#Alien Life mantle

[culturesfinest]

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[clowndensation]

there’s a question to be asked i think about to what extent “getting out” can be conflated with “being saved” in this show, and what freedom actually means to any of these characters.

like you can argue that shiv saved ken by voting against him on gojo, but what if your intent behind saving someone is to inflict a worse punishment than if you’d just left them trapped? can a child weaned on poison survive on milk, or are you just sentencing them to a death by inches, starved of the only thing they know? and if you save someone specifically because you know that being saved is the worst thing that can happen to them, is that kindness or cruelty? at what point does a good thing become a malicious act?

and you can say that roman is finally free, but what exactly is he free from? the company? his father? does unlocking a cage mean saving a dog, or are you allowing him out on the street knowing there’s a kill shelter nearby? if the driving anxiety behind roman is that he’s an idiot and a failure—that he’ll never amount to anything, and trying will only lead to pain—and he’s finally cut loose once all of those anxieties have crystallized into cold hard fact in his mind, what has he actually escaped from? if the cage is in your mind, is it even possible for somebody else to unlock it?

the fundamental truth of a tragedy is that even being saved can be a death sentence, if the characters are incapable of escaping the thing doing them the most harm (themselves and their childhoods)

[tiramissyoucake]

I loveeeed your characterization of omnimark it felt so mark but distinctly himself like something was different in a way that made sense

if you ever wanted to expand on it; how did omnimark and wifey meet? was it early on in his life? college? or even when did he become omniman (omnivincible?) and was his personality and their relationship initially different before some event happened?

Thank you!! I think of him as a mature version of Mark who sadly took too much after his father, less attached to his mother and more.. independent, hope you like this !! Kinda long not rlly and not exactly proof read hhhh

Maybe cw, a little manipulative.

Before Mark's powers kicked in, you were a distant dream girl. He never talked to you, you always kept to yourself and no matter how quickly he ran to your desk after class, you'd be gone. He was certain you didn't know he existed in school.

The only time you ever 'talked' to him was during a test. Of all the things he forgot, he didn't bring a blue pen with him. Fumbling with his bag and pockets, he saw a pen peek into his peripheral vision. Looking up, he saw you, a small smile on your face as you offered the pen.

It was a wordless exchange, but it meant the world to him. He kept a close eye on you since then, glancing at you in hallways, passive looks in the little classes you shared, he'd always watch you, never talk to you.

He hated the human side of himself, weak, dependant, like a comical teenage boy. He felt on top of the world when the Viltrumite in him finally kicked in, granted he had an easier time pushing aside personal affairs while listening to his father's guidance. It wasn't long before he graduated school and had to take up the Omni-man mantle after his father's disappearance.

He berated his human side for being too much of a coward to talk to you.

He was so young, but everyone knew he was the only fitting candidate for the mantle. The only Viltrumite. Although he humoured his mother's demand for college, Mark never made many connections outside of his home. He left, killed a bad guy or two, made it in time for college classes, and went home to study or unwind. During the time between high school and college, he took up exercising, starting at a local gym before moving a few pieces of equipment to his room.

Life was stable. That's the best word that he could use to describe it. Wake up, fight, class, train, sleep. Earth needed him, and he didn't need much else.

Not until he saw you again.

At first, it was in a college class where he spotted you sitting in the centre, front enough to focus, back enough to blend in with everyone else. Though after the first week, you were gone. He assumed you dropped the class; the professor seemed egotistical, and he was forced to stay because of a time conflict in his schedule.

The second time was during an attack by some no-name alien bounty hunter looking for earthling heroes. The criminal had some sort of alien DNA detecting gizmo that traced Mark's Viltrumite genetics to his university. Wrecking havoc left and right, students, professors, and staff sprinting left and right.

You were caught in the crossfire, the bounty hunter zeroed in on you, maybe civilian casualty would lure him out, and what better way than to hurl a car to paint the sidewalk red?

Fear flooded you as a shadow overlapped your form, shielding yourself with your arms as best as you could while running, the car seemed to stop in mid air, your eyes following the trajectory you thought the car grew wings and started flying, but no— it was... Omni-man's descendant.

He looked down at you as he effortlessly held the car over his head with one arm, those goggles fooled a lot of people, but you know that familiar gaze, you felt it on your back too many times during school. "... Mark?"

He's actually happy you recognised him and proud. You were always a smart girl, of course you'd notice the spineless stalker from school. "We have to stop meeting like this." He wasn't one for quips, but he couldn't help himself, flying past you to deal with the intruder on his planet, the car boomeranged back to the villain as you escaped to safety.

Days since then, he wasn't able to find you, but he wasn't worried. You always kept to yourself, you wouldn't expose his identity, he was sure of it. Although he'd be lying if he said that pesky teenager didn't come clawing his way back out of the depths of Mark's soul at the sight of you again, did you think he looked cool? Were you surprised? Do you remember when you lended him your pen?

He must've been thinking of you too much, apparently, spotting you waiting for someone outside the class you dropped, and that someone may have been him when your eyes lit up at the sight of him.

"Hey, Mark! Can we talk?"

That human side of him started squirming like an annoying bug.

.

"I wouldn't have known," You mused, propping up your cheek on with your hand. "The cute but timid Mark Grayson, a superhero?"

A chuckle escaped him, that loser version of him from school again. "My powers didn't kick in until later, so... The timid Mark Grayson was genuine, sadly." He admitted, it didn't sting as bad to say so when you looked at him with so much interest.

"'Sadly'? No! Mark, both are lovely." You smiled, lowering your hand. "I liked how geeky and sweet you were! And you look so much more... grown-up now!" You tried to find the correct words, the extra muscle definitely demanded attention. "don't worry, I've got no one to tell."

"I know." He answered too quickly. You raised an eyebrow.

"... I mean that you're not that kind of person." Regret would swallow him up later for being vulnerable. "I always knew you as a kind girl, you even gave me your pen when I never asked."

Your face was warming up, oh, he was doing good.

"I think I had a crush on you, now that I'm looking back on it." You were getting flustered as he smiled so sweetly at you. Maybe he should've been honest from the beginning.

"I'm flattered.. I never had the chance to talk to you, now I'm regretting it..!" You barely strung the words together, fiddling with your hands on the table, you paused when his hand covered your own; it felt calloused.

"We can start catching up, if you'd like?" Be suave, don't be a sweaty teenager. He's a grown man now. "Dinner? Sometime this weekend, if you're free?"

Your smile told him everything he needed.

.

It's like life couldn't get any better. On weekdays, he was a hero and student, and on weekends, he was taking you around the world for any over-the-top romantic date. His father travelled the world with his mom, and it's appropriate that he'd follow in his footsteps.

He found you first this time, in the same spot at the library. The one near the hallway leading to the obscure cafe and just a few feet away from the computer science books shelves, his hand settled on your shoulder

"Hey you." He smiled, a rare smile as he leaned down to kiss your cheek, he took the seat in front of you as you returned his smile and shut your laptop. "Hey, I wanted to talk to you about this week's date."

He already had something planned, perking up. "You're gonna love what I have planned, it's kinda far but that just gives us time to talk during the trip, dinner, dancing- you'll love it."

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that.." his expression shifted, you had that nervous smile on your face, one he recognized from when you were trying to accommodate to whoever was in front of you at the cost of your own comfort. "you know we don't have to travel half way across the world to have fun, right...?"

Mark sat up, eyebrows furrowed, he planned to take you to Amsterdam too. "Well, yeah. but isn't it fun? c'mon, you'll like what I have planned."

"Mark, I appreciate it, but can we postpone that? maybe we can do all of that here?" your hand caressed his, but his frown didn't move, you were trying to butter him up. The promise of next time gave him hope, he figured he'll try to indulge you this time. "I appreciate it, really, but I don't want you to feel like we need to travel to have fun or have a moment..."

You looked at him with such a submissive gaze, wordlessly begging him not to be mad at you, to remove that frown. He sighed, his hand turning to hold yours, palm to palm. "Okay. I know a good restaurant, I'm pretty sure I can get a reservation before this weekend." he relented, your hopeful smile returned.

.

Graduating wasn't a big deal for him, hero work paid him better than any job. the bachelor's degree was just some formality. you, on the other hand, you diligently got a job, got situated, and became a working member of society so quickly. He was proud of you but something felt missing, a naked layer of skin on your ring finger irked him.

"Paris?" your voice reverberated through his phone as he removed his suit. "Yeah, if you're free, don't wanna keep my successful business woman from her job." he smiled to himself as he heard you laugh.

"I can fit you in my schedule, sure." your playful tone riled him up as he changed into his civilian clothes. "Good, dress your best, I'll pick you up at 9 am."

"9 am?" you paused, that's the same time you'd go into work.

"Timezones, sweetheart." he explained, adjusting the collar of his shirt in the mirror. "It'll be well after sunset when we get there, we'll have dinner, go sightseeing, you ever seen the Eiffel tower?"

"Okay, okay! enough gloating, I'll be ready then." you agreed again. "I got a meeting, I'll talk to you later, love you!"

"Love you too." he concluded, the phone grew quiet, he glanced down at it and then set it down on his nightstand. His eyes trailed to the velvet red box, housing a ring too expensive to be a casual gift.

.

it was a corny, cheesy, sappy proposal at the very top of the Eiffel tower. and yet you looked at him so sweetly, like you were going to explode from sheer love and admiration for him. accepting the ring from him as he slid it carefully onto that same empty slot on your finger he'd been eyeing for months and kissed you with more desire than he's ever kissed you in your love life.

Naturally, it was a private wedding with only close friends and family, and you learned soon after marriage that Mark used the ring as an excuse to keep you under his watchful eye.

You had moved in together, slept in the same bed, and for a while, he let you work. He let you leave the house and sometimes dropped you off himself, but he couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that you should be home, where he can keep an eye on you and keep you safe. the near death experience he witnessed you succumb to back in college was still vivid in his mind.

"No." you vehemently denied as you looked up from your laptop. "Mark, I'm not going to stop working just because I got married."

"You don't need it." Mark replied as he sat on the other end of the couch, in his civilian clothes. "I get paid enough for the two of us, and it'll keep you safe and comfortable, maybe even get you used to it for.." his fingers traced up your leg gently, attempting to put you in a good mood, or a vulnerable one. "When we finally have kids?"

your knees came up to your chest to move away from him, your laptop hugged to your chest. "Where is this coming from? I like working, I like being my own person outside of 'superhero's wife'."

He lowered his hand, he had to be smart with his response, silence filled the atmosphere for an uncomfortable moment before he continued. "... do you remember when you first saw me as Invincible?"

Your hostile stance was lowered as he brought up that time you were almost crushed. "... I just keep thinking about what would've happened if I was too late, if I took a wrong turn and took longer to get to campus." He sighed, pausing for effect before looking up at you. "Sweetheart, you would've been crushed into the pavement."

He had to prevent the smile from appearing on his features as your eyes darted down, the fear swelling again as you remembered the panic that controlled your body in that moment, how he saved you. how he saved you.

"... Mark, that was just-" He continued, bordering on desperate as he cut you off. "you work in town, sure, and I noticed that those areas... baby, they're hot spots for villains."

You couldn't doubt him, he was the hero, he knew these things and he's never lied to you before. ".... I know you're worried, but I... I should be okay, you're never too late to-"

"What if I was?" His volume unintentionally raised, not what he intended but it helped as he watched you wince. "... Please, I know I'm being selfish but can you- promise me you'll think about it? see it from my perspective?"

Your lips parted and closed repeatedly, his eyes examining you, and unnerved you into looking down. "... I'll.. mull it over later."

You didn't notice how his smile stretched further than it needed.

.

One bad day, that's all it took to get you to want to leave work and never return. Your boss yelled at you for a mistake that wasn't yours, coffee spilt on your laptop effectively putting it into a coma, and the sunny morning quickly turned to a depressing rain as you walked home, your favorite professional shirt ruined and stained by rain and grime.

Needless to say, you burst into tears the moment your husband asked 'how was work?'

After maintaining your strength for a shower and a cuddle, he listened to you vent, he watched you cry in frustration with a hand on your back and your face buried in his chest.

"I hate this! I wish I could just quit!" Your emotions overpowered any logic, but the string of bad luck and your work going unappreciated as well as unpaid overtime, a person can only take so much. Mark knew more than anyone just how fragile you are, how fragile humans are.

He hummed in response, he shouldn't bring up his previous offer outright, he couldn't just drop a 'well, you could.' At your most vulnerable. He settled to pull you closer and kiss your head gently. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You've been working so hard, it must be frustrating when it's all for nothing."

You stayed quiet, sniffling between deep breaths as he continued. "God, I wish I could take it all away." His eyes watched you carefully, seeing your eyes shift, he can practically smell the uncertainty and desire to just stay home wafting from you.

His influence was set, now all he needed to do was be a good husband. Mark ran a hand up and down your back gently, tracing shapes absentmindedly as he focused on getting you to forget about your unfortunate day. "I'll get your laptop's data recovered first thing tomorrow, okay?" He offered.

It took you a moment to respond, your moping did a number on you. "Thank you, Mark.." You sighed, sitting up and finally deciding to part from him. "I'll get dinner started."

He followed suit, sitting up with you and holding your hand. "No, no. Don't be ridiculous. You had a long day, let me handle dinner." He cupped your cheek gently as you shook her head. "No, Mark-"

"I'm all over it, I promise." He got up, letting his hands part from you. "How about Katsu dinner? I'll zip over to Japan and back faster than you can say 'Dinner'." He joked to lift your mood.

You held his wrists, assuring him. "No, please.. I need something to take my mind off of today, I think cooking is gonna help a lot."

"... if you insist, I like when you cook for me." Mark leaned closer to kiss your forehead. "Need any help?"

Your smile returned, just briefly. "No, I got it." You reassured once more. "Go clean up, okay?"

"Yes ma'am, I love you." He murmured, giving you a brief peck before the two of you parted ways. With his back turned to you, he had to withhold himself from smiling too hard. You're such a good housewife, and you didn't even know it yet.

[umbralstars]

I think one of my favorite things about FF7 is how genuinely alien Gaia is. I think people gloss over how different this world is compared to ours and I don't just mean magic. Gaia doesn't have plate tectonics, or if it does it doesn't work the same as our world. The Lifestream isn't just a metaphysical space, it's a physical ocean under the crust of the Planet that acts of in a similar fashion to the mantle of Earth. The Lifestream can flow to the surface and tear apart the land or piece it back together in whatever way it sees fit. It can sink or create entire landmasses at random.

It can flow in ways to create a lush paradise or concentrate so heavily in areas they become borderline toxic. The Nibel Mountains (while I know part of their problem is there's been a reactor there for 40+ years; do remember Nibel is facing the same problem of ecological collapse the Midgar Wastes are, so that's why it looks Like That. Nibel is just lucky it had one little town instead of a giant city) are essentially Gaia's version of active volcanoes, just without the heat of magma and lava. The Lifestream is also so close that those mountains were intimately tied with the cycle of life and death in Nibel probably for generations. Rhadore, similarly, was a volcanic archipelago, and her people knew that well. Shinra? They refused to listen as they always do.

The Lifestream itself is also one of the most animist concepts I've ever seen in fiction. It is All Life. Everything upon Gaia is intimately woven into the fabric of the Lifestream; plants, animals, rocks, rivers, oceans, Everything. It contains all memories that have ever existed and will ever exist upon Gaia. The Lifestream is the movement of the waves, the rushing course of rivers, the memories of materia, the slopes of the mountains, the rustling of plants and leaves, it is the souls of all things, it is mortal and gods alike.

The world we see in FF7 proper is a fantasy world that is slowly being consumed by capitalism and a cyberpunk hellscpe (those are often the same things). It is a fantasy world that has forgotten what it once was, what it still is. It is about a people who have been utterly disconnected from the very river of life that created and sustains them.

And I just think that's neat.

[probablyasocialecologist]

The likelihood that other technologically sophisticated societies exist is smaller than previously thought, because basic amenities we take for granted on Earth—continents, oceans, and plate tectonics—are cosmically rare.

[...]

Most geologists will agree with Stern’s and Gerya’s argument that plate tectonics should be included as a criterion for long-term planetary habitability. Earth’s tectonic system allows the planet’s atmosphere and hydrosphere to remain in communication with its interior, in a remarkable, self-perpetuating cycle. Subducted ocean crust—seafloor that slips down into Earth’s interior—carries water back into the mantle, and at shallow depths, this water lowers the melting temperature of mantle rock, giving rise to unusual magmas that create the continental crust—what we surface dwellers live on—which is rich in rare elements, like phosphorus, that are critical to life.  At greater depths, subducted water acts to decrease the viscosity of the mantle, allowing it to churn, or convect, more vigorously—which in turn drives plate motion. When the Earth’s mantle exports heat via convection, it encourages the liquid iron outer core to convect as well, and this generates Earth’s protective magnetic field, which shields the surface environment from harmful cosmic radiation. Without plate tectonics, continents would quickly be eroded to sea level. But tectonic collisions continuously rejuvenate Earth’s topography, providing rivers with more energy to transport nutrient-rich sediments to shallow marine environments. In other words, plate tectonics is entangled with all the phenomena that support life on Earth.

17 July 2024

[lethesbeastie]

I showed a few parts of this larger ref while responding to asks yesterday, so might as well post the whole thing akfhskfhskf

Version without texture overlay + character design thoughts and lore under the cut!

I'm gonna start this off by saying that I am not a biologist and that my attempts at speculative biology are operating by "rule of cool" in some parts of this design.

Wraith's design is largely based on cephalopods, with mimic octopus, bobtail squid, and cuttlefish playing a key role as design inspirations. My goal for their design in this form was to keep their anatomy and physiology as close to the typical structure of cephalopods as possible without sacrificing the necessary physical features that would allow them to adapt to life outside of the water. I wanted them to look alien, but still endearing, and to emphasize the fact that they are very much still a child despite their size and strangeness.

A quick note on some terms from the flavor text on the image:

Buccal mass: mouthparts of a cephalopod, including the beak and the musculature that allows it to open and close

Mantle: the main body of a cephalopod that protects and contains all of its major organs

Flavor text:

Arms Vs. Tentacles: on cephalopods, Arms refer to appendages which have suckers along the entire length of the limbs underside, while Tentalces only have suckers at the club-like end

1. Blue of blood shows through in membranes/thinner areas of flesh

2. Primary mouth/buccal mass

3. External gills

4. Siphon

5. Ridges flare when threatened

6. Tentacles and rear arm merge, acts as counterweight to aid in bipedal locomotion

7. Lower anterior arms merge to form legs; lack of proper bones means bipedal locomotion is unsteady

8. Upper arms adapted hands to better manipulate objects

9. The two rear-most appendages are proper tentacles, and are capable of manipulating objects almost as effectively as main hands

10. Two mouths, one form consumption, one for speech*

- 10A. Secondary mouth hidden by barbles, chitin** structure within resembles a fused set of teeth. This mouth can be used to eat, but there's a high risk of choking

- 10B. Resting position of beak in primary mouth, retracted into buccal mass

- 10C. Extended position of beak in primary mouth; capable of breaking down mollusk shells and biting through bone

11. Natural posture when unfurled

12. Defensive stance

13. The skin covering the mantel forms a cavity into which the head can partially withdraw

14. Capable of spitting ink from secondary mouth when in distress

15. Eyes are large with highly reflective pupils; excellent dark vision

16. Nictitating membrane rises to protect the eye when biting, may also rise when distressed

17. Retractable claws inside suckers

Extra design lore and speculative biology:

18. Blood is a deep blue, appears black under water, and turns clear as it dries. Texture is thick and viscous

** in the image I wrote keratin, but research has shown me that a squids beak is actually made of chitin rather than keratin! Keratin may still be present, but it's not the main polymer in the makeup of the beak structure. I know this is a silly fun character design, but I try to remain somewhat accurate with how I engage the biological aspects, so I wanted to correct my mistake

At the current moment of this design, Wraith is 11 years old, and stands at 5 ft 4 in [168 cm] when using their legs. They measure 6 ft [183 cm] long from head to tail when unfurled/in the water. Their height and size relative to their age is above average compared to humans, but is more or less in line with the normal growth rate for deep sea tritons, which are the largest of the triton variants. Their height out of the water is limited by their physiology; Wraith lacks proper bones, so maintaining an upright form requires a lot more effort and energy. They rely heavily on mobility aids (rollator, cane, wheelchair) if they'll be walking or standing for long periods of time in their true form.

The changeling magic that enables their shape-shifting provides a level of structural stability to their body when in disguise that makes life outside of the water easier, but they still require more rest and breaks from standing than other able-bodied children of their own age. The form that provides the most stability is their "default" triton disguise, which they've carefully tailored to be as comfortable as possible so they can have a more active lifestyle. Smaller disguise forms are easier to manage, as the compression of their body makes those forms more stable to hold. Their triton disguise form measures out to only 3 ft 5 in [103 cm] tall which is much easier for them to maintain out of the water.

[ghelgheli]

The tradition that Satan invented poetry, mentioned by Shams-e Qays, is in part inspired by an ancient Arabian notion that personal “satans,” much like the “demons” of the ancient Greeks, were responsible for creative impulses. A far more important source of the complex personality of Satan in Islam is the Koranic story of Satan’s first disobedience. According to the Koran, after God molded man from clay and breathed life into him, He ordered the angels to bow before man, and one among the angels—Satan—refused and declared, “I am better than he; You created me from fire and You created him from earth.” And for this God expelled and cursed Satan. Satan, however, asked and was granted a respite from God’s judgment until the day of the Resurrection, and Satan said, “Then, by Your power I will surely lead them all astray, except for Your servants among them, those pure in heart.” Satan’s independence among the angels, God’s willingness to give him a respite, and Satan’s obedient acknowledgment that he was the instrument of God’s power suggested a more interesting Prince of Darkness than a mere “personification of evil,” however full-bloodedly evil this personification might seem in some Koranic passages. The Sufis gazed at the possibilities of this complex Satan with fascination and, especially in the Persian-speaking Eastern Islamic world, they developed an alternate Satan. This Satan was the ultimate monotheist, the angel whose worship of God was so single-hearted that he refused to bow to man because he would bow only to God, the “lover” whose love was so unreserved that he accepted a role of alienation from the Divine Beloved because of his loving obedience to the divine command. The morally rehabilitated Satan is, in fact, a kind of martyr. In the poetry of Attar, Satan explains his motives, his suffering, and his understanding of God’s secret purpose in casting him out:

Far off stood I, yet I cannot abide that for even a moment anyone else except me behold that Face …

Far off stood I, in a state of gloom from separation, because I do not have the radiance of that union’s intimacy.

Although I have been banished from His threshold, I do not turn my head a jot from His path.

From the moment I set my foot in the Beloved’s alley I have not looked in any direction but His;

Since I am now the intimate companion to the secret’s meaning, I shall not look—not even the slightest bit—at anyone else.

The Mantle of the Prophet, Roy Mottahedeh

[willtheweaver]

Suspiciously specific and specifically vague writing prompts

• Extraterrestrial archaeologists in the far future uncover your body. They then write a scientific paper on humans based off of what they found out about you.

• Retell your favorite myth or fairy tale in a modern setting

• Turn a modern of futuristic story into a mythological epic

• Your OCs realize they are fictional characters. *Cue chaos and existential crisis*

• Good news: you’ve reincarnated into your favorite video game. Bad news: you’re a self-aware NPC (Al-la VLDL)

• Have you ever wondered what a tree thinks?

• A murder victim’s ghost does everything in their power to get the attention of the dim-witted detective assigned to the case

• Hero is given everything in order to stop the apocalypse and yet they still find a way to fail

• Make a grand story out of something mundane

• What would happen if the dancing plague occurred today?

• You must use tropes that you hate, and are totally overused. Find some way to make them work;turn them on their head, use malicious compliance, totally invert them

• What is the real reason why no one turned up to Professor Hawkins’ party

•A white hat, a blogger, and an AI must team up to stop an international hacking ring before they start WW 3 (bonus if none of the unlikely heroes get along)

• An atheist is deemed worthy enough to receive the mantle of god. Awkward… and what exactly are the philosophical implications?

• You’re a mimic. Describe a day in the life of tricking (and devouring) foolish adventures.

• Someone from the past is resurrected. They go on a rampage when they find out that [great deed/feat of engineering/ work of genius] is being credited to [aliens/Atlantis/ Hollow Earth dwellers, etc.]

[gothamiteeditor]

Tim Drake is my favorite Robin because he’s not only the glue keeping Batman from flying off the rails at some points, but is also actively flying off the rails himself. The League of Assassins never stood a chance. He’s probably wanted in more countries than he’s allowed in, if he disappears that list slowly grows. Not only is he a freaking genius but he also should be feared by his sheer willpower to get anything and everything into his little hands. If it’s to be found out he will find it. The Robin who didn’t have to become Robin for himself, the one who became Robin because someone else needed him to.

Jason Todd is my favorite Robin because he’s a Robin that was so mistreated by his creators and writers that they literally voted for him to die. He dies in every alternate version. He’s not only died but came back stronger, more than once. Sure he was different but that difference allows us, the readers, to see the thoughts and feelings of a Robin who could never be good enough, who still is good enough, because he’s better. The happy Robin who made the mantle magic turned into a Crime Lord who wants nothing more than to ensure no other child goes down the same path he did or at least gives them the help to succeed.

Dick Grayson is my favorite Robin because he lost his parents in a traumatic way Bruce could relate to and still somehow ended up being a better mentor and better leader than Batman himself. Dick who was the Angry Robin who grew up realizing he could still be who he was before his trauma and grief and became Nightwing, a symbol of not just one city but two, and then in his civilian life still took the cities he loves in his hands as his job. A man who watched his little brother die, and come back different and refused to help the man who wouldn’t do anything about it. A man who actually got revenge only for it to be taken back from him. And also in some obscure timeline became a Tyrannical Dictator who wanted to annihilate aliens because his alien wife died but no one really talks about that era…

Damian is my favorite Robin because he defies everything about every Robin we have had. He’s the Robin that had a kill count before he was Robin. The boy who would either become the Demon Head or the Batman, legacies he was promised, but could never achieve with the guidance he was given. The boy who couldn’t understand why Bruce tried to get him to open up and relax because he’d never known that before. The boy who had Jason before Bruce. The Robin with a sword and isn’t afraid to use it and knows how to. From assassin heir to prince of Gotham.

Stephanie was my favorite Robin because she was the Robin who didn’t stay Robin. The Robin who forged her own way really quickly and realized she didn’t need the mantle to make her own difference against her father. The one who would never be one of Bruce’s but always was one of Bruce’s. The Robin who pushed the boundaries of everything Gotham had come to expect from Robins, a powerhouse in her own right and never credited for her role.

(Edited because I originally had said Jason was the only Robin to be mistreated by his writers and fans. This isn’t entirely true so I edited a correction. Truth be told all these characters deserved better.)

[fryingpan1234567]

so what if the Bats were Spiders instead?

in a different universe, Bruce Wayne grew up with arachnophobia instead of chiroptophobia. he found secret experiments in a lab beneath their family estate, and it didn’t take him long to pick up the family business.

neurotoxin experiments. spiders.

in a different universe, Bruce Wayne became Spider-Man.

in a different universe, Dick Grayson didn’t need to be bitten by a spider to pick up the Spider-Man mantle. he grew up knowing how to do all the acrobatics and combat anyways— all B had to do was give him web shooters and a suit. but there couldn’t be two Spider-Man’s. so he became Nightwing. but with a blue spider on his chest instead of a bird!

Nightwing’s webs come from his escrima sticks. they’re packing some serious voltage, so sometimes in a pinch he’ll use them instead of his police-issued taser. his favorite part about the whole spider thing is that he can fully just… throw himself off of buildings. and not die. he’s an adrenaline junkie, what can he say?

in a different universe, Jason Todd did everything the same. tried to steal the wheels off the vehicle of the most famous vigilante in Gotham. B picked him up and let him choose the spider and gave him the power to do good.

Robin “giving him magic” didn’t stop the Green Goblin from caving in his skull. although spiders you thought you’d killed do have a way of disappearing.

and returning. in a different universe, the Red Hood took the black widow as his mascot and nobody could do anything in Gotham City without him knowing about it. he single-handedly put down all the arms dealers in the city.

in a different universe, Tim Drake made his own spider. he’d been a fan of Thomas and Bruce Wayne’s work for his whole life, or at least since he learned how to read— and he figured he could get Spider-Man’s attention if he was able to replicate the project as young as he did.

oh, he got Spidey’s attention all right. befriending and adopting an alien symbiote will do that. player 4 has joined the game.

in a different universe, Venom is co-piloted by Tim, who really does like aliens. B thinks it’s a tiny bit weird, but while Tim is tiny his alien companion is very much not. it’s extra armor.

Tim works at the Daily Bugle. nobody knows how exactly he gets the quality kind of photos he does of Gotham’s Spider-family situation, but who’s complaining? he’s just really good at his job.

in a different universe, Cassandra Cain was bitten by a spider before she even met Bruce Wayne. her mother had trained her for combat for her whole life. she couldn’t prepare her for superpowers.

B was happy to help. in a different universe, rather than Cass becoming Blackbat, she took on the alias Black Widow. watch your back for her, though. she’s got the same deadly instinct in every universe.

in a different universe, Stephanie Brown became the first Spider-Woman. of course, she wasn’t the only one, but there’s something about being the original, isn’t there?

she knows she’s funny. she thinks it’s part of the job; it feels right. she’s the closest to the average canon Spider-Man. she could’ve been recruited to the Society at any point in time. and there’s something about that too.

in a different universe, Damian Wayne was born with superpowers. he’d inherited Bruce’s from birth. Talia was quick to hand him off once she realized her baby could crawl on walls and ceilings. the Spider Cave was getting a bit crowded, but what’s one more dangerous, unpredictable, biologically enhanced child? bring it on.

aside from Hood, Tarantula is the only Spider willing to kill a man on the field. yeah, as in. bird-eating tarantula. Robin. get it?

of course, in a different universe, he still had his katana. wouldn’t be Damian Wayne without it. his favorite thing is to swing down from a skyscraper with his webs and run through bad guys like kebabs. B says it’s immoral, but who can be mad about stabbing Doc Ock’s goons?

in another universe, Duke Thomas is the most famous member of the family. he’s the other closest to canon Spider-Man. he takes the day jobs, he talks to the press, he’s the least-hated at the Daily Bugle.

his webs glow. that makes night ops harder. so he sticks to the sunlight. people started calling him the Spider-Signal. which doesn’t make a lot of sense? but Duke is the kinda guy to just kinda shrug it off, because he’s not gonna take on the entire city’s press on his own.

Miguel O’Hara stayed the bleeding hell away from this universe. this group of bats spiders were too unpredictable to have in the Spider Society at all. there were no missions there, but constant surveillance. (until. you know. Miles Morales rocked up with a proposition to take down a tyrannical system with horrible judgement and a corrupted leader. and then Miguel couldn’t ignore the Wayne family anymore.)

how I love the multiverse. endless possibilities, amirite?

(please ask me to write more for this au. drabbles. more characters. PLEASE)

[mysterycitrus]

European Dick Grayson could relate to immigrant story Superman probably

it’d be a super interesting parallel to both kara and clark — especially when dick ends up taking the nightwing mantle. like… u lose everything you’ve ever known, and everything there ever was, and u have to rebuild urself in an alien world that can be so unkind to u. i appreciate that a narrative through line for superman comics as a whole cause u see that with kon and chris as well. that’s crazy!!!

like…,, there’s a primary disconnection from ur culture as a result of violence (a mass extinction event in the case of krypton, and american bureaucracy with the graysons) but there’s also the reconnection. like, that kind of grief is profound. how do u mourn what’s gone if u don’t entirely know what was supposed to be there? how do u stop grieving a shared memory rather than just a place? that’s nuts. that connection is something u spend ur whole life rebuilding. the act of learning what you’ve lost and can’t return to is painful, and it never stops. it’s such a heavy burden to carry the weight of what came before u, and what u outlived. she still dreams of krypton!!

[shiyorin]

Okay I’m silly I sent the sanguínus or fulgrim request but then I read your request rules like an idiot, so uh…. Yandere?? Something about being hunted down (lovingly) before never being seen again 🙏🏻🙏🏻 would sell you my organs for either of them

I don't think this is yandere because it feels more like romcom but anyway. Also there is an easter egg here, good luck to whoever finds it I realized that writing yandere, smut, and all that... is such a damn good stress reliever.

#Yandere au. Sanguinius x F!Reader (Reader is Sanguinius' childhood friend ????)

#Don't ask, I just want to cook it.

#Warning: Yandere, dark, a little gore,....

The sands of Baal were unkind. They scoured flesh from bone, polished rock into glassy monuments, and buried the weak beneath dunes. Sanguinius walked among them, wings folded tight against the burning wind, his shadow stretching long and alien across the wastes. The tribes called him angel, but their reverence stank of fear. They knelt as he passed, pressing their faces into the dust, whispering prayers to a being they could not comprehend. All but one.

You moved differently.

You were small where he was vast, dark where he gleamed, your hair braided with shards of obsidian that caught the light like fractured stars. You did not kneel so deeply as the others. Your forehead never quite touched the ground. When the elders chanted hymns to his glory, your lips moved a heartbeat late, your voice a murmur lost beneath the fervor of true believers. He noticed. How could he not? In a world of prostrate forms, your subtle resistance was a flame in the void.

He watched.

At first, it was accidental, a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision as you slipped away from the feast honoring his latest miracle. Later, it became deliberate. He tracked you through the labyrinth of sandstone huts, past the cisterns where women drew water with ropes of braided sinew, to the edge of the settlement where the desert began its endless hunger. You stood there often, arms crossed, staring into the horizon as if waiting for something even the sands could not devour.

Your fear of him was precise. Not the gibbering terror of those who thought him a demon, nor the awestruck paralysis of those who deemed him divine. You feared him as one fears a storm, inevitable, lethal, but natural. It fascinated him. When he approached, you lowered your eyes but not your chin. When he spoke, you answered in syllables sharp enough to draw blood.

"Why do you linger here?"  he asked once, wings mantled to shield you from the sun’s wrath.

"The view, my lord." you said, and said no more.

He learned your rhythms. At dawn, you gathered bitterroot from the fissures where night’s chill still lingered. At midday, you wove baskets from reeds that grew along the salt flats, your fingers dancing in patterns. At dusk, you climbed to the highest ridge and sat with your knees drawn to your chest, watching the sky bleed into darkness. He joined you there, once. You did not flee, but your body coiled like a serpent prepared to strike.

"You grow quickly." you remarked, your gaze on the distant dunes.

"Too quickly?"

You shrugged. "All things here either adapt or die."

He wanted to ask what you saw when you looked at him, angel or aberration, but the words dissolved on his tongue. Instead, he unfurled a wing, just enough to cast a sliver of shade over you. You did not thank him.

The visions came as they always did, in shards of light and screams. He saw you broken on a battlefield that did not yet exist, your throat slit by a blade he would one day wield. He saw you laughing in a garden of roses, your hands stained with nectar. He saw you aging, withering, dying in a bed of threadbare linens while he remained untouched by time.

Eternity, he realized, is a cage.

He began to linger at the edges of your life. When you drew water, he ensured the bucket did not scrape your palms. When you slept, he stands in front of your hut's doo, wings curled against the cold, and listened to the rhythm of your breath. Once, when a sandstorm threatened to peel the flesh from your bones, he carried you to the deepest caves and shielded you with his body until the winds died. You did not tremble. You did not speak. But your eyes, when they met his, held a question he dared not answer.

The tribe whispered. They saw his favor and resented it. Gifts appeared at your threshold, carved bone charms, strings of desert pearls, a cloak lined with the fur of some animals. You left them untouched. When elders pressed you to accept your role as his chosen, you smiled thinly and said nothing.

"You shame us." The elders hissed one night, the words slithering through the hut’s thin walls. "He is a god."

"He is a child." you replied.

Sanguinius, listening in the dark, felt something primal uncoil in his chest.

******

The Angel took you that night.

Not with violence, but with silence. While the tribe slept, he gathered you, sleeping form, parted lips, hands curled into fists even in rest, and carried you into the sky. You woke screaming, your nails carving furrows down his chest. He did not release you.

The desert shrank below you, its horrors reduced to patterns in the sand. You struggled until your strength faded, until your breaths came in ragged sobs, until you pressed your face to his neck and bit down hard. He let you.

When dawn broke, your anger stops, he took you to the highest peak. The air was thin here, the sky a riot of dying stars. You shivered in your thin shift, but refused his cloak.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the horizon where the first ships breached the atmosphere. Fire rained in their wake.

“Our future.” The Angel said.

He cupped your face, his thumb smearing ash across your cheek. “Come with me.”

“To war?”

“To eternity.”

You closed your eyes. As the first ships soared by, he wrapped his wings around you and prayed to a god he did not believe in.

Let you live. Let you hate him. Let you belong to him.

******

The ships came as he knew it would, giants of iron and fire, its hull etched with sigils of eagles and lightning. The strangers called him son, primarch, hope. They offered him stars.

He asked for a single chamber, sealed and windowless, lined with soft things. They obliged.

You raged. You clawed at the walls, at him, at the servants who brought food you refused to eat. You called him tyrant, coward, thief. He absorbed your fury like the desert absorbed blood.

At night, when your screams subsided to whimpers, he slipped into your room and watched you sleep. Sometimes, he brushed the hair from your face. Sometimes, he counted your breaths. Always, he remembered the vision, your body broken, his hands stained, and knew he would raze eternity itself to keep you whole.

You will love me, he told your still form. In time.

The future still haunted him. But now, when he dreamt of chains and blades, he also dreamt of this, your breath against his neck, your weight in his arms, your heartbeat syncing with his.

A different kind of eternity.

[ellawrites-if]

Development blog for the upcoming IF: The Whisper in the Mist. This IF is based on Pacific Rim media (with a focus on the 2013 film).

Asks are welcome (including explicit asks).

Rated 18+ for explicit language, unhealthy coping methods, dark humour, mental health issues, character death, sexual content (optional), violence, blood, gore, mutilation and body horror, and murder and attempted murder. Will be updated as needed.

Setting: Tsing Yi Island, Hong Kong (with futuristic elements).

Other IF account: @kalorphic

When I was a kid, whenever I'd feel small or lonely...I'd look up at the stars and wonder if there was life up there. Turns out I was looking in the wrong direction.

When alien life entered our world it was from deep beneath the Pacific Ocean. A fissure between two tectonic plates. A portal between dimensions.

They called it the Breach.

- Raleigh Beckett (Pacific Rim).

It’s funny how quickly things can change.

One minute you’re on top of the world, then the next, your world is crumbling down around you…

Five years ago, you and your drift partner had the highest success rates of any Jaeger pilots. Now, one horrific tragedy and a hasty promotion later, you’re pushing pencils thousands of miles away from the place you called home.

That is, until a Kaiju with stealth abilities like nothing that’s ever been seen before crawls out of the Breach.

Recalled back into service, you’re forced to team up with your once rival under the command of your former drift partner, and the advice of two scientists who seem more interested in the Kaiju’s than your safety. All while someone with more money than sense attempts to undermine you at every turn.

With everything seemingly against you, will you take up the mantle of hero once more or will you let the darkness plaguing your mind consume you?

Customisable MC (including name, pronouns, appearance, and identity). Personality is semi-set (MC uses humour and sarcasm as a coping method for their trauma) for a majority of the time, however there will be chances for character development and therefore more personality choices.

Pilot a Jaeger, fight Kaiju’s, and keep the world safe all while battling your own demons.

Five characters are available to romance. Two are only romanceable in a (triad) poly.

Found family.

RO PoVs.

Befriend (and potentially adopt) a baby Kaiju. Also give your dog lots of love.

Ciaran O’Doherty [M/F] - Hot-tempered and viciously in denial of the love they have for you that has only seemed to grow in your absence, Ciaran is your newly assigned drift partner and self-proclaimed rival. [PROFILE].

Killian Zhao [M/F] - Once a talented pilot and your former drift partner, Killian is now your formidable and highly respected commanding officer with a soft spot reserved just for you. [PROFILE].

Brin Kazlauskas [M/F/NB] - Waspish, fastidious, and someone that no one wants to be on the wrong side of, Brin is a K-Science officer with a wicked protective streak towards Zai and you . Only romanceable in a poly with Zai. [PROFILE].

Zai Oumarou [M/F/NB] - Despite a somewhat anxious disposition around those xe doesn’t know, Zai is a K-Science officer with a lot of enthusiasm and a deep curiosity towards Kaiju. Only romanceable in a poly with Brin. [PROFILE].

Ajax Nikolaou [M!NB/F!NB] - With a twisted determination to be a giant pain in your ass, Ajax is the ruthless CEO of Nikolaou Industries, a company that seeks to make the Pan Pacific Defense Corps completely redundant. [PROFILE].

Ferelith [F] - The baby Kaiju with a sweet character that was rescued by Zai, Ferelith loves cuddles, Lord of the Rings (according to Zai), and munching on Brin’s lab coat.

[hotchscoffeecup]

don’t punch beskar, you’ll break your hand

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Rating: M (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags: Hand to hand fighting, Injury, Burns, Blindfolds, Penetrative Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mando Takes Off His Helmet

Summary: You’re the Marshall of your small remote town. When you’re injured in a fight with pirates, Mando tends to your injuries. Time spent together in close quarters leads to even closer relations and when Mando suddenly disappears, you can’t help but feel used. (Happy Ending)

A/N: I wrote this back in Summer of May 2023 and am working on bringing my works over to Tumblr from AO3. I’m not super well versed in Star Wars lore outside of Mandalorian, so some details seems a little vague or inaccurate, that’s probably why! Hope you enjoy!

You nod your thanks as the bartender replaces your empty drink with a full one, flipping a few credits toward him from the dwindling tower you’d stacked in front of you earlier. A tentacle shoots out from the barkeep’s octopus-like face and snaps them out of the air. He grunts his assent and disappears into the back room.

You sip the bitter alcohol and revel in the burn as it slides down your throat to settle in your stomach and fuel the delightful buzz trilling through your body. It’s not enough to disorient you, but enough to ease the dull ache in your temples as you pour over the journal you’ve logged each and every one of your arrests in since the day you became Marshall of this godforsaken town. It’s not what you wanted to do with your life, but what else was there to do in the wake of pirates setting up shop on the outskirts of your city. There was no one in charge, never had been, and no one willing to take up the mantle. They were lost, leaderless.

And now here you are, feeling more lost than you ever had before.

You shake off the thought and return to your logs, tracking crime rates and making note of the areas with increasing levels of violence, piracy, and spice usage. Every time you thought you’d rid an area of criminal activity, it seemed as if double the illicit operations popped up in their place. So was the cost of being an independent planet. It made it all the more appealing to set up shop where there was no threat of the Republic stopping you. In a more developed part of the planet, they would’ve had the means to install better infrastructure or hire more of a guard to dissuade this sort of thing. Not here though. Not on your small blip on the map.

Crime rates had increased hard and fast, with pirates demanding protection payment from the shops and people that lived there. They were armed to teeth and operating a small black market, selling and trading spice and weapons to any and all willing to buy. And every day the market grew, attracting more criminals and making it that much harder to corral the growing threat.

You just didn’t have the manpower to take them on, so all you could do was sit and watch as they overtook the city, your city. It may be a godforsaken town, but it was yours damnit and you would die to protect it.

It had been nice once, beautiful even. The buildings sleek and well lit, laughter pouring out of open doors into the street as people and aliens alike drank, ate, and celebrated a life not run by any government or order.

The peace was short lived as pirates moved in, taking advantage of the wayward town often missed on maps by travelers and government officials alike. They were a town off grid, perfect for a crime syndicate to set up shop in. By the time you’d discerned the severity of what was happening, it was too late and it wasn’t long before they’d overtaken the city and turned it into an industrial hellhole; scrap yards piling higher than buildings destroying the views of what were once lush forests, now mines. Pirate lackies stood guard atop high metal walls that overlooked the town, ready to gun down anyone that might step too close until one day they attempted to lay the town bare; collateral damage in pursuit of establishing a central hub so they could expand their operation and make the entire city some sort of a base; the people living within the walls of the city be damned in pursuit of their own twisted little empire.

They’d have been successful if he hadn’t arrived, the Mandalorian. You’d heard rumors of one traveling the galaxy with a small green creature in tow, though the nature of the creature varied widely. When he’d arrived, there was no creature, and you didn’t feel as though it was your place to ask about it. He’d then helped without even having to be asked. No bargains. No payment. He just wanted to help.

Together, you devised a plan, and with a few of his allies in tow, you destroyed the base from the inside out; something you still can’t believe you’d managed to accomplish with so few individuals. But for the Mandalorian, he himself might as well have been the equivalent to an entire fleet of troopers and his allies the same.

You’d suffered some major burns to the right side of your body in the explosion that leveled the base, but it had been worth it to see that pirate filth laid to waste. Everything had still gone according to plan.

In the weeks that followed, the Mandalorian had tended to your injuries and saw to the restoration of the city. Your memory was hazy after the explosion, but you remembered the pain of it all; the gnawing, biting pain that cut down to your bones as he cradled you into his arms and jettisoned you back to the Razor Crest. Your vision had been hazy. blurred by the severity of the injuries and the toll they’d taken on your body. You’d barely clung to consciousness as the Mandalorian worked on the burns, the debrieding sprays and burn gels doing their job, but feeling as though your skin had caught light once more. Strained “I’m sorry’s” and “I know it hurts” had echoed through the Mandalorian’s modulator until you’d finally passed out from the pain.

It was three days until you’d opened your eyes again. And when you did, you were still in and out of consciousness, unable to keep them open for more than a few seconds at a time.

Once though, when you could manage the strength to blink through the haze, you could have sworn you’d caught a glimpse of dark hair and tan skin passing through the corridor. Your vision had been hazy with sleep and the lights dimmed. You still don’t know if that had been a dream.

On day eight you’d regained full consciousness, You awoke to find bandages soaked in some stinking salve coating the right side of your chest and shoulder, winding across your torso and down your arms. A loose sheet covered the rest of your exposed body, though someone had put a pair of loose linen trousers on you. You attempted to clench your right fist and hissed as the charred skin beneath the bandages immediately protested the movement.

You attempted to sit up and very quickly realized that was an equally stupid thing to try to do.

“Woah, stop!” instructed a modulated voice.

Your eyes flicked up toward the door, where the Mandalorian rushed in. “Take it easy,” he said, calmer this time. “Your body has been through a lot.”

“How long has it been?” You asked, disregarding the concern in his voice.

“Listen, you need to stay down and—“

“How long has it been?”

A mumbled curse hissed through the modulator before he spoke up. “Eight days.”

Your eyes flew open, “Eight?” You cried. Using your left hand to hold the sheet over your exposed chest, you forced yourself into a sitting position despite the stiff flesh under the bandages begging you to stop. “That’s unacceptable. I need to leave. I have to help my people. I need—“

“To heal,” the Mandalorian stated, a command. He took the two pillows that you’d disregarded and propped them up against the metal wall at the back of the cot and gently lowered you back onto them. “My people are on it. The black market has been eradicated. Things are being rebuilt as we speak.”

“I,” you started, but weren’t sure what to say. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing all of this? You have no allegiance to us.”

“My allegiance is to doing the right thing.”

“I don’t often find people care about what’s right or wrong,” you said bitterly, “just what will serve their own selfish agenda.” Your eyes found what you were imaging to be his behind the black T of his helmet.

He tilted his head, regarding you. After two minutes of insufferable silence, his Beskar rattled as he bent at the knees to sit on a flipped over crate near the bedside. You’d not even noticed it before he sat down. Had he sat there before during these last eight days? Watching you?

“Listen,” he began. “I’ve learned a thing or two about being selfish and constantly seeking that which would reap the greatest reward. Recently, I’ve found there are things far, far greater than just going through the motions of what you’ve been told is right and what is wrong because someone says so. I want to see the things that I do in this world actually make a difference, not just for me, but for everyone; and to do that I have to do it on my own terms. So, when I tell you I’m just trying to help,” he sighed through the modulator and leaned back against the wall, his armor clanging against it with a dull thud, “I mean it.”

His words sounded genuine enough, but you weren’t altogether sold. Though, he didn’t have to agree to help take down the pirates nor take you in. He could’ve dumped you at the local med bay and been off planet doing gods know what by now, but he stayed. Not only did he stay for you, but for your people.

“Why did you help me?” The words left your mouth before you could think them through.

His answer came fast. “You’re alone here.” He stood and reached for an overhead shelf where he withdrew a med pack. He knelt at your side and released the locks, the pack snapping open with a satisfactory click.

You watched his leather clad fingers withdraw equipment and arrange them neatly along the edge of the bed.

He snapped the med pack shut and turned his masked face in your direction. “I know what it’s like to be in pain alone, to suffer alone. I did not want that for you.”

“Begging your pardon, Mando, but why would you care what I want?”

Your eyes flickered back and forth in the dim light, searching for him behind the mask. You wished you could read his expression.

He picked up a pair of scissors, though his gloved fingers quickly posed a problem as their thick padding didn’t allow him to hold them properly.

“This was a lot easier when you were knocked out,” he muttered through the modulator. He cursed and dropped the scissors, snapping his hand free from the glove. “And my name’s not Mando,” he added, now able to comfortably pick up the scissors with his long pointer finger and thumb. “It’s Din. Din Djarin.”

You're surprised when your breath catches in your throat; not at how he’d revealed his name, but that he’d revealed any amount of skin to you; deep tan skin pebbled with scars and calluses.

“Are you allowed to do that?” You asked, voice incredulous.

The scissors slid under the bandages, stinging the burnt skin as they gently glided across. You hissed and he apologized, making sure to lift them higher as he cut away the bandages.

After a long moment, he answered. “I don’t know.” He snapped out of the other glove and made deft work of the bandages, apologizing as they stuck to your mottled flesh. “I don’t know a lot of things anymore.” This he’d spoken more so to himself.

Once the sullied bandages had been pulled away and discarded, you glanced down at your flesh, and sucked a sharp breary in through your teeth at the sight of it. No wonder you’d been out cold for over a week. The entire right side of your upper body was unrecognizable to you the way that the flames had licked and curled around your limbs. Tears stung at your eyes and you forced yourself to look away

“I know it looks bad now,” he said calmly, placing a comforting hand over your uninjured one. You're surprised by how soft it is despite its rough appearance. The gesture placated you and you find your body relaxing. “Over time it will fade and eventually look like nothing happened at all. Trust me.”

“Do what you have to do then,” you consented, knowing the treatment was probably less than pleasant.

He squeezed your hand and when he withdrew it you found yourself longing for its warmth. You brushed the thought aside as quickly as it came and braced yourself for pain as Din coated your wounds in a numbing spray; the effects of which caused your eyes to well with tears.

Flesh numbed, he spent the next hour debriding the wounds of dead flesh and applying a gel that encouraged skin cell regeneration. He then applied bandages that were soaked in a stronger version of the gel in thick layers against and around the burns.

By the time he finished you were barely able to keep your eyes open. This was the longest you’d been awake since the date of the explosion and the treatment had exhausted what little energy you had to give.

“You should sleep,” he recommended as he pulled his gloves back on, and a part of you is sad to see his hands hidden away once more. “When you next wake, we’ll try to get some solid food and water in you.”

He pulled the sheet up higher over your body, his gloved fingers lingering against your neck. Your eyes trailed up the length of his arm before reaching what you were sure to be his gaze behind the mask. He held your stare, only for a moment before he quickly withdrew his hand and stepped away toward the door.

“Get some rest.”

“Thank you,” you said softly. And as he stepped through the door you added, “Din.”

Your eyes fell shut, but not before you noticed how he paused in his tracks to take one last look at you over his shoulder before continuing on his way.

•

“Dank farrick!” Din cursed and threw his hand of cards down on your dining room table as you laughed and pulled in the ever growing pile of credits toward yourself, now easier with the improvement in mobility in your arm over the last few weeks as the burns continued to heal thanks to the Mandalorian.

“Come on, Mando!” You laughed, still not completely comfortable using his given name freely. “You wanna make it triple or nothing?”

He pointed a gloved finger directly at your face, “No.”

“Oh come on,” you begged. “I didn’t peg the Mandlorians as sore losers.”

“We should turn in,” he said, gathering the cards together. “I’ve got a run scheduled with Greef Carga and I’d like to take off before sunrise.” Greef Carga had been one of the Mandalorian’s allies who had helped them level the base. What weapons and spice caches hadn’t been destroyed, Mando had been delivering to Carga’s city where they had the proper means of destroying it. His was a city far more well equipped than yours.

“It should take two trips, right?” you asked, already concerned with the amount loaded onto the Razor Crest. If word had gotten out about the market’s destruction here, roving sects of the cartel or other pirates could be out for blood; especially if they knew the Mandalorian had been responsible. If they caught the Razor Crest with that many illegal arms and substances loaded inside of it, they would do their damndest to get it back.

He nodded. “I should be back by nightfall.”

He gathered all the cards together into a neat pile and held them out for you to take. As your fingers slid over them, the leather of his gloves glided over your skin eliciting goosebumps across your flesh that you wished you could hide better from him.

He dropped his hand. “I should get back to the ship.”

He turned to leave and before you could process what you were doing, you lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around his wrist.

“Or you could stay.”

A long breath escaped the modulator as your name fell from his lips, and you immediately wanted to kick yourself for acting this way. Did you sound as needy as you felt? Weeks now, you’d spent in such close quarters with Mando, working side by side to draw up plans to rebuild the city and renew that which has been lost alongside the very close contact shared with him with the daily burn treatments. With each passing day, you’d found yourself watching the curve of his hips as he sauntered around so confidently with each step; the way his muscles flexed beneath his armor as he hammered reinforced steel into the damaged buildings around town.

Beyond the physical, his gentle demeanor behind the rough and tumble exterior pulled you in with its own gravitational force. Each day, he’d opened up a little more to you, sharing more and more about his life as a bounty hunter and his journey with the Child. You laughed harder than you had in years over the ways in which he recounted the mischievous and naughty behavior of the little green guy. And though you couldn’t see his face, even through the modulator, you could hear the longing in his voice for the Child. Despite having done the right thing in reuniting him with his own kind, you knew that that had torn away a piece of Din’s heart, even if he didn’t say it out right.

“Don’t read too deeply into it,” you chastised before the silence could become even more deafening in the moments since he’d whispered your name. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. You don’t need to sleep cramped up on that cot in the Razor Crest. Gods knows it’s not comfortable.”

He chuckled in response. “Sorry if it didn’t meet your standards, princess. I think it served you just fine, did it not?”

You waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still working the kinks out of my back from that whole experience. Come on,” you said and inclined your chin down the hall. “Stay, Get a good night’s rest, With the way you’ll be traveling tomorrow, you’ll need it.”

Ultimately, he relented and followed you down the hall.

“My room is the last door on the right at the opposite end of the hallway if you need anything. Fresher is the door on the left. Goodnight, Mando.”

“Din,” he reminded you.

You turn toward your room and walk down the hall, calling over your shoulder. “Goodnight Din.”

•

There was no sleep to be found tonight. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you wondered what Din was doing just down the short length of hallway from you.

Was he asleep? Behind the safety of a locked bedroom door, did he remove his helmet and armor and actually let himself rest his body? Or did he still sleep in the same armored, crunched up position, arms folded over chest, masked chin tucked in on itself?

Your eyes burned from lack of sleep and you cursed yourself for letting these thoughts drive you mad. Using your good arm to push yourself into a sitting position, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and pulled a satin robe over your shoulders. Tying it loosely around your waist, you silently opened the door and padded across the stone floor to the kitchen intent on making tea. Maybe after a hot cup, sleep would finally find you. You filled the kettle at the small durasteel sink and before you placed it on the stove, the sound of a faucet turning off set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“Mando?” you whisper shouted.

No response.

You took a few steps toward the fresher door and tried again. The floor to ceiling metal doors in your home betrayed no light to escape so there was no way of telling if he was in there.

You hesitantly reached forward to press the button to open the door. You tried one more time. “Din?”

No answer. You cursed yourself for being so stupid. He was probably fast asleep and here you were, shouting at your empty fresher in the middle of the night. For peace of mind, you decide to slap the open button before returning to finish making your tea.

You immediately regretted your decision to do so as the door cracked open and a shaft of light filled the hall.

Your eyes fell to the floor, landing on a pair of tan, bare feet. Feet that move faster than lighting as a pair of strong arms wheeled you around and pressed your face into the wall.

“Close your eyes.” His voice was dark and you felt as though you had no choice but to oblige.

“I’m sorry,” your chest heaved, though constricted against the wall slick with steam from the shower. “I’m sorry, Din. I didn’t see your face. I didn’t—“

His grip relaxed suddenly, his touch becoming gentle; more responsive and less reactive. The rough palms of his hands flattened against where he grabbed you and rubbed the skin beneath, easing the sting of his tight grip from moments earlier. “No,” he breathed and for the first time you felt his breath against your skin. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react like that, you just—I thought you were asleep.”

“I couldn’t,” you stated.

A few moments of silence and then he answered, “Neither could I.”

His hands slowly slid down the length of your arms, the one on your right much softer than the left, minding the still healing burns. You couldn’t help your body’s natural response to arch into his touch.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” you asked, breath bated already.

You felt his presence draw nearer to your ear before the air reverberated around the sound of his voice. “I couldn’t stop thinking of what you might be wearing to bed”

His hands slipped off of your elbows and onto your waist. He stepped forward so that his body was flush against you and a small gasp escaped your lips as you felt his erection pressed up against the curve of your ass through the towel around his waist. He reached one arm around you and easily pulled the tie securing the robe around your waist loose, exposing your naked body. He tugged at one end until he’d pulled it free from its loops.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the satin material covered your eyes and he secured a knot tightly, but not uncomfortably, behind your head.

“There,” he said softly, turning you around and holding your face in his wide hands.

Hesitantly, you raised your hands to wrap around both of his wrists, leaning into his touch.

After a moment you reached out in front of you, hand landing on his chest. He was soft beneath your fingertips; muscular, but soft.

He dropped his hands from either side of your face as your other hand found his chest and you began to slowly explore the planes of his body.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest as your hands traveled up the length of his torso, to the wide V of his shoulders. He was tense beneath your touch and you hesitantly withdrew your fingers to hover above his skin. “I can stop,” you said gently.

His hands wrapped around yours, placing them back on his chest. “No,” he said. “It’s ok. I want you to touch me.” As your hands found his neck, you cautiously continued to his jawline, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your fingers splayed against the sharp lines there.

Your thumb brushed lightly against his lips and he shuddered beneath your touch. You’re shocked to find he’s got facial hair lining the top of his lip and a gentle laugh tumbled out of your lips.

And as your fingers came to hold his face in your hands, you drew him down to you so that his forehead was touching yours.

“Mando,” you breathed.

“Call me by my name,” he said, his words gentle, yet firm.

You didn’t hesitate. “Din.”

His lips rained down on yours with an energy so blindingly hot that stars dotted the corners of your limited vision.

You parted your lips to grant him greater access to your mouth and his tongue slid over yours as his hands fisted into your hair.

Your arm snaked around his neck and when his hands cupped your ass beneath the satin of your robe, you pushed off your feet to jump and latch your legs around his waist.

He bore your weight easily, as if you weighed no more than an infant, and pushed you back into the wall. You hissed into his mouth as pain stung your shoulder blades but your whole body was a live wire at the moment and you didn’t care.

He started to walk, carrying you still, as your lips crashed together over and over; devouring one another as if this was the only taste you might ever get.

The hiss of a metal door opening sent a blast of cool air over the two of you, causing your taut nipples to harden even more against the skin of his chest.

He lowered you onto the mattress and the springs creaked under your combined weight. As he crawled over you and straddled your waist, you could feel his erection firm against your thigh.

Blindly, you reached for it with your good arm and as your fingers barely skim the smooth skin of his cock, your hand is pinned above your hand.

“Not yet,” he growled into your ear and your middle turned to liquid.

He released your hand and began trailing his over your body; the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of your calves, then your hips, your stomach, until he’s got both of your nipples pinched between his fingertips.

A cry slipped past your lips as he rolled the peaks of your breasts between his fingers. When he took one into his mouth and began to tease you, flicking the sensitive skin with his tongue and toying at it with his teeth, you bucked your hips up into his erection.

You could feel the slickness between your thighs spreading with each kiss and pass over your body, though you craved more of him. Your pussy throbbed with a need to be touched by him, filled by him.

“Din,” you whimpered. “Please.” And you swore you heard him chuckle deeply in his throat.

He took his hands and placed them on the insides of your knees. Slowly, he pushed them apart and you knew he was gazing into your core.

“Fuck,” he groaned and murmured your name. Your thighs quivered as his fingers slowly dragged up your thighs. Using his thumb, he ran it up the slick length of your folds, pausing at your clit to rub painfully slow circles and you squirmed beneath his touch. “So wet,” he murmured, “so wet for me.”

He adjusted the position of his thumb so that he could continue his torturously slow massage. His name tumbled from your lips as he, at an equally slow pace, thrust his pointer and middle fingers into your center; in and out, in and out, toying with the spongey soft cleft within you that caused your belly to clench in response.

You writhed beneath his touch, needing more, begging for more.

“Are you ready for me?” he purred, and you nodded vigorously.

“You feel ready,” he said, and you could sense the smile on his lips. He dragged his fingers, slick with you, up the length of your folds once more before pulling them away completely and touching them to your lips. He traced the outline of your mouth before gently pushing them in between your lips, “Taste how ready you are for me.”

You sucked and swiveled your tongue around the length of his two long fingers, tasting the tang of yourself on them and wanting more.

He withdrew his fingers and cupped your chin in his large hand, “Good girl.”

You bucked and cried out as he thrust his fingers back into you; once, two more times, and on the third, withdrew his fingers and slammed into you with his cock.

You cried out from the shock and pleasure of it all, gasping for air as his width stretched and filled you. He’d hit hard and fast only to slow down to a torturous rhythm. He slipped a hand under your right leg and lifted it onto his shoulder, holding you there as an anchor point as he continued to plunge himself in and out of you. His name spilled from your lips as with this new leverage, his cock struck your g-spot with every thrust.

“Yes,” his voice was low in his throat. “Say my name, darling. Say my name.”

He increased his speed and returned his thumb to your throbbing clit where he teased circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves there in a tortuously sweet rhythm with the speed of his thrusts.

Stars dotted your limited vision. Your chest rose and fell heavily as you tried to meet him thrust for thrust, but you lost track of the rhythm as you felt everything inside your lower abdomen start to collapse in on itself until the pleasure was blinding and you exploded around him.

He continued to thrust into you as your orgasm drove through your body in waves. After a few more thrusts his own release spilled out into you and he cried out your name; collapsing on top of you and wrapping his arms around your body, both of you slick with sweat and panting.

You stayed there for a minute, joined together physically, chests heaving against one another.

You both groaned as he slid out of you. Slowly, he maneuvered your arms out of the satin robe that you’d both forgotten about. Gently, he used it to clean you up, before discarding it onto the ground where it fell with a soft whoosh of fabric.

He then collapsed onto the bed next to you and minding the burns to your right side, pulled you nearer to him.

He kissed you softly on the lips and then your temple before stretching an arm behind his head.

Your head rested upon his chest and you could feel his heart beating steadily beneath his skin, the dull thump-thump enough of a rhythm to sing you to sleep, but you didn’t want to. Not now. Not after everything with him had just changed.

His hand lazily dragged through your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“Sleep,” he murmured against your ear. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The Mandalorian was nowhere to be found come dawn; he’d disappeared without a trace and you were left behind feeling like an absolute idiot for ever having opened yourself up to him.

In the weeks that followed, stray pirates that had barely escaped with their lives began to trickle back in when they’d learned the Mandalorian had disappeared and rumors of the spice and weapons supply you’d still had confiscated reached those still alive and hoping to rebuild the black market.

You’d been able to hold them back, killing them in a shootout in front of your offices.

There was nowhere to safely hide or destroy the spice or weapons. Burying it wouldn’t destroy them, so those hoping to retrieve it could still attain it. Burning them would release a smoke so toxic, it would kill anyone within five clicks of the pyre with the amount they had in tow.

So, there was no choice but to stand and fight. Stand and fight until your deputy was dead and you’d suffered a blast to the shoulder.

With no one left to defend the supply, they’d moved in quickly, raiding your office and burning it down in the aftermath as a warning to leave the market alone. You still don’t know why they didn’t kill you.

Weeks turned to months and they were right back where they’d started; black market and all successfully up and running as your people suffered for it. Heads turned away as you passed through town. You’d let your people down.

And that was why you sat in a bar, alone at two in the morning, going over crime logs and wondering how things had fallen apart so quickly.

So, when that distinct tinkle of metal armor echoed in your ears, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You froze, heart hammering in your chest so hard you swore it would shatter your rib cage. As each heavy, booted footfall drew nearer, your fingers inched toward the blaster holstered at your side.

When you were confident he’d drawn near enough, you leapt from your seat, kicking it out and whirling around as it knocked his legs out from under him.

The Mandalorian hit the floor with a loud metallic thud and something tumbled from his hands across the floor.

He rolled out of the way as you aimed your blaster at him; knocking it from your hands in the process.

No matter; you slipped the knife from your waistband out and slashed at him. He expertly dodged each swing, but when you raised your leg and kicked him square in the stomach; he flew backwards over a table, shattering it on impact.

You leapt upon him, knife raised, and he knocked it from your hand.

Immediately, you raised your opposite fist and when you moved to bring it down, he caught your hand in his gloved one.

“Don’t punch Beskar,” his modulated voice advised. “You’ll break your hand.”

You sat there, frozen, as he held your fist in his hand. You stared at the black T of his visor, knowing he was staring right back at you. Tears burned your vision, but you would not let them fall for him.

Grunting and cursing, you kicked off of him; dusting off your pants and moving toward the bar.

“Get the hell out of here, Mandalorian.” You spat before returning to your seat at the bar. not minding the destruction you’d just left in your wake.

Tears burned your vision as you tossed back the second shot of liquor you’d left behind. The burn offered no relief from the pain of his return.

Your body stiffened as you heard his armor clanging as he stood and collected himself; but as you braced yourself to hear his steps withdraw, they only drew nearer to you.

He slammed a bag down on the table next to you.

You scoffed, ignoring it. “We don’t want your money, Mandalorian.” As if that could undo the damage he’d caused in his absence.

“Open it,” was all he said.

You swiveled in your seat, eyeing him dangerously before pulling the bag to you. You pulled the strings holding it shut and gasped upon finding the severed head.

Your eyes snapped toward his, or at least where you imagined they were behind his visor. “What is this supposed to—“

He tossed a puck on the table. Your mouth fell shut as a hologram appeared; stunned to see your face in the hazy blue light emanating from it.

You turned back to the Mandalorian, “I don’t understand.”

“He put this hit out on you,” he gestured toward the head. “On the day I left to dispose of the spice and arms with Greef Karga, I was attacked by spice runners. Spice runners who had your face in their hands. I couldn’t let them get to you.”

Blood pounded in your ears. He’d not come back to protect you, to keep you safe. It didn’t stop the damage done in his absence.

“You could’ve made contact,” you bit, venom sharp on your tongue.

Mando used his forearm to push the bag aside and lowered himself down into the seat beside you.

“If I’d pinged you, they could’ve pulled your location. There were already enough trickling back into the city and the hit wasn’t widespread news amongst local crime networks. Gods knows I did my best to hunt down anyone with this puck in hand; and in doing so, it lead me to the leader.”

Your mind whirled; both from the sudden realization of what had actually transpired and the liquor burning a hole in your empty stomach. The fight with Mando had stirred up things both physically and mentally and you suddenly felt sick.

Leather clad fingers brushed your shoulder and you hated how it both set your flesh alight with desire and caused your body to relax. The anger you felt was so raw and biting, but the way your body remembered his gentle touch had your tight shoulders sagging beneath it.

The pad of his thumb circled the thick pink scar tissue from the blaster strike; the shoulder still ached from time to time but overall had healed well.

As his thumb gently probed the tissue, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath you’d not realized you’d been holding in.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said after a long while.

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” You turned your body to look at him straight on. “You lied to me.” Thick, hot tears welled along your lower eyelids. Your voice wavered as you continued, “I felt like a whore, Din. Like a plaything that you used once and got bored of.” Tears leaked over your lashes and you cursed yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him. “Damnit!” you slammed your first down on the table and raked a hand through your hair.

“You could’ve left me at the med bay. You barely knew me. You had no obligation to stay. But you, Din, you took me back to your ship and literally nursed me back to health.” You stood to leave then, not bothering to look at him as you did so as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. “You were the one to stay behind long after you were clear to leave, yet you stayed. You treated me like I was a fucking royal and then left me like a womp rat stuck in a trap that you couldn’t bare to put out if it’s misery.”

As you reached the exit door, a leather clad hand wrapped around your wrist and an unfamiliar hiss caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You stood there for a moment, frozen, unsure of what to do.

“What are you doing?” you choked out, refusing to turn around.

“I don’t know what I could say,” his voice was smooth, unmodulated. “That this gesture can’t prove.”

His grip tightend around your wrist, not painfully, desperately.

You closed your eyes and bit your quivering lip. He said your name and it came out of his lips a plea.

Turning around, you didn’t open your eyes. Instead, you loosed yourself from his grip and felt for his other hand which clutched his helmet.

You circled your fingers around the lip of the opening and took it from him, surprised he allowed you to take it from his hand. With your other one, you felt up the breast plate of his armor until you reached the sharp line of his jaw, rough with a few days worth of stubble.

Raising the helmet, you used both hands to lower it down over his face until it hissed and clicked back into place. Only then did you open your eyes, finding them reflected back at you in the inky black of his visor.

“I would never ask you to forsake your Creed, Mando, surely you must understand that.”

He took a daring step toward you, inclining his head as he did so. “That’s not my name,”

“Din,” you breathed, sighing his name out. “Surely you know I’d never ask you to do that.”

His leather clad fingers slipped between yours. “I couldn’t risk them hurting you, I’ve only just found you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time since he’d stepped foot inside the tavern. “That’s a bit romantic for a Mandalorian, don’t you think?”

You felt the cool steel of his Beskar vambrace through the fabric of his shirt as he drew you near to his body for an embrace.

“I keep finding ways in which I’m not a normal Mandalorian.”

“Good,” you responded as you wrapped your arms around his pauldrons. squeezing and hoping he felt the warmth in your embrace. “I’ve never liked normal.”

[llillilholillill]

i want to read about jason todd of the arrowverse. I want to read about him crawling out of his grave to the world where batman, bruce, his dad, is not going to be in soon.

i want him waking up after the dip in a lazarus pit, feeling bloodlust[in arrowverse it is canon, thank you very much], meeting ra’s and nyssa and then talia. still getting trained by terrible monsters, people, who enjoy sufferings of others too much.

i want him to finish his training with all-caste, only to realize league is in shambles, some al sah-him and then al sa-her calling themselves next ra’s al ghul, with talia being banished.

i want to read about jason todd finding out his dad at whom he was so so pissed is missing. have been missing for almost two years.

seasons: 1 and ongoing

and gotham.

gotham is in fucking ruins, because there's no batman, there's no robin. there’s no alfred.

now there’s only him and barely there rumours of nightwing, protecting new york.

jason takes up the mantle. he takes up the legacy. and he hates bruce for it. but gotham and her streets are his home. even if he has to fight bloodlust tooth and nail. because he can’t. he can’t simply make another bloodbath. gotham’s streets are already soaked in too much red. and there’s still a difference for him between killing joker and killing black mask.

he tries to look for bruce, managing one crazy case after another, almost drowning in the filth that flooded the streets when no one had been looking. he tries to look for dick. for brother that hated him at the beginning yet started looking out for him at the end. but he finds a teen instead. genius teen who has so much photos of him as robin, of bruce as batman, of dick as robin and nightwing. of him as red bat.

his name is tim drake, he’s skinny and has no self-preservation skills, his parents are neglectful jerks that still love their son somehow. he becomes jason’s robin. red robin. light in the dark alleyways. hope in the hearts of gothamites. thorn in rogues’ plans. safe haven in jason’s life that calms his bloodlust.

batman needs robin.

red bat, too, needs one.

even if stories about them are a hoax as far as everyone believes.

they hear from nightwing. or well more like jason gets jumped and almost electrocuted by him. thank fuck for red robin, his birdarangs and bright yellow cape. dick doesn’t trust him until he sees empty coffin and dna test. jason really can’t blame him.

year after kate kane finds the cave.

now there’s batwoman. more freaks. and more whispered rumours about existence of bats and birds.

then there’re arrow and flash in his city with flying alien in blue and red with ‘s’ on her chest.

and jason realises shit is going to go down, because it’s just a begining. there's no ending in sight, no bruce in sight.

only him, dick, tim, kate. and other vigilantes who know nothing about how gotham works so they really should get the fuck out of here right this second.

[ayy-ayycaptaiin]

Truly funny how the only way dickbabs shippers could ever “win” is by having the bat writers trying to remove and retcon how much Dick loved Kory, and even then the ship is still garbage compared with dickkory. Such a hollow and embarassing “win” lol.

Trying hard to be objective here. While i dislike DickBabs with all my being, i must disagree that they're garbage. They're far from it. I truly believe they could still be a good ship without shaming and retconning characters left and right. The keyword here being could. Dick and Babs themselves aren't safe from the retcons either, lol.

I've read DickBabs' famous runs. Nightwing 1996, BoP 1999 (i love this BoP era btw), Nightwing/Oracle Convergence, Taylor's NW run, etc. They have cute banters, supportive relationship, deep connections with each other, and love that transcended disability. Those are good qualities to have in a ship, no? but it's just not enough for them. Writers just had to retcon Dick and Kory's romantic past (and other characters too, but that's for another post). What got me pissed off too was how they had to put down other women (Kory, Helena, Shawn Tsang, and Bea) to uplift DickBabs. Even their so called best writers like Simone, Dixon, and Taylor had to bring up (and down) Kory to make their ship look good. Do debate me on this, but has there ever any occurence where DickKory in their relationship had to put down beloved characters in order to make their love work? 😭

Even Batman himself wasn't safe from the retcon, too. Remember the infamous alien xenophobic remark he made for Kory? When that very man genuinely supported Dick's relationship with her in NTT run? Or that he has a best friend called SUPERMAN?? Y'know, the friendship dynamic that has been one of the biggest parts of DC since the dawn of time? Yeah the story got retconned and the entire thing is no longer canon, but hey i'm not surprised, it's always about retcons with DickBabs.

Their shippers like to debate that writers change and characters change with the flow of time. Retcons are normal within the comic medium, yes. But, there are good retcons and bad retcons.

They ALWAYS like to reference PeterGwen and PeterMJ in their defense. Since y'know, Gwen was retconned, she was never supposed to die and MJ was never meant to be Peter's love interest originally, cmiiw. But here's the thing, despite originally not planned to be together, PeterMJ is widely beloved by the global population because their story and relationship work naturally and are written better. Comic readers and general public LOVE THEM. Yes there are retcons for PeterMJ, but PeterMJ and DickBabs are never and will never be apple to apple in this discussion. Their impacts are not the same and will never be 😭

Don't even get me going with their recurring themes of Dick's "it's you, it was always you" and "all the best parts of my life, you were there". Those tropes aree soooo disrespectful towards his past with Kory. As if during his time with Kory, he loved Barbara more than his time with her. Newsflash, Kory and Dick had significant impacts towards each other. Do they forget that Kory was one of the reasons why Nightwing even exist? Do they forget how he helped Kory navigate het life on earth, or how when Kory helped Dick to avoid being Batman 2.0 in his development? (No hate towards Bruce and Babs, i love them, i truly do)

Dick and Babs only work when they grew from their trauma and past in Nightwing and Oracle mantle. The whole Robin Batgirl childhood mutual crush is harmful towards their respective characters AND other characters. They're the best as Nightwing and Oracle. Never before that time.

If i have to be honest, i would ship DickBabs had only their mutual romance was developed prior to DickKory. I think it's a good ship with revolutionary tropes in disabled character. But sadly, their rival ship is DickKory—a globally beloved couple originating from a comic book run that was SO popular and iconic, that it rivaled X-Men back in the day and saved DC from bankruptcy ❤️

This is just my personal take. I understand that people can interpret comic books, especially ones that have existed for decades very differently. People are very welcome to correct me if i wrote any misconceptions or mistakes in my post. I'm always open to discussion 🥰