath to get your emotions in control before you said something you would regret. “I’m not asking you to kill Penguin, or Scarecrow, or Riddler, or any of those other bastards. This is Joker, (Y/N). He has done the worst out of all of them, he is lower than a pile of shit on the food chain. He is unexplainably dispicable and you choose to keep him alive, even after he took me from you. Clearly I didn’t mean enough to you!” “You won’t ever get it, will you?” You retort, your voice getting bolder. “I love you Jason. I always have and always will. But I can’t kill him. The hatred for Joker will always linger, but I learned to rid it from my heart because I won’t allow myself to be corrupted by him. I won’t let that son of a bitch get to me anymore. For a long while, he had a hold of my mind and I don’t even think he realized it! But the past two and a half years…I learned to let go of my poison because I had to go back to what I was trained to do. Saving people. I couldn’t save you Jason…and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I took that, the pain and tears, he blood and sweat that came with losing you and I made myself stronger. So I could do better and save more lives. For you. So don’t you say I didn’t do anything, that you weren’t in my heart, or that I didn’t care. Because everything I’ve ever done since you’ve been gone, was done with you in my mind. You are in my daydreams and my night-thinking. You will always be in my heart because that’s what I chose to keep there, not the toxins that Joker had implanted.” You were breathing heavily after your speech as you reached down and picked up his old mask, pocketing it. Then, you walked towards him and he shrunk back a bit. Jason wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. The bitterness he felt had melted away at your words. You had always had that effect on him. Your very presence was enough to sooth his aching soul. He felt a lump form in his throat as you walked closer and he slid back a bit. Your words had struck something in him and he realized that he wanted you. That he needed you. He wanted to be enveloped by your arms and never leave them. He felt like…like such a child in this moment. He had just yelled at his love, the girl he had loved practically all his life and surprisingly she still hasn’t given up on him. If he were you, he would have left a long time ago. You were just a few inches from him now, and you reached up to his helmet and put your hands to it and pulled it off, revealing his face. His eyes however, were concealed by another mask. You internally rolled your eyes at this. Only Jason would be that extra that he needed a mask under his mask. He had a white tuft of hair that was part of his bangs. You could only assume that the Pit left him with that trauma streak. Your slim fingers took hold of the corner of the domino mask and peeled it off, finally showing you the brilliant shade of seafoam green that were his eyes. You put a hand to his cheek, and gave him a warm smile. That’s what broke him. He scooped you up in his arms and held you tightly, breathing in your scent. Oh God, how he missed you. His heart yearned for you and here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. He felt his eyes well up with tears and yours did the same. This time, you let them fall as you clung to each other. You felt your shoulder become damp and you tangled a hand in his hair. You pulled back slightly and he turned, trying to wipe the tears from his face so you wouldn’t see them. “Jason,” you began. “Will you come home? Please?” He took a deep breath and nodded as he cupped your face in his large hands. You let a few more salty pearls escape and he wiped them away. Furthermore, just like how it was five years ago, he pressed his lips to yours. It seemed ethereal. For this, this hadn’t happened in what felt like a millenium. You supposed, things like that, will never change. ____ Well, that’s the end of my first imagine on here! I’m really excited to write more of these, so please, send in requests!! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

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