#but its far from a good batman movie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harbourslighthouse · 1 month ago

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asphalt in my lungs (jason todd x f!reader)

summary → it's been six years since the death of the second robin, your robin, and you're twenty-one and barely getting by. when a certain person's phone calls stop, you're forced to drag yourself out of your head and pay a visit to a man you didn't think you'd see ever again. you can barely stand the colour red.

content note → there are mentions/implications of past abuse & neglect, so be wary of that if that is an issue for you. the story itself is mildly angsty, but it's not severely depressing. you don't necessarily need to read it for future stories, but it does give a lot of information about the reader and sort of 'sets the tone' of things.

author's note → for just a little context, I take different details from different mediums of the DC universe. I use aspects from the animated movies, the christopher nolan films, and the arkham video games. don't regard my stories as 100% canon compliant.

i hope you enjoy, it is a bit of a long one, but I put my heart and soul into this as it's one of my first stories that I'm publishing here.

It’s 2005, and since you can remember, Gotham City has been made of barbed wire and blood. It crawls like something alive, writhing with sin and grime. The Wayne Enterprises tower sits in the center of Miagani Island, a pulsing beam of light that’s meant to mean something, yet those who live in the darkest slums see it only as a mocking sentinel glowing down on them.

You wonder if Bruce should have made a symbol of good out of his own name, instead of creating the masked entity: the Batman.

Maybe then, he would have done something.

You know the darkness that seeps out of Gotham intimately. Born and bred on Miagani Island—the most urban of the three islands—you grew up in a desolate street, in a desolate house. The school you went to was just as dull, with teachers that hated their jobs, and school kids that shoved each other off slides and dunked heads down toilets. You remained a hidden thing, invisible to most.

Gotham City remains a corrupted landmark on the map, often pointed at with the resolute statement, ‘That place? We can’t possibly live there. It’s filthy and the crime rate is insane.’ If anyone asked you, as a Gothamite yourself, if it was worth the ridiculously low rent prices, you’d shake them by their shoulders, shove them towards their car, and tell them to drive away as far as possible.

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to hate the city. You’ve seen its most hideous parts; the trash littered alleyways with burning barrels and tents made of scrap fabric and metal; the rat infested houses along the edge of the Narrows that are half crumbling into the murky water that surrounds the small isle; gang spots stained with blood after a deal goes wrong. Gotham City is many things to many people, but it’s different for you.

Gotham City, to you, is made of memories.

As a young child, you hadn’t been blessed with a sweet home full of warmth and love, the kind you see in the sitcoms that only aired at specific times. Not that you watched much of those, anyway. No, yours had been an empty echo of bitterness and split lips. Yours had buried a hole in your chest as something ugly and not worth thinking about, something scabbed over or fully scarred. So you only remember parts of it on the worst of days, when you’re paralysed by something you can’t name.

Shouting rings from the open window, and there’s a dull pang of surprise that there isn’t a jagged hole in the glass. By now, they start throwing mugs, or plates. Whatever is closest.

Your back digs into the screen door, and you pull your knees up to your chest as you sit and wait on the porch. They locked the door, and there’s no other way for you to slip into your room. The window out back is too high for you to reach, and your arms aren’t strong enough to push yourself up to the windowsill.

You’re not sure when the dull emptiness had begun to set in, but even at this age, you know violence and normalcy should not co-exist together. But, you’re only fourteen. There’s not much that you can do.

A glass shatters, the shrill noise making you flinch. It’s the first of many broken pieces of porcelain, so you haul yourself up onto your feet with a silent huff, feeling the burn of tears. You slip your backpack over your shoulder again, and hop down the wooden steps.

The street is mostly empty. Trash flutters out from underneath parked cars, and the smell of dust and exhaust fumes is thick and heavy. You walk with steady steps, although your gaze keeps falling to the brick-laid sidewalk. There’s a horrible pressure in your chest, like something has lodged itself into the space between your lungs. You count the crosses on your sneakers and pray that they stop shouting soon, so that you can come back home before it’s dark.

Memories are often distorted the older you get. It’s usually the cloudy, grey days that render you in bed for hours. Laying amongst rumpled bed sheets with your hair still styled from the day before, your mind casts a line back into the past, hoping to reel in some sort of closure that you’ve been chasing for years.

You’re not sure why, but during these days when you can’t get out of bed, and your eyes flicker across the gritty texture of your ceiling, you often think about the second home you were introduced to—a home that was given to you when your hand slipped into that of a billionaire celebrity’s, whose eyes held secrets.

The muted sound of gravel crunching seems louder than your heartbeat as the car pulls into a broad driveway. You lean to the side, temple pressed against the car window, and your lungs clench in awe.

Large and imposing, a stately mansion made of pale brown bricks, numerous windows, and pointed roofs, sits as a giant backdrop of wealth amongst the vibrant green lawns that stretch onward for miles. You blink rapidly, hand curling around the metal door handle as the engine becomes silent. You climb out slowly, the chill air pushing against your cheeks. Your worn shoes are thin at the bottom, and you can feel the pressure of gravel and pebbles against your heels, but you can’t seem to care as you numbly walk closer to the entrance of the mansion. The structure towers above you, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s as intimidating on the inside as it is on the outside. It reminds you of all the large estates you’d seen in the history books (ones that hadn’t been scribbled over with sharpie).

The butler, or Alfred, as you’ve come to know, strides past you with his measured steps, and opens the double doors made of wood as dark as dirt. He waits patiently inside, grey eyes cast over your awe-struck face. He nods his head, urging you to step across the threshold.

Swallowing thickly, you walk past him and feel the air in your lungs escape in a silent gasp. Thick, velvet carpet cushions your feet and stretches down a large hall, hiding away wooden floorboards that shine as if wet. Gilded paintings are hung on either walls, portraits and landscapes in oils. Vases sit neatly on tables with clusters of flowers, and a chandelier hangs above the room in glittering crystal and electric candles.

You’re sure if you could see yourself, you’d be amused at the slack-jaw expression on your face as your eyes trace across the dark, polished interior of the house, sliding along the gleaming banisters of the grand staircase that must lead to even more exuberant displays of wealth. Was the owner a king? Or perhaps a lord from the 1700s? You nearly forgot all about the man that had smiled at you a day ago, and that you’d meet him again today.

You hear Alfred clear his throat from behind you, and you swivel towards him, hands awkwardly clasped at your middle as if you’d been caught in the act of something. Your heart flutters as his eyes crease with a silent smile, and he strides past you through an arched doorway, and you follow quietly behind, unaware of just how different things will be from now on.

You wonder if there’s something you’re searching for in that memory, with how many times you come back to it, but as the days stretch in a linear line of routines and phone calls, you shove it to the far side of the shelf, where it remains stationary and covered in dust.

If you’re being honest with yourself, the state you’re in emotionally isn’t stable. You’re very good at hiding it, though memories and heartache trail after you like rumours, wrapping around your throat some days and sending unshed tears to gather in your eyes. Despite those days, you have a life that you can’t ignore or leave behind. You have a regular job as a secretary—nothing fancy—and interestingly, you can’t bring yourself to complain about it. You assist a defense attorney in the Department of Justice, and you’ve found that law, despite what many say, is quite entertaining to someone who isn’t directly involved with the legal proceedings.

And you’ve made some friends, although you’re not sure if it’s an official thing or something you’ve decided on your own. Commissioner Gordon is kind to you, tilts his head when he sees you sitting at your desk, and gives you a mustached smile, auburn hair curling around the corners of his lips. He once brought you a coffee, tired eyes glancing your way with a softly spoken greeting. You wonder if he noticed the way you’d been able to smile after feeling like your face had gone numb. You wonder if he remembers how you looked six years ago in a purple and yellow suit.

The trek back to your apartment is notorious for bringing up unwanted snippets of a life long-gone. You see Bruce’s face in the passing men in business suits and finely tailored coats. Reflections of grey-haired gentlemen makes you think of Alfred with his creased eyes and dry, sarcastic humour. The occasional red sweater nearly sends you choking on air as flashes of a boy embellished with wonder and pride strikes your mind viciously.

Alfred leads you into a kitchen, and again, you are in awe of the gleaming tiles beneath your feet, the pristine cupboards with glass fronts that let you see the polished crockery inside. As Alfred disappears into the hall outside again with a gentle instruction for you to stay put, you stand idly at the end of a long, white-washed table that gives you the impression of a beach-house dining room. It then strikes you that there’s probably a grand dining room elsewhere in the mansion.

A rustling sound scratches at your ears and you turn just to see a second doorway at the opposite side of the room creak open—a doorway that blends seamlessly into the tan coloured wall. You’re rendered dumbly staring at a boy around your age, whose own eyes stare back at you in silent shock. In his arms, he cradles a packet of crackers and…a loaf of sliced bread.

Your gaze flicks between the contents in his arms and his widened eyes, before you clear your throat awkwardly and flick your hand in a tiny wave.

“Hi,” you say quietly, and you wonder if the words are loud enough to even reach him.

Your voice seems to snap him out of his surprise, and he blinks rapidly, straightening.

“Hello,” he says in a voice that sounds forcefully deep, as if he were trying to sound bigger, stronger than what he looks. He’s tiny. Thin and bony, short even. You wonder if he actually is near your age, or much younger.

Thick, black hair shifts atop of his head as he glances swiftly around the room, as if searching for someone else to explain your sudden appearance. Then he looks back at you with eyes that seem largely intelligent, yet skeptical, and you get the impression he’s silently sizing you up, or studying you. What he intends to find, you don’t know.

You step back as he resolutely shuffles the crackers and bread in his arms to better fit in his hold, and makes his way to you, socked feet padding across the tiles. Watching mutely, he drops the items on the table with little care, the bread falling lopsided with a squishy thud. He turns to you fully and sticks his pale hand out to you.

“I’m Jason Todd,” he says stiffly, jade-coloured eyes flickering across your profile.

You glance at his hand with bated breath, noticing the red sweater he’s wearing has sleeves that are too long and cover most of his hand other than his fingers.

Hesitantly, you curl your hand around his, palm to fabric, and shake it with little strength or enthusiasm. Like a wide-eyed deer, you feel as if you’ve met a grinning wolf with eyes that are kinder than what nature usually permits.

You smile weakly and give him your name.

That memory leaves you with something throttling your heart, until you’re sure you might just pass out on the side of the street. That’s never happened before, but there’s always the possibility.

Usually, you’re able to reign in these flashes of the past, and you’re largely successful as the days go by. Yet, when your phone lights up with a buzz, and you see the familiar name ‘Grayson’ pop up, you’re left standing in square one again with shaky fingers and burning eyes.

You’ve read countless messages from Dick, sent during the early morning hours or late in the afternoon. You figure it aligns with his schedule in Bludhaven. The young, twenty-four year old is adamant, ever since you left the manor three years ago, at eighteen, to remain in contact with you no matter what. You haven’t been able to escape his ceaseless concern over your whereabouts, the not-so-subtle questions about your well-being.

It’s funny to you, considering he hadn’t been the most emotionally stable person either, especially when, at fourteen, you and Jason became Batman’s well-known sidekicks, Batgirl and Robin. He had been eighteen, angry, and reckless, going off on his own to make a name for himself that isn’t weighted down by Bruce’s shadow. Yet now, despite owning your own place, securing a stable job, and regularly keeping up with normal adult responsibilities, the older man refuses to ease his worry over you. You know the truth.

He’s afraid of the grief you carry.

You wonder if he’s even aware of his own grief, seeing as all he does is care about yours. You don’t have the heart to tell him to let it go, to give you space—you’re sure that he needs the weekly phone calls more than you do. So, you let him text, call, facetime. Sometimes you’re in the middle of grocery shopping when your phone vibrates with his name rolling across the screen in bright letters, ‘Dick Grayson is calling…’

And sometimes he says something that has you clenching your teeth, staring off at something if only to keep the burn behind your eyes minimal. He’s a trigger for many of these memory flashes that don’t ease the thing inside your chest that’s wailing.

‘I saw this girl the other day that looked like Batgirl and I wondered if I’d been taken back in time, y’know? And—yeah, it was so strange…but then I was like, no—that makes no sense—she’s in Gotham, not here in Bludhaven, but like…she was decked out in purple and yellow, and I thought of you…’

Your ears have started ringing, drowning out the rest of Dick’s monologue; purple and yellow. Purple and yellow. That was Batgirl’s thing. That was your thing. Or, at least, it had been.

You glance down at the pair of latex gloves you clutch in your hand. The material is bright yellow, shiny in the light. Grimacing, you look at Bruce and sigh.

“B…?”

A low hum is given in response, an acknowledgement of your pending question. You’ve grown used to Bruce’s minimal communication. The husky words said in a gruff voice, the clipped instructions, the low grunts.

“Does it have to be bright purple and yellow?” Your voice is quiet, a little unsure. Years of shouting and backhanded slaps after a question still leaves you cautious. Afraid.

The dark-haired man turns in his chair, sharp eyes sliding your way. You stand awkwardly, almost timid. You see the same softening around his eyes, the same flash of gentleness you’d seen when he found you hiding behind a filthy dumpster on a cold Tuesday night.

“Yes,” he says flatly, and the single word lingers with something trailing behind it, as if there’s more that he wants to say. You wait patiently with raised brows, but he doesn’t say anything more, and turns his attention back to the glowing monitors, eyes flitting across blue-lettered reports and images.

You stand there with nothing else to say, the roof of the Batcave seemingly constrictive and as dark as a hole in the ground, the metal tiles under your feet empty and expansive.

There isn’t a sting travelling across your cheek. There’s no screamed curses and insults thrown your way, simply because you asked a question. Yet, why does it feel as if you’ve been kicked in the gut? Was his answer not enough? Surely it is—it’s better than what you used to receive from the people who were meant to love you.

You tug the gloves onto your hands, shimming your fingers into the right places, and glance down at your mustard-yellow boots. You’ll simply have to make do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when an elderly lady nudges your arm, murmuring a small ‘excuse me’ as she leans over to grab a container of mozzarella balls.

“Oh,” you mumble, smiling apologetically as you move out of the way. “Sorry, that’s—sorry.”

You hear Dick’s faint voice call your name, and you bring your phone back up to your ear again, answering his questions with a quiet tone, walking away from the aisle of cheese and other dairy products.

For what it’s worth…those aren’t even the worst kinds of memories you have. No, the worst are of the boy shrouded in glory, the second Robin—Jason Todd.

Jason Todd had been the first thing to make sense in your life, which was strange, considering most of your life had been an abstract mess of scraped knees, broken plates, and late nights shooting hoops in the neighbourhood basketball court. A life that Jason knew very well, too.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of broken families that brought you closer together; sealed the both of you in a wordless acknowledgement that said, ‘I see you.’ Either way, the both of you acted as a crutch for the other, and you try to forget it as you stand in empty elevators, on the edge of the curb for a taxi cab, when you see a little boy with raven-feathered hair on the street.

Oh, Jason. You were everything, is all that you can bring yourself to think some days, when the noise of the city becomes unbearable and you simply have to shove towels inside the gaps in the windowsill—if only to muffle the noise and silence the screaming police sirens.

Those are the days when you’re tempted to leave Gotham entirely, if only to run away from whatever thing is haunting you. Sometimes, in the shadowy darkness of the night, as you lay in bed with the covers drawn to your chin, you wonder if it’s Jason you see at the end of the bed. Small as he was, quiet, and vibrating with a passion that burned bright red. Then you blink and realise you’d only been imagining the straight slope of his nose or the curve of his eyelashes.

“It’s entirely unfair,” you mumble, hands in your lap as you sit cross-legged in the centre of Jason’s room.

Surrounded by scattered CDs, you hear the floorboards creak as Jason moves around the edge of his bed, carrying a pile of books to the empty bookcase. You were helping him sort out the books and CDs he’s been collecting.

“What?” He scoffs with a grin that pulls more to the right than the left. “You’re jealous of boys and their ‘long eyelashes’?”

You can’t help but smile at his mocking tone, the way he teases you as if you’ve known each other for longer than just a few months. Jade-green eyes glance at you briefly.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh defeatedly with dropped shoulders. “Yes, because you all have such long, luscious lashes. Meanwhile, mine are just average.”

Jason slides his pile of books into their designated spots, paper pressed against wood panels, and turns to you. Stepping over the littered CD cases, he crouches directly in front of you, and your breath catches.

“I’m tellin’ you right now, nothing about you is average,” he says, and you can barely breathe with how intently he’s looking at you, and suddenly, it’s like you’re staring into the heart of Gotham. Broken and marred, bloodied and bruised, and yet still so irrevocably beautiful and worth everything.

Well, you once thought that Gotham’s heart was worth everything. Now, you’re not so sure. You lost the clearest piece of love to you on the planet, a boy wrapped in barbed wire with a grin as infectious as a disease.

You wonder sometimes if you’re the only one who feels Jason’s absence as strongly. The emptiness that lingers where his laugh used to echo is so heavy, you’re sure it’s formed a presence of its own. Did his ghost haunt Dick as it did you? Did Dick check over his shoulder and blink rapidly whenever he saw a young boy wearing a red hoodie? Did he have to mutter to himself in the kitchen, pleading with himself to get over what used to be? Or were you the only one?

And what about Bruce? Does the man who once held a broken, fifteen year old boy—who believed in everything the Batman stands for—reduce himself to a mess every night?

Just the thought of Bruce sends a sick sense of bitterness churning in your gut, which you feel entirely guilty for. You know what happened wasn’t Bruce’s fault. You know that he did everything he could. Yet, when you think too hard about what it was like on the day he came back with nothing but red eyes, a clipped utterance, and no Jason…you have to run to the bathroom to empty out the contents of your stomach in the toilet. It’s embarrassing and leaves your cheeks burning with shame.

You should be over this by now. It’s been six years.

Memory is a fickle thing, regardless of time. It chooses when to be heard and when to remain dormant. You’re stuck in an endless cycle of paralyzing remembrance and constant avoidance. Weeks go by without incident, only for a month to trap you inside your head with memories of a broken past. Then the cycle repeats.

Despite this, you’ve learnt to cope with the past like a sailor does with the roughened sea. Although, you’re sure you’re more akin to a sailor stranded in a raging tempest. You ride each wave of nausea-inducing memory, all whilst clinging to the barest strip of wood—Dick Grayson and his ever-present concern, Alfred’s occasional query of your wellbeing, Bruce’s own sanity, the job you have, and the sickening feeling that you can’t let Jason see you like this, despite him not being here in the first place.

You’re drowning in grief, and you know it.

And so you’re not sure what exactly happened between April and June of 2005, but you know Dick’s phone calls stopped almost entirely for three whole months. You only called once, in carefully concealed panic, when you realised he hadn’t called you in two weeks.

“Hi, sorry. I know I don’t usually call, but you haven’t—”

“No, no, don’t—uh—don’t apologise. I’m—yeah. I'm sorry, that’s my bad. Should’ve let you know. Things have just been busy, honey.”

“...That’s all it is? Just been busy?”

“Yeah, I promise. Everything’s okay.”

“Okay…well, I’m glad you’re okay then…”

The phone call had been short and it had put you on edge. Dick doesn’t let phone calls end abruptly—instead, he takes his time to explain things or rambles about topics you’re not very interested in. But you don’t push or prod, mostly because you have the suspicion it has to do with his life of vigilantism—the one you left behind five years ago.

Leaving that life behind had been easy. Jason’s death meant the death of Robin. It meant the death of Batgirl, too. Although, your death had been inward and known by very few people.

July comes by, only a week passes where Dick calls you consistently, and then it’s back to radio silence. The importance of his phone calls is viciously realised, but you don’t have the heart to admit it. Dick Grayson has been your crutch for the last three years, and you’re inexplicably starving for the care he manages to give you through his calls.

Taking it upon yourself to find out what’s going on, you decide to drive to the Manor. You crank up the radio as loud as you can, the car rattling with noise as you cruise across the bridge that leads to the mainland. If you’re alone with nothing but silence and your thoughts, you’ll probably turn back the other way. It had been hard enough to convince yourself to grab your keys off the kitchen counter.

The Manor is just as grand as you remember it, if not a little weathered by time—brown against the blue sky, like a giant boulder sitting in the center of a vibrant green landscape that stretches flatly like a canvas before reaching a thin treeline of woods. Gravel crunches under tires, and the car’s engine rumbles before fading into silence. Blinking, you’re fourteen again as your hand wraps around the door handle, and you step out into the frigid air.

Tugging your coat closer to your frame, you take measured steps up the driveway, glancing at the neatly pruned hedges that cluster beneath some of the large, lower windows, and the copper-leaved tree that’s remained the same for the last decade—sitting resolutely to the left of the estate and hiding away pale-brown bricks and frosted glass panes.

The double doors, the colour of dirt, are the only thing between you and something that leaves behind a bitter taste in your mouth. Gripping the heavy, bronze door knocker, you thud it against the door three times, before stepping back as if burned by the metal.

You’ve forgotten Alfred’s punctuality, because it’s only seconds before the doors silently groan open in the way that only heavy things do, and you’re met with grey, creased eyes that glue to you with reserved surprise.

Lips twitching into a weak smile, you say quietly, “Hi, Alfred.”

The stoic butler ushers you in quickly, a welcoming and familiar hand pressed lightly against your back to lead you across the threshold. He gestures to your coat, but you look at his wrinkled face and shake your head, something inside you breaking in half, but you don’t know what it is.

“That’s okay, Alfred,” you say gently, “I just—I’m here to talk…to Bruce. Is he down in the cave?”

Alfred nods his head, walking past you towards the parlour room. You follow behind quietly.

“He is, indeed. Might I ask why you’ve come?”

You glance his way to see him already looking at you, eyes the colour of iron flickering across your face as you both step into the parlour. It’s cold you notice, and the room is dim.

“I, um…” you’re not sure how to word this—how could you possibly say, ‘I’m getting separation anxiety because Dick isn’t calling me and I want to know why’?

“Just want to ask him if there’s something important going on…Dick’s been busier than usual,” is what you settle with, and Alfred accepts it with nothing but a simple nod, and no further questions. You appreciate Alfred’s uncanny ability to brush off any form of curiosity.

The parlour room remains the same, with only a few, small changes. You’re sure that the two leather couches have been reupholstered; shinier and a richer shade of brown. Vases full of flowers are placed neatly beneath the colonial windows which are framed by thick curtains the colour of moss. Usually the bouquets consisted of lilies, but now they’re tulips. The persian carpet stretches across the polished floorboards, softening the sound of your shoes, and the mounted electrical lights are unlit, surrounded by clusters of gilded paintings.

Passing under an arched entranceway, you walk into a familiar, adjacent room, where bookcases line the walls with glass doors, and an old grand piano sits as the centerpiece of it all. Sleek, black, and with keys open to the cool air that drifts in through an open window.

Alfred looks your way with a careful glance, and says in a mild tone that’s not meant to be accusing.

“Do you still remember?”

You wish you could tell him that you remember everything. Would it be ill of you to break down and spill your guts out to the man who’d patched you up more times than you can count? Who stitched torn skin back together again while you bit down on a piece of leather? Not that you needed it, anyway.

No, you think to yourself. Alfred does not need to see me that way, either.

You smile softly and bob your head. “Yes, I remember.”

His thin lips quirk ever-so slightly, and he nods curtly. With his hands clasped neatly behind his back, he turns and leaves the room without another word, leaving you behind with your heartbeat pounding inside your ribcage like a panicked bird.

Glancing down at the gleaming keys, you lift your hand to hover above them with the intent to replicate a familiar tune. Your fingers are shaking violently, and for a moment, all you can hear is the blood rushing inside your ears, before you swallow thickly, and press your fingertips down on the cool ivory-coated wood.

The melody is quiet, the pressure of your fingers not great enough to make it echo. Instead, it reminds you of the faint call of birds outside, the ones you’d see flying down from the trees to the lawn, picking at the grass.

A low creak deep inside the house reverberates through the room, and the centre bookcase dislodges from the wall with a scrape. You stagger back a step as the bookcase swings outward like a door—the books and the nick-nacks remaining stationary inside the shelves, a feat you had never decided to investigate.

Your pulse flutters in your neck, and you unclench your jaw. Teeth aching, you look down the shadowed staircase that the bookcase had revealed. Entering the Batcave had been so normal to you, three years ago, and now, your stomach churns as if the bats that hang from the cave’s ceiling are living inside your gut.

With a deep sigh and a shift of your feet, you take the steps down. The air is noticeably cooler, but damp, as if leftover mist was hanging in the air and brushing against your cheeks. You had realised, at fourteen, that it’s because there is mist in the air, courtesy of the waterfalls that rush from the ceiling like jets of water from a spout. You clench your fists by your sides to stop your hands from shaking.

Reaching the bottom, you walk slowly across the metal floor of the first and main platform. Glancing to your left, monitors that curve at the sides glow brightly around sleek desks; news channels play from the ones mounted higher above, police scanners from different units below, and open windows of various different tabs on the ones below that. To your right, you spare a very brief look at the cylinder cases that display various suits. One scorched and shredded suit in particular sends bile rising up your throat, and you instantly tear your gaze away.

Hopping down a small set of steps to the second platform, your footsteps echo as you pass the several medical cots neatly placed in rows, the smell of antiseptic light in the air from countless injuries tended to on the white cotton mattresses. It lingers, and your throat tightens at the memory of sitting on the edge of one of the cots, legs dangling, and wincing whenever Alfred passed a needle through your skin. Blinking and burying the memory down, you quickly shuffle past and stop at the top of another flight of stairs.

This one leads to the third and last level of the Batcave that acts as two main things: Bruce’s main monitor that only he can use, and the Batmobile’s, quote on quote, ‘garage’. Looking down at the platform below, you hesitate. Currently, the Batmobile isn’t in sight, instead hidden beneath the platform to make room for two large monitor screens mounted to a desk, where a broad shouldered man sits.

Any courage that you might have had before is shattered in an instant. How do you possibly speak into the empty, moist air of the cave without your voice cracking like a pubescent teen’s? How can you possibly ask Bruce Wayne anything when you haven’t spoken to him in over a year?

And then you remember the cost of the gasoline you pumped into your car, and the fear that’s lodged itself inside your ribcage because Dick hasn’t been calling you as often as he did. Are you afraid for Dick, or are you afraid of a change in routine?

You inhale sharply through your nose, the air chilling the inside of your lungs. Petrichor hangs in the air, and although the scent is usually soothing, nothing seems to quieten the thundering beat of your heart.

“You know I’m here,” you say from atop the stairs, and your voice echoes like a ripple in still water.

Bruce barely shifts in his chair, rectangular glasses sitting on the high ridge of his nose. That’s new.

“Why?” Comes his gruff response…that's not new.

You inhale deeply, steeling your nerves as you descend the staircase. You know this man, he’s not a stranger. Oh, what a lie that is.

“Dick’s been busy,” you say, hating how your voice sounds so loud in the emptiness of the cave.

Bruce doesn’t look at you, but instead his eyes flick over the text on the monitor screens, and you can feel yourself shrivelling inside, and you’re no longer twenty-one, but fifteen and choking on grief.

“Bruce, what’s been going on?”

The tone of your voice is only slightly firmer, because you really can’t stand being here for much longer.

A rough exhalation of air meets you, wide shoulders rolling stiffly before he finally turns to you, the chair squeaking quietly. For the first time in over a year, you meet familiar eyes the colour of gunmetal-blue, and feel something crash down on you heavily.

“Nothing,” he says lowly, and the gravel of his voice echoes out clearly through the cave. The rush of the waterfalls is nowhere near as loud as the thin humming of blood in your ears.

“Things have been the same as always—”

“That’s not true,” you interject, surprising yourself even with the severity you push out.

His sharp brows knit together, and he goes to say your name in what you’re sure would have been a stern tone, but you don’t let him utter even the first syllable out.

“Dick calls me all the time,” you say, raising a loose hand, “and now he’s barely been able to call me twice. It’s not normal, and I want to know why he’s so busy. Last time we spoke, he said he’s been helping you.”

Shockingly, you watch as Bruce takes his glasses off and rubs a harsh hand over his face. You notice now that his jaw is covered in dark stubble, instead of being clean shaven. Now that you see him fully, you notice just how tired he seems, and something other than the panicked bird in your chest comes to life.

Something’s wrong.

Watching the creases in his forehead deepen, as if he’s thinking about something severely upsetting, you wait with your feet glued to the floor. Not even seconds ago, you felt the urgent need to flee, as if your skeleton could not remain still for another second, but now, it’s as if gravity has latched an even tighter hand around your ankles, keeping you firmly in place.

If Bruce is…ruffled by whatever thing is going on, you need to know. You have to know, even if it has nothing to do with you. The thought confuses you; caring about Bruce’s issues hasn’t been at the top of your agenda for three years.

“Someone new has come to Gotham,” Bruce finally says, and his voice is quieter than before.

Immediately, you frown. “Who?”

Bruce stands with a near silent huff, as if his muscles are aching and it’s getting the best of him, and he starts ascending the stairs up to the first platform. You’ve known since you were fourteen that he wants you to follow him.

“He showed up three months ago.” Well, that checks out with the cessation of Dick’s phone calls.

Walking up the three flights of stairs, you trail behind Bruce as he makes his way up to the curved monitors, falling heavily into one of the rolling chairs. You eye him curiously, your pulse fluttering with anxiety as the keyboard clicks and clacks beneath his swift fingers.

An image pops up on the screen, and you squint at a blurred image of a man seated on a motorcycle. You can just make out the train tracks that run through the ground and the station's arched ceiling made of steel beams and glass.

Your frown deepens. “What is….?”

Bruce doesn’t pay you any mind, instead typing quickly again. The image’s resolution refreshes, and you can see much clearer. Your head tilts with further intrigue as you notice the red helmet the biker wears, but it looks nothing like a motorcycle helmet—no, it’s smooth and sleek, with gleaming white eyes instead of a visor.

“Well…” you say slowly, “what’s so special about him that it’s got you and Dick working so hard?”

Bruce clicks another key, and you realise that it’s not an image, but a video. You hear the masked man call out, voice deep and heavy.

“You haven’t lost your touch!”

The man’s voice is nearly drowned out entirely at the end by a train as it roars past, hiding the biker from view completely. Bruce pauses the video.

Your confusion only heightens, and a dull burn of frustration settles in your chest because why can’t Bruce just tell you instead of forcing you to figure it out on your own?

“I don’t understand,” you sigh, glancing at Bruce’s profile. Gosh, he looks terrible.

Bruce remains quiet, a deep exhale passing through his nose as he types again, the sound echoing in your ears louder than it should. The video replays, this time without the overlaying noise of the train.

You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce!”

A pang of shock shoots through you, brows raising. You look to Bruce, searching for an answer in his silence. This unknown man, wearing a strange helmet, knows who the Batman is? That’s…disastrous.

You’re not prepared for Bruce to stand, nor for him to walk past you to the other side of the platform where the cylinder glass cases are. You swallow thickly, eyes flickering between the wide line of his shoulders and the case he approaches. Remaining in place, you don’t dare say anything, instead waiting for him to speak.

Bruce says your name, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach with a heavy thud.

He’s standing in front of the torn and shredded suit you’d barely been able to look at for more than a second when you came down here in the first place.

He’s looking at Jason’s suit.

Your voice trembles. “B?”

“It’s him.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. No, no, no.

“Bruce, stop—”

“He’s trained,” Bruce continues, paying your increasing panic no mind. He only stares at his reflection in the glass, as if he could find something that would solve all of this. As if there’s an answer to the guilt you can see so plainly in front of you.

“He knows things that only a Robin would know.”

You can feel the inside of your elbows burning, your fingers violently shaking at your sides. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, but you’re desperate to scream.

You’re insane. You’ve gone insane!

“Things…only Jason would know.”

You break. “Stop, Bruce. He’s dead. He’s dead.”

Bruce turns, eyes snapping to you with intensity. You can’t pin-point the emotion in his face—you almost never could before—and your hand presses to your chest where your heart thunders against muscle and bone.

This had been a terrible mistake. You should never have come back here.

“If this…if this is what you’re saying to help you sleep at night…” you warn, but the strength of your voice is barely there, wobbling like laminated paper. “Then that’s fine, but don’t…don’t you dare bring me into it.”

Bruce regards you with a calculating look, as if mentally pinpointing all the parts of you that are breaking. How dare he say such a ridiculous, cruel thing? After six years? Six years of pretending that everything’s okay?

You hear him say your name lowly again, and you shake your head, pointing a trembling finger at him.

“It’s been six years, Bruce. You held him. This—this man,” you glance briefly behind you at the monitor, lifting a weak hand, “he’s probably just some—some guy that’s smarter than everyone else.”

Even you know how unlikely that is, but you can’t hear anything over your pulse and the overwhelming panic that’s clawing at the lining of your stomach.

Bruce sighs deeply, the rough sound grating at your ears. You should have just waited for things to blow over. Dick would have started calling you again, and you’d never have asked what was happening—never would have stepped back into this second home of yours that’s far too empty.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure,” Bruce says, and his voice comes out quietly, as if he’s finally realising the damage he’s causing you in this moment.

“He’s dead,” you hiss, your voice catching. Your cheeks are wet, and you don’t remember when you started crying—you shouldn’t be. Not in front of Bruce.

“There’s a way to bring people back…”

You’re shaking your head again, trying to suck air back into your chest, if only for your heart to stop thudding against your ribcage like it’s trapped.

But he won’t stop talking. “It’s called the Lazar—”

“Stop,” you gasp, hands clamping over your ears.

As if you’d inhaled concrete into your lungs, you can barely breathe, and you can almost imagine the taste of asphalt on your tongue—no, that’s the blood from your bitten tongue.

You stagger back a step, feeling as if everything around you is spinning. Gunmetal-blue eyes stare at you with concealed concern, flickering across your face. Your gaze falls on the case behind him, the shredded red and yellow fabric that taunts you, and all you can remember is the heat of the explosion.

Your legs give out. Your head hits the floor before Bruce can get to you.

Your name is whispered urgently, and your consciousness returns to you in slow blinks as you wake up. Someone’s shaking your shoulder, fingers gripping the edge of your sleeve.

Pale moonlight illuminates the jade-green eyes that blink down at you, and you groan, pushing your palm against Jason’s cheek and away from you. It’s the middle of the night and you were sleeping so well.

“What?” You grumble as you throw your arm across your face, and you hear his quiet breath.

“You gotta see something.”

Dropping your arm, your bleary eyes glare at him tiredly. It’s the first night you’ve had in ages that doesn’t involve swinging from one rooftop to the next, and he wants you to get up and see something? Is he serious?

Jason tilts his head, his lopsided smile curling his lips.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, nudging his head to the side. A small gesture for you to get up and follow him. Indulge him in whatever nighttime adventure he has planned.

Glancing between him, the digital clock on your nightstand that winks 1.34 AM at you, and your open door…you huff and fling your duvet off of you.

“If this is something stupid…”

“It’s not,” Jason assures you with a sigh, socked feet silent along the hardwood floor.

Trailing behind Jason and yawning into your elbow, the two of you silently make your way up marble staircases and down empty hallways. The third level of the manor is mostly bare, sparse pieces of furniture hidden behind white sheets like dormant ghosts, and as well trained as you both are to remain silent, your footsteps echo in the emptiness.

“Jason, what exactly—”

He cuts off your whisper with a shush, a single finger pressed to his lips. He places a hand on your shoulder, the weight heavy and warm, and nudges you into the largest hall on the level. It’s noticeably brighter, the windows devoid of curtains and letting the moonlight spill against the floor in giant rectangles.

Typically, this room is used for wrestling, floor mats splayed across the hardwood floor that isn’t as shiny as the lower floors. You follow Jason as he crosses the room, his raven-feathered hair ruffled.

Crouching beside him at one of the windows, you notice the glass pane has been pushed open, and the telescope Bruce bought for Jason’s birthday is propped against the windowsill. Usually, Alfred insists that the windows are kept closed during the night, as the last time one was left open, a bat had come into the manor and had remained chained to the ceiling for the better part of a week.

You frown with intrigue as Jason peers into the telescope. He glances at you, bobbing his head for you to do the same. Jason watches you carefully as you lean forward, fingers pressing lightly against the scope as you look through the glass.

As bright as an orb of lightning, the moon greets you in a stunning vision of magnified quality. Your breath leaves you in a quiet gasp, and you trace the grey lines that make up the craters that crack through the moon’s surface. It’s as if the moon were made of glowing glass, and the craters were the product of golf balls smashing into it.

You pull away, and find that Jason is already looking at you. A wide grin creeps across your face.

“It’s amazing,” you murmur quietly, and your initial grogginess has already begun to dissipate.

Jason’s dark lashes flicker, and he smiles. The right side of his mouth is always higher than the left, and you've always loved the deep commas around the corners of his lips.

“Thought you might like it,” he says, keeping his voice low.

For a moment, you’re suspended in his gaze, watching the minuscule movement of his eyes as they trace your features and the smile that remains on your face. He's calm, in this moment. The opposite of what he has been for the last few weeks, and you relish in it.

“Thank you for showing me.”

Jason’s lips curve upward farther, the creases around his eyes deepening like he's proud.

“...Even though you woke me up at an ungodly time.”

Your shoulder is pushed back lightly by his hand, and you laugh with a quiet breath, hearing his own chuckles reverberate next to you.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, his voice carrying his smile audibly.

You lean forward again, quinting through the eyepiece. You’ve never been able to see the moon this close, and you never even dreamed that you would. The only thing that ever came close to this was the printed images in the library books at the school you once went to.

“It’s so—” your words die when you lean back again, finding the space beside you empty. The warmth of his body absent, as if he had never been there in the first place.

Blinking, your head swivels around, and confusion settles in your chest. Where’d he go?

“Jason?”

Standing to your feet, your fingers idly rub at your arm as you look around the large hall. You look in the shadows, but you find nothing there. There’s only you and the sound of your breathing, the floormats suddenly uncomfortably soft beneath your feet, as if you might just fall through them.

He couldn’t have left the room so quickly, could he?

The light in the room dims, and you glance behind you through the window. Dark clouds slither across the moon, and something cold wraps around your lungs.

You spin, gaze frantically searching.

“Jason?” You call out, not bothering to hide the volume of your voice in the quiet manor. “Jason!?”

There’s nothing but noise in your ears, muffled and warped. The darkness of your closed eyelids is the only thing that greets you, and a pounding in the back of your skull and a singular sentence.

Where’s Jason? Where’s Jason? Where’s Jason?

Your eyes fling open and you shoot upright, gasping.

Jason’s here.

Thank you for reading! God bless <3

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd/you #red hood x reader #red hood/reader #red hood #jason todd #arkham universe #batman: under the red hood #dcu #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine

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gffa · 1 year ago

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I would like to say I've slowed down a bit on BATFAMILY fic over the last month, but that's kind of a lie because fandom has put out some absolute banger longer fics and I've been reading a lot of comics (can you believe how many comics I've been enjoying?? I have never felt so spoiled for choice!), so I still feel like I'm inhaling everything as fast as I can go and it's GREAT. It's a constant stream of crying about fictional characters in canon, crying about fictional characters in sad fic scenarios, crying about fictional characters in happy fic scenarios, and crying about fictional characters because other people care about our babies, too. Also, I have decided I no longer have a Dick Grayson Problem that you must all suffer through to get some variety in the recs, but instead I have a Dick Grayson Solution. You're all welcome. But I'll mix it up a bit just for you guys, so hopefully you find something fun to read no matter your fave and have a good time, because this fandom has been knocking it out of the park with the fic that has given me a good time, READ AND CRY WITH ME, OKAY. BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ Grounded by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & clark & wally & ma kent & pa kent & background clark/bruce & cast, 60.4k In the early days of the Justice League, Bruce is out more and more frequently on League missions, and Dick (age 13) is growing more and more restless and lonely stuck at home. His friends can't know he's Robin, and there are no superheroes Dick's age--or so he thinks, until Bruce receives a call from Barry, desperately seeking mentorship advice. Dick asks to meet the Flash's new sidekick, but Bruce refuses; a fight ensues, ending in Dick getting grounded. One week in Gotham off patrol, and then two weeks alone, far from Gotham... at a little family farm in Smallville, Kansas. And hey, if a certain Midwestern speedster sidekick just so happens to turn up, that'd be just fine. Or would it?

✦ trust in serum by deargalileo, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 15.7k "I believe the serum is a mixture of chemicals that compels the target to be completely honest, even against their own will." "You got hit with a truth serum?" Bruce winced as Dick's voice reached a high pitch. "Really?!" "Yes, really."

✦ Storge by CKBookish, dick & bruce & alfred, 5.4k “Your dad must have his hands full with you.” Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray. Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view. It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world. The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield... Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad. But he wasn’t.

✦ Robin Wings by JeanjacketCarf, dick & clark & bruce & cast, 3.4k Clark wakes in a panic, unsure what has jarred him from his sleep. Until he notices Robin's absence from Batman's side.

✦ Hey! He Attempted a Coup! by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & clark & justice league & cast, 6.8k wip What if Dick Grayson was a Kryptonian?

✦ grief mosaic by newsical, dick & bruce & alfred & leslie, 1.3k Grief paints Dick’s days in muted shades of red and yellow and green. He grows to expect sleepless nights and sweat-drenched sheets. In turn, he finds late night companions in Alfred, with his old movies and stories, and Bruce, who wears the colors of his own grief to prevent its spread to others. Dr. Thompkins writes a letter to Bruce diagnosing Dick with PTSD.

✦ before this ends by emavee, dick & bruce, 2.5k Mr. Wayne would definitely be angry if he knew what Dick was planning, but it’s not as if Dick is going to be here long anyway. Might as well take the opportunity to fly one last time, while he still has the chance.

✦ A Light at the End of the Tunnel by dizarys, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.6k Maybe the parenting and grieving books he skimmed the highlights from last week–and Alfred–were right. Why else would Dick have approached their newest case with such ferocity and determination? At first, Bruce chalked it up to empathy. Seeing another child crying after his parents were murdered was something Batman and Robin could relate to.

✦ Last Night of Sadness by gothamshero (emhyr), dick & bruce & slade & william cobb, 6.1k Dick Grayson has to take liberties when he’s a civilian, but he still knows when he’s being followed.

✦ Starlings in Winter by FromStarstuff, dick & bruce & clark & cast, 18k wip When Dick was eleven years old he ran away from Gotham. No one could quite figure out why. Take your pick; there was a fight at school, a circus in town, and a song he can’t remember the melody of. Eleven-year-old Dick Grayson was flooded with grief, swimming in it, perpetually drowning. One day it was too much.

✦ What Defines A Father by Browniesarethebest, dick & bruce & justice league & cast, 7.7k wip Batman hasn't known the newly formed Justice League long enough to trust them, but he's willing to put everything on the line when the one thing he cares for most is taken somewhere he can't easily follow.

✦ Stolen Son by springfox (dallystrings), dick & bruce & cast, 8.6k Bruce’s heartbeat sped up, but he leveled his breathing to remain clear headed. After another thirty seconds he abandoned the cart and walked briskly through the store, searching every row in a growing panic. “Dick?” he called, “Dick, can you hear me? Where are you, chum?”

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Learning Experience by strikeyourcolors, dick & bruce, 2.3k "Does it ever get easier?" Dick asks. Bruce isn't technically old enough to be his father biologically, but those deep blue eyes are looking at him as a child beseeching a parent. "Some nights I feel like I can't do this anymore, Bruce. I can't be Nightwing."

✦ Rainbow Puppies by zombiesbecrazy, dick & bruce, 2.4k Bruce really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided. Being hit with one of Ivy's toxins has Bruce babbling like a fool.

✦ the business of the very few by dustorange, dick & bruce, 4.2k “I was trying,” Bruce says, “to respect your privacy.”

✦ notches in the door frame by dizarys, dick & bruce, 2.1k Bruce hadn't been prepared for his days or nights to feel so empty. And he wasn't sure how to interact with the young man before him now. Because Robin didn't need Batman anymore. --- A patrol gone wrong forces Bruce and Dick to finally talk about Robin becoming Nightwing and feelings they'd been avoiding.

✦ No Comfort in the Shade by mx_chrx99, dick & bruce, 3.4k Dick Grayson is having a hard time and Bruce is there to help.

✦ The Long Distance by takadainmate, dick & bruce, 1.2k Down here they're not Batman and Nightwing. They’re Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. But they still fight.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ tender will fall by dizarys, dick & bruce & donna & jason & cast, 3.5k When the Titans are devastated in an attack, they go to Batman in a last ditch effort to rescue one of their own.

✦ the hardest part by emavee, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass, no powers au, 5.8k Dick is dreading his eighteenth birthday and everything that it means for him as a foster kid. His time with his family is running out, and he needs to be prepared for what comes next, to be on his own again.

✦ 5 Times Dick Grayson Was Grateful for His Insomnia + 1 Time He Wasn't by avengemyheart, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & alfred & wally, 5.7k Dick can't sleep, but that's a good thing. He finds himself helping the people he cares about late at night throughout the years. Eventually though, everyone realizes just how intense his insomnia can get. Or: A 5 +1 thing about Dick's insomnia.

✦ A Darker Shade of Gotham by JackHawksmoor, dick & bruce & tim & alfred, 8.3k wip Dick and Tim are stuck in a crappy alternate universe where most of the heroes they know are dead, Bruce Wayne's bad health meant he never became Batman, and Tony Zucco runs Gotham City's underworld. When Dick is shot by the mob, they take a risk and go to Bruce for help. Alternate Bruce didn't have children, but as he gets to know Dick and Tim, he starts wishing he did.

✦ leave as though fire burns under your feet by perissologist, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cast, read the tags, 33k That glow is gone, now. Gone from Dick’s skin, gone from inside him. It used to shine out of him, out of all the cracks the world put in him. But now Bruce looks down at him, and he is as dark and cold as a snuffed star. That’s what gets to him the most—not how cold the morgue is under its colorless fluorescent lighting, or the cloying smell of formaldehyde that clogs his throat. It’s how still Dick is, on the cold, sterile surface of the examiner’s table. It’s unnatural. The boy never learned how to sit still.

✦ papers say it's doomsday by dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi), dick & bruce & donna & cast, 2.5k Half-laughing at his own joke, Nightwing starts to say, “He just doesn’t—” In the space of one word, one breath, and the next—the world ends.

✦ Ibn al Xu'ffasch by hellsreluctantheir, dick & bruce & damian & jason & cast, 16.2k Batman when they’d thought Bruce was dead was one kettle of fish. Batman when the original Batman was around was another. In his head, Robin—perched on a gargoyle next to him—tutted like an eighty-year-old, and rolled his eyes like the kid he was.

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ our aspirations are wrapped up in books by theragingstorm, damian & barbara & cast, 1.8k Damian's been confined to bed rest. Someone unexpected helps him.

✦ remind me why I'm here again? by dizarys, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & bernard(/tim), 3.5k Jason's at a Wayne gala. He doesn't want to be. Good thing his siblings are there too. "Were we mean?" Dick mused, "Or just being big brothers?" "He's holding your hoodie hostage." "You're right. We went too easy on him."

✦ put away childish things by bittlebarnes (monroesherlock), dick & damian & clark & jon & barbara & ma kent, 7.2k "I was sent here as a punishment, surely," Damian deadpans. "Are you feeling punished?" Martha sounds like she’s laughing at him. Unacceptable. "Absolutely."

✦ a hero by hellsreluctantheir, bruce & dick & jason, 15.5k Dick Grayson died in Amusement Mile. Four years later, Jason Todd is Robin. But he's not dressed in the costume when he hears about a new player in Crime Alley; a man in a red helmet.

✦ Improvise A Symphony by cabezas_de_vaca, bruce & dick & alfred & cast, 5.5k Or: three generations of Wayne and Wayne-adjucacent men do their absolute best.

✦ The Second Stage by nightwalker, tim & jason & bruce & dick & damian, 8.2k All Tim wants is to take a shower, get something to eat, and try to wear off the effects of Ivy's stupid pollen in peace. So of course tonight is the night Jason decides to start acting like a brother.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ Red Letter Day by silverwhittlingknife, dick & tim & damian & cast, 41.8k wip Dick Grayson, stressed pseudo-parent to a preteen assassin, tries to solve the case of Damian’s Mysterious Wednesday. He never expected it to help him fix his relationship with Tim, too. (... Though only after everything fell apart first.)

✦ I know it's just a number but you're the eighth wonder by orphan_account, dick & tim, 1.2k Dick gets sick. Set before their lives implode on them, so Dick’s Nightwing and Tim’s still an itty bitty Robin.

✦ it's been a long time now (i'm with you) by centreoftheselights, dick & tim, 1.8k Tim has been noticing some strange things about his life. He isn't the only one.

✦ Little Do You Know by sardonic_sprite, dick & tim & ra's, 2.2k "So," Tim said quietly. "You're here to break me out I guess." "Yes," came out in a choked sob. "Then you're wasting your time."

✦ pain/release by unchosenone, dick & tim, 4k Dick goes to check on a wayward brother in the middle of yet another Gotham Toxin (TM), and Tim has a bad time.

✦ I'd Fly Far Away From Here by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & tim & jack, 3.5k Tim stacks his fries onto his burger patty in a crosshatch, covering every spare inch in a layer of salty potato and grease. “It all happened kind of fast. Dad and I got into this huge fight, and it’s not very dignified to go back upstairs for my wallet and then storm out.” Dick is quiet while he eats his sandwich, trying to figure this out. “Dick?” “I’m just—trying to think if I should call Bruce first or your dad.”

✦ A Collective End to a Harmony by 061828, dick & tim, 1.2k A drop of water falls into an ocean, a house’s wooden skeleton has its last nail screwed into place, an old book’s first page finally crumbles off, and Tim Drake turns twenty years old.

✦ young numb and broken by wingedgrace, dick & tim & cast, read the tags, 1.1k His bare feet were covered in cold, damp sand, and he could barely feel them. Well, he could feel them, but they didn’t seem to be connected to his body. Or maybe it was him that wasn’t connected to his body. (or: poor Dick Grayson needs some love and a chance to catch his breath.)

✦ there's an endless road to rediscover by Zahri, dick & tim & cast, 1.2k Sometimes the only way to show that you've moved on and forgiven each other is to take a flying tackle from the ceiling. Dick and Tim know each other's demonstrations of affection. Damian doesn't.

✦ spread your wings by wingedgrace, dick & tim & cast, 2.1k “Why did you give Robin to Damian?” Dick pinched his nose. He’d started to pick up some of Batman’s habits, whether he realized it or not. “Tim, we’re not talking about this again. We’re talking about how you’re off on this… quest, to prove that Bruce is still alive. And I just want to talk. Come home.” Tim didn’t budge. “Why did you give Robin to Damian?”

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY'RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ Taking Turns by mx_chrx99, dick/babs, 2.3k Tim had practically begged Dick to get a flu shot. He probably should've listened.

✦ The Summer of Her Discontent by dotfic, dick/babs, 7.8k Batgirl contends with her feelings after Dick leaves Gotham.

✦ Thirteen Hours by dotfic, dick/babs, 7.9k Set during "Knight Time," during their trip to Romania, Dick and Babs start healing some old wounds.

✦ The Night the Lights Went out in Gotham by dotfic, dick/babs & bruce & tim & jim & cast, 13.8k "When it comes to emotions, even great heroes can be idiotic."-from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

✦ Regular People by zombiesbecrazy, dick/babs, 1.6k All sorts of people can enjoy a good sunrise over the city after a long night. Why should heroes of Gotham be any different?

✦ strawberry milkshakes by brandywine421, dick/babs & bruce, 2.8k Why is Bruce bringing Dick? It's not an emergency alert, or medical - just an alert. She should have put in her comm - if it was a simple pit stop they had safehouses, but - Batman dangles Dick's keys in her direction at the door but she's glad he didn't come through the window. She looks past him to catch Dick's attention and - something's wrong.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Stay for breakfast and also forever by Ididloveyou_once, tim/kon & bruce, 2k Conner turns up in the middle of the night after a mission gone wrong. Tim learns that seeing Conner cry makes him feel like his heart has been torn out of his chest.

✦ Think Cupid, But Aim Lower by NevernightUnderRainbows, tim/kon & bruce & cassie & bart, 2.3k Or, the Batfamily will make sure Tim gets his guy, even if it entails a lot of beating around the bush, dropping hints so veiled that they can be misconstrued surprisingly easily, and basically giving the bird and his clone boy a headache in the process

✦ The Once and Future Bat by LilliputianDuckling, tim/kon & some kon/cassie & dick & roy & martha & anita & cast, 16k Tim realizes it was a mistake to clone Conner when he ends up with a baby on his hands at sixteen years old. Well, Jackie's his now. Where does he go from here?

✦ there you were by mindshelter, tim/kon & cassie & bart & martha, 19.5k wip “You know, the cool thing about me,” Tim says, voice gone quiet and petal-soft, “is that even when I didn’t care whether I lived or not, I was pretty goddamn hard to kill.” Kon sighs, eyes glued to his feet. His hand is still encircled around Tim’s arm, trailing up to the bend of his elbow.

✦ time flies by by Laroyena, tim/kon & clark & jon & lex, 6.5k Jon Kent is Superboy. Tim's gut instinct tells him that's wrong. (Timkon fix-it where reboot!Tim misses Kon like a phantom limb. And then he gets him back.)

✦ Tangled by thewhitestag, tim/kon, NSFW, 4.1k Kon doesn’t want to be that person, always waiting, wondering if the next time will be more than just two friends messing around.

✦ you put your arms around me and i'm home by merils, tim/kon, 4.5k Kon's acting a little odd after a close call. Tim ponders the potential causes.

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ Bereft by glassofwater, dick & bruce & cast, 4.7k Laying on his back, shoulder brushing up against debris, Dick closes his eyes briefly. He doesn’t want to die, has no intention to do so tonight, but he is scared. The blood on his side pumps out of him with each thump of his heart, beating at a rate too fast for Dick to properly count. That shouldn’t be right, he shouldn’t even be awake and struggling at the moment, but the luck that hangs over Gotham is a mysterious one; it doesn’t favor anyone and yet…

✦ fun and games by prismatical, bruce & dick & jason & tim & barbara & stephanie & duke & cast, 78.6k The Joker's loose, and the Batman isn't in Gotham. The family struggles to hold itself together as everything else spins out of control.

✦ Bone Weary by TheSilencer, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke, 8.1k "You cannot reach out until you reach in." Dick assumed the words were metaphorical. They weren't. Or Dick Grayson is cursed, and the cure is not any better.

✦ What These Hands Have Done by WinterSky101, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & alfred & cast, 14k Dick is mind controlled into attacking his family. Unsurprisingly, he takes the whole thing very badly.

✦ All The Small Things by Geeves, dick & bruce & damian & cast, 20.1k After Bruce's return to the Bat, Dick and Damian have to deal with just being brothers, but things are just a bit too messy to be that easy

✦ All Our Broken Parts by mx_chrx99, bruce & dick & jason & dick/babs & cast, 28.1k wip Jason will not let this happen again. He can't. But what if he's already too late?

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #barbara gordon #conner kent #dickbabs #timkon #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post

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coimbrabertone · 21 days ago

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Offtopic Offseason #3 - Clone Wars Rewatch Thoughts: Part I.

We're deep in the motorsports offseason and I've been on a Clone Wars rewatch for the past week or so. I'm in early season three right now, still before the timeskip, but I've been enjoying it a lot and it's gotten me thinking about Star Wars again, so I wanted to yap about it in a blogpost.

I think I'll even do a part two once I'm done rewatching the whole thing.

For now though, I'm going to talk about what I've watched so far, so seasons one and two, and the first couple of episodes of season three.

So...Clone Wars starts out pretty rough, I'm not gonna lie. The first few episodes are just a bit cringeworthy with annoying battle droid dialogue, the voice actors still finding their footing, and the animation is pretty spotty - I'll talk more about that in a moment - and of course the classic complaints of "Snips" and "Skyguy" and all that.

All of these problems started in the movie - which I most recently watched in 2023 but skipped this time because, well, it sucks unfortunately - but they are still apparent in the early episodes of season one.

The early episodes still have their moments.

The Malevolence arc is pretty competent, Rookies is probably the first legitimately good episode of the show, Cloak of Darkness and especially Lair of Grievous are good, and then from Trespass onwards the show really comes into its own.

That being said, I think season two is better than season one. Season three is another step forward, and from the timeskip onwards I think the show really hits its stride, especially because the updated designs look a lot better and fit with the animation bump.

That being said, already in season two I noticed the animation is getting better.

Season one has that classic CGI cartoon problem where the environments are rather drab, and they can't have too many characters on screen at once since it's expensive to do - and Clone Wars was an infamously expensive show - which led to a lot of battles consisting of...two Jedi and like three clone troopers against five battle droids with two super battle droids in the background. It's an understandable error, and they get much better about it as the show goes on, but it's pretty noticeable in season one.

That's a problem for a lot of CGI cartoons though. Watch Beware the Batman, Transformers Prime, or Jimmy Neutron and you'll notice a lot of these same traits.

Even some of the Barbie cartoons have those problems and it's really noticeable because it's like these blondes in bright pink colors against like a flat brown background. It's pretty trippy.

Alright, enough about the flaws of early 2010s CGI animation.

Here's a two-parter I didn't really pay all that much attention to the first two times I watched it - the first time back when it aired on Cartoon Network, the second time when I rewatched the whole series on Disney+ ahead of season seven - the Zillo Beast episodes.

Before I always just saw them as a pretty basic Godzilla homage - they awaken this giant monster on the Malastare battlefield, they eventually subdue it, but Palpatine wants to study it on Coruscant, it inevitably breaks out, and they have to stop it - but this time, it hit for me for whatever reason.

First there's the electro-proton bomb, and the nuke parallels there - they're obvious enough that I must've picked up on them before but I guess I didn't come to appreciate it - but then even when they wake the Zillo Beast, it never actually tries to leave the hole.

In fact, it doesn't until the Dugs force it out with the toxic gas.

Then the beast is clearly suffering when the shock tanks bring it down.

So, this giant, hurt animal gets sent to Coruscant in the laboratory, and Palpatine wants it killed so he can study its indestructible scales more quickly.

Only then does the Zillo Beast break out and go on its rampage, and even then, the rampage is focused directly on Palpatine.

Then they kill it with the gas bombs, and you can see it suffer as it dies, and the Jedi are so clearly disturbed by all this.

Palpatine, however, immediately tasks the scientist with cloning another one - and apparently that story is followed up on in Bad Batch season two which has unironically given me more motivation to actually watch the rest of Bad Batch than anything else I've heard about that show.

Anyway, the reason why I think this episode clicked with me this time is because this plan has Sidious written all over it, but he's forced to maneuver it as Palpatine.

He keeps trying to justify the Zillo Beast experiments but eventually his patience wears thin, and he just starts threatening the scientist to do his bidding, despite the fact he's supposed to be the kindly old Chancellor here.

Moreover, when the Zillo Beast is after him, it's probably the only time in the whole show that Sidious is in real danger, but he's with Anakin, Padme, and the droid so he can't do anything about it.

The whole show Palpatine is pulling the strings, controlling both the Republic and the Separatists, ensuring no side gets the upper hand.

Except for here, because the Zillo Beast wants to kill him, and he can't do anything about it.

He needs the Jedi and the Clones to kill the Zillo Beast for him, and once its dead, all he can do is task his scientists to clone a new one so he can try again.

It's such a cool thing to do with Palpatine/Sidious and there's a karmic justice to it all because it's entirely his fault too.

So yeah, I used to just dismiss these episodes as "oh I guess Filoni wanted to do a monster episode" but no, there's some substance here and it's pretty great.

It also goes to show that, even before the timeskip, Clone Wars was a really, really great Star Wars show. After the timeskip, it becomes the best as far as I'm concerned.

I'm excited for more Mandalore episodes, I'm excited for the Savage Opress arc - even if his name is even more on the nose than playing the Imperial March whenever Anakin does something evil - I'm excited for the Citadel, and Umbara, and the undercover Obi-Wan episodes.

I'm excited for Maul, for the Sabotage arc, for the Order 66 arc in season six, and I can't wait to finish strong on the Siege of Mandalore which is probably some of the best Star Wars content, period.

That's not even all of it. There's so much good stuff.

I love Clone Wars, it makes me happy.

#star wars #clone wars #the clone wars #star wars: the clone wars

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hometoursandotherstuff · 8 months ago

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In my quest to find affordable homes, I was so happy to find this cute little 1920 bungalow in the lovely town of Magnolia, DE, w/3bds, 1ba, for $249,900. But, then it creeped me the hell out. Let's take a tour and you'll see why.

Cute little front porch opens into a good-sized enclosed porch that could be used as a mud room or a quaint little sun room with some plants.

Then, you enter a nice large living room with a Craftsman style wall and columns separating it from the dining room. Isn't this lovely, so far?

How cute is this? And, Delaware is know for its low taxes.

The sweet little kitchen is completely original. Look at the door.

It has a dishwasher, which is always important to me, and look at the little shelves on the end of the cabinet.

The kitchen's not so little, though- it has room for a washer/dryer tucked out of the way, next to the fridge. Looks like they removed all their overhead light fixtures, and capped them off, though.

Typical 1920s era hallway to the bedrooms have all original doors and moldings. There's a linen closet and a trap door in the ceiling for the attic.

The bedrooms aren't huge, but they're adequate. My cousin grew up in a house like this and it was so cute.

This is a larger room. I don't know what that is on the left.

This may be the primary bedroom. It's a sweet starter home, too.

The bath was nicely redone with appropriate tiles and pedestal sink. The original built-in medicine chest is still intact.

The basement isn't finished, but it has potential and there's a work bench down here. Look, they left the new owner a trophy.

So, then I went up to the attic and they left a set of dining room chairs. Score, i thought.

And, there's also a cedar lined closet for winter clothes. Cool. But then, I saw this-

Holy grandma's ghost, Batman, there's even a remote on the seat. Is that a cable wire on the left? Has anyone seen the Disney movie, "The Electric Grandmother?" A wealthy family had a robot grandma made to order, and she was shipped in a sarcophagus and lowered by helicopter into their yard. Every night she would go down to the basement, sit in her chair, and charge. Chocolate milk shot out of her wrist, too. I got so creeped out when I saw this!

House is on a .29 acre lot and has a large decrepit building in the back, which I hope they save.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/38-N-Main-St-Magnolia-DE-19962/48167534_zpid/?

#bungalows #houses #house tours #home tour #old house dreams #homes under $300K

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traceytonight · 3 months ago

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Tracey rambles about Tron Ares again

Tron Ares fills me with so much dread, each passing day is like a countdown to the death of a franchise I care so much about.

The producer, title & main character, is literally Joker Morbius alleged pedophile since the early 2000s himself Jared Leto. That alone ruins the movie for me, and yet every following bullet point makes everything about and around it so much worse.

-Premise is explicitly "What if the Grid came to the real world".

NO, the interesting part of the series is THE GRID, where all of the deeply meditative commentary about our world and visually interesting splendor is supposed to be! Yes we had the lingering plot thread of Quorra coming to our world, however;

-Nothing directly tied to Tron Legacy is specifically being followed up

So no seeing where Sam Flynn could have taken Encom, no Quorra adjusting to our world, No Edward Dillinger Jr scheming with the resurrected MCP; But most disrespectfully of all, they didn't even bother to get Bruce Boxleitnter back, THE GUY WHO PLAYS TRON (and Alan Bradly & Rinzler). The one guy who actively loved this series and campaigned for a Third Tron film for over a decade, and previously Tron Legacy for even longer. But you know who they are bringing back?

-Kevin Flynn is back

THE GUY WHO FUCKING DIED IN THE LAST MOVIE. Undermining the noble sacrifice that was integral to the core themes of the film.

And just today we got this:

This is so far from an advancement design wise of the Light Cycle from either film. None of the simple shape language of the original. None of the sleek visual melding of human & technology of Legacy. While the light cycle was always cool for being a futuristic video game-ass motorcycle, its was just one of the multitude of visual elements that served the thematic purposes of Tron flawlessly.

Meanwhile, this not only physically separates the driver from the cycle, they further emphasize it through all the little gaps where there were none on either prior design. They so easily could've had the red line on Ares connect into the obviously aligned part of the bike.

Even if this is meant to show the separation of the programs from the grid for some thematic element we're unaware of at the moment, we're already going to be getting a lot of that considering the movie takes place in an average ass city.

Also, to be truly nitpicky, it looks really uncomfortable to sit in & I don't like all the added greebles.

To circle back around, what I really hate about the cast, besides the obvious one, is that there are a lot of actors who I think will work extremely well in the world of Tron. Greta Lee, Gillian Anderson, Evan Peters? Inspired casting choices.

Meanwhile production wise we're literally taking David Fincher's collaborator trifecta. Jeff Cronenweth (Cinematographer), Tyler Nelson (Editor), and Trent Reznor (Composer, backed up by Nine Inch Nails) all worked on The Social Network, another one of my favorite films. Jeff is literally the son of Blade Runner's cinematographer, Nelson was co-editor on The Batman, a film with incredible pacing thanks to their hardwork, and while I'm not the most familiar with Reznor's full body of work, I've sincerely liked everything I've heard and think in conjunction with Jeff & Tyler he will make something fantastic and fitting for the tone of this film.

However, the screenplay is done by the writer of Harry Potter & the Cursed Child, and is being handled by the director of Pirates of the Caribbean 5. Choices that feel at odds with the prestige praise I was just handing out a paragraph ago.

Theres so many good elements that are eclipsed by its central glaring protagonist, seeming lack of the interesting setting/designs or integral thematic elements that I look for in Tron, and lack of expectation regarding the choice of director & writers.

Because my two greatest fears are not about if the movie is awful and destroys the franchise as I'm expecting it could, it's either:

What if the movie is genuinely good? Well acted and performed, somehow actually has the same level of philosophical inquiry that Legacy & Identity have? How am I gonna face that reality with the enormous horrific issue starring in it?

What if the movie is bad in everyway that I think it will be, but does financially and/or critically better than the first two? The franchise is not killed again, but revives and bases everything going forward around this awful outlier in the series?

Unless this movie fails so horrifically that Disney wants to scrub it from existence, as they tend to do, the future of any Tron media will undeniably be forced to cohere itself to the existence of Ares.

If you want something that actually expands on the musings and universe of Tron, play Tron Identity. A game so lovingly crafted for fans of those elements of Tron as a connected series. And I know this factually, as the writer of the game itself (who also created Thomas Was Alone) watched my twitch stream of it and confirmed my ramblings about the deep seeded lore and intent of design of the TREES that appear in the game. Only one example of the incredible attention to detail the game delivers on. Plus its also getting a sequel that unlike Ares, I'm awaiting with bated breath.

#Tron #Tron legacy #Tron Ares #Tron Identity #Im so sorry I needed to get this out of my head lol

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maxwell-grant · 3 months ago

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So now that the series is over and your (really great btw) analysis of the final episode is out, I have to ask: is this where you thought it would be going? Did you expect them to adapt the "Penguin runs for mayor" arc? Personally, I have to admit, I didn't. I expected him to end this as kingpin, ruler of the underworld, at the proverbial tip of the iceberg - but I didn't expect the mayor arc to come in, and so soon.

(This imo also really shows why this series was necessary - because how else could they have justified having Penguin as the comedic relief minor mobster lieutenant in the first movie and as the political puppetteer gunning for the position of bird-king of Gotham in the second, going from an affable minor career criminal that (albeit with a lot of effort) maybe still could have been saved and led to a less harmful route, to a pure unlimited void and personification of the human capabitlity for selfish greed, lust for power and corruption that killed his own heart and soul, if not by thrusting us into a whole tv show about it? In Gotham the festering wound of coldhearted capitalism gets to be its own guy in an appropriately designed outfit.)

(Spoilers for The Penguin)

Yes yes yes, extremely second that second paragraph, "In Gotham the festering wound of coldhearted capitalism gets to be its own guy in an appropriately designed outfit",

Honestly, that this would end with the beginning of his political career was just about the only thing I expected and accurately called from early on, purely because it was always the show's mandate that he rises to power and that was one of the big Penguin Trademark Plots that the movie hadn't covered or gestured to - and with the total absence of Harvey Dent, the other major Batman villain who tends to go into politics/mayoral campaigns, it was easy to deduce that they were saving it for Oz. I think there were some things that I called as it was trucking along but before all of that, up until Episode 1, I think I was pretty wildly wrong about how this would actually be like, what form it would take.

I was pretty wrong about Victor and his fate, I was very wrong about Francis, I was COLOSSALLY OFF THE MARK about Sofia, holy shit, I thought early on that she was just gonna be like, someone trying to preserve the legacy (which is what she's usually done in previous versions) that Oz wants to burn down, or that she was just going to be the generic Prestige TV Crime Show protagonist this needed to sell Oz as a freakish weirdo by contrast, I was so fucking wrong about her and I'm so glad I was. l I think there was even a time I was very hesitant as to whether this would even be good, can you imagine.

They very much telegraphed from the start that this was gonna be about his rise to power, that he was gonna become Da Nu Kingpeen of Gotham and rise above where he stands in the movie. And he technically does do all of that, but also, it was very much not how I expected it to go. Like I said, he got the smallest possible measure of what he wanted, and at the highest conceivable cost.

The whole trajectory in our show showcases that Oz, by the end, really becomes a version of the kingpin. Not Carmine level – he has a penthouse but he’s around Crown Point in the east side of Gotham. He’s not in the wealthiest part. And then within that just making sure that we’re aligning all of Gotham City, the world, the stress of the city properly to launch into the film. - Lauren LeFranc

It's less that he rose to the top of the underworld, and more so that he dragged and broke the entire Gotham underworld down to his level. His war with Sofia destroyed all successors to the Falcone throne, the entire Maroni family, and all the gang leaders who fought over their scraps, along with Crown Point, just as he hitched a ride to Step 1 of an entirely new game of power that automatically puts him above everyone who's left in his old battleground warring with each other. He is still a far cry from having anywhere near the kind of money and power and influence and prestige that Carmine Falcone had, but he's already begun to ruin everything with only a fraction of all of that, and he won't stop clawing for more.

As LeFranc said, his penthouse and rooms are under construction because he himself is under construction, and we see now that it's less that he's rising and moving up in the world, and more so that he's dragging all of Gotham beneath him so he can drown it and be automatically on top of it. I had no idea things were gonna so catastrophically terrible and scary and ominous, and that The Penguin's foretold rise to potential mayor would be depicted as such a horrible prospect. All of this is just the shit he's done as a "bargain basememt hustler".

Unlike what I expected from the description of the show, this was not a competition, this was not a race to the top, or even just a race to see who gets the best seats on the Titanic sinking ship of mob crime in Gotham - this was never something that could be won, it could only ever mutate into something worse. This was a horrorshow with a clear as day statement of how we're all gonna fucking die because of this guy who is incapable of changing or growing, but will only push the city down further and further if nobody stops him. And as much as I expected Oz to change and develop and even grow more vicious and powerful over the course of the show, I don't think anyone was prepared for where this was going, for the extent that this wildly recontextualized everything he was in the movie, and where this would leave us for the next one.

#replies tag #dc comics #the penguin #the penguin hbo #colin farrell #lauren lefranc

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theguywithaplan · 1 year ago

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List of Video Games Turning 10 Years Old in 2024

Alien: Isolation

Assassin's Creed: Rogue (the one where you play as an Assassin turned Templar.)

Assassin's Creed: Unity (the one set during the French Revolution.)

Atelier Escha & Logy: Alchemists of the Dusk Sky

Azure Striker Gunvolt

The Banner Saga

Bayonetta 2

The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth

BioShock Infinite: Burial at Sea (the DLC where you go back to Rapture)

A Bird Story (a sort of spin-off of "To the Moon")

BlazBlue: Chrono Phantasma

Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel! (is this a sequel to 1 or a prequel to 1? I forgor)

Bravely Default (in North America)

Broken Sword 5: The Serpent's Curse

Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare (the one with K*vin Sp*cey)

Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker

Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 (to date, the last new Castlevania game to release)

Child of Light

The Crew (going offline at the end of March)

D4: Dark Dreams Don't Die (a wonderfully strange game from the guy that made Deadly Premonition)

Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (in North America)

Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair (in North America)

Dark Souls II

Deception IV: Blood Ties

Demon Gaze

Diablo III: Reaper of Souls

Disney Infinity 2.0

Divinity: Original Sin (from the team that would go on to make Baldur's Gate 3)

Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze

Dragon Age: Inquisition (the winner of GOTY at the very first TGAs)

Drakengard 3

Earth Defense Force 2025 (EDF! EDF! EDF!)

The Evil Within (from the creative director of Resident Evil)

Fable Anniversary

Fairy Fencer F

Far Cry 4

Freedom Planet

Guilty Gear Xrd Sign

Hyrule Warriors

Inazuma Eleven (in North America. And digital only.)

Infamous: Second Son (as well as its expansion, First Light)

Kirby: Triple Deluxe

The Last of Us Remastered (just one year after the original version came out...)

The Legend of Korra (the game from PlatinumGames that you can't buy anymore)

Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham

Lego The Hobbit

The Lego Movie Videogame

Lethal League (from the team that would go on to make Bomb Rush Cyberfunk)

Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII (the third and final chapter of the Final Fantasy XIII trilogy)

Lisa: The Painful (yes, really)

LittleBigPlanet 3

Lords of the Fallen (not to be confused with Lords of the Fallen, which came out in 2023)

Mario Golf: World Tour

Mario Kart 8 (the original version)

Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes (the prologue to Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain, which came out 18 months later)

Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor

Might & Magic X: Legacy

Murdered: Soul Suspect (it's like Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, but not as good)

Natural Doctrine

Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty! (a from the ground up remake of the first Oddworld game from 1997)

Pac-Man and the Ghostly Adventures 2 (yes, it got a sequel. I don't know how or why.)

Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth

Pokemon Omega Ruby & Pokemon Alpha Sapphire

Professor Layton and the Azran Legacy (the last time that Professor Layton himself was the protagonist. At least, until the New World of Steam comes out)

Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

Pushmo World

Risen 3: Titan Lords

Sacred 3

Samurai Warriors 4

Shadowrun: Dragonfall

Shantae and the Pirate's Curse (the 3rd one)

Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments

Shovel Knight (yes, really)

Skylanders: Trap Team (the 4th one)

Sniper Elite III

Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric

Sonic Boom: Shattered Crystal

South Park: The Stick of Truth

Steins;Gate (in North America)

Strider (the one from Double Helix)

Sunset Overdrive

Super Smash Bros. for Wii U and Nintendo 3DS (or Smash 4 for short)

Tales of Xillia 2

Tales of Hearts R

The Talos Principle

Theatrhythm Final Fantasy: Curtain Call

Thief (the reboot)

This War of Mine

Toukiden: The Age of Demons

Transformers: Rise of the Dark Spark (this game merged the storyline of the War for/Fall of Cybertron games with the storyline of the Michael Bay movies. I’m not joking)

Transistor

Valiant Hearts: The Great War

The Vanishing of Ethan Carter

The Walking Dead: Season Two

Wasteland 2

Watch Dogs

The Witch and the Hundred Knight

The Wolf Among Us (sequel this year!)

Wolfenstein: The New Order

Yaiba: Ninja Gaiden Z

Yoshi's New Island

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physalian · 4 months ago

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On Fight Scenes (Or, getting creative with your magic system)

This is coming from a reader’s perspective, not a writer’s, in what I like to see and what my thought process was when writing my fight scenes—I hate these things and can’t call myself any authority on the matter. They’re tedious and translating what’s in my head onto page is always frustrating.

This is also for fantasy and sci-fi: Fight scenes that have some magical or technological element to them, not a straight-up action story with two dudes punching each other. This includes anything from fights in Harry Potter to battling a Xenomorph to bending in ATLA to a throwdown between superheroes.

Side note: I really, truly hate “two dudes punching each other”.

—

I have a friend who loves comics, specifically DC Comics, and watches all the DCAU films. When we lived together, I often watched a lot with them. My favorite remains Constantine: City of Demons because unlike literally every other DCAU movie, it doesn’t drop the ball in the third act and devolve into a stakes-less fistfight. This dude faces *consequences*.

I’m not a comics (like actual, paper comic books) fan, but without fail, every time the setup is good, the characters are good, the first 2/3s are good with pacing and usually a mystery and passable character development like Batman: Under the Red Hood…. The last 15 minutes or so always abandon what had been a good plot for just superheroes punching each other and I get so bored. I’m invested and then they rarely deliver any payoff.

But I do like Constantine. Dude needs a nap.

Point is: On top of those fight scenes not really mattering, by the nature of what comic books are in that they can never stray too far from the status quo, or if they do, it doesn’t stay that way for long, the people who made these characters don’t get all that creative with their powers.

I think, actually, I liked Constantine so much because his stuff is rated R and it doesn’t shy away from the more realistic effects of living in a superhero society… without being gratuitous like The Boys.

I just get bored. The fight stops when the plot says so. Knockouts are arbitrary, power scaling is arbitrary. Someone can get thrown through a wall and walk it off but the villain or their buddy can come up behind them and hit them really hard on the head and that’s enough.

Anime is its own thing and would take far too much time to address here but I do want to talk about My Hero Academia real quick, following up on a previous post about tournament arcs.

Season 2 of the show has three main arcs: The tournament in the first half, and the Stain fight/final exams in the second.

For a while, the show actually seemed to take injuries rather seriously (for shonen, at least), and got insanely creative with characters’ very niche powers. In season 1, their teacher, Aizawa, gets pretty brutally beaten by a horde of villains and his powers are permanently impacted by his recovery—he can’t use them for as long as he used to, and he has a new scar.

Midoriya, too, whose powers break his bones on the regular, has consequences for overusing them, like his hands and forearms not healing properly despite superpowered medical intervention.

Power scaling, too, was fantastic…. Until the Stain fight.

I will never understand the thought process behind this logic:

“Hey let’s show how powerful Todoroki is by having him manifest an entire glacier in about 3 seconds!” *9 episodes later* “Hey let’s make this fight with a dude who only has various blades to work with super tense by making Todoroki completely nerfed in a legit life or death situation!”

Buddy couldn’t take two seconds to yell at his friends to get the fuck out of the way? Was he worried about damage to the buildings? I feel like nepotism could have spared him from some consequences if breaking a few windows meant him not getting murdered. It wasn’t like he had daddy issues over his ice powers.

The rest of the show (until I DNFed) had similar issues. Powers were as competent as the plot allowed at any given moment, which I guess is the nature of shonen, but if you’re going to go out of your way to establish realistic rules and consequences really early on, breaking them willy-nilly because it looks cool later is annoying.

Which is applicable across all fantasy sub-genres: Consistency.

I might not be the best at writing the step-by-step choreography, but damn it if I don’t know how to make sure I’m not opening up plot holes in how much damage my characters take and dish out.

—

So. How I approach fight scenes as told by Eternal Night and my sci-fi WIP.

Before anything else, establish a reason that this has to be a fight, that it has to happen now, and what’s happening beneath the combat to keep the story progressing. The plot will not stop just for fisticuffs.

A magic system is only as cool as what its characters cannot do with it, and breaking those limits ruins the magic system.

Make sure this is a fight that can only happen in this story, taking full advantage of the various powers/abilities/magic system rules, if this is meant to be flashy and grand.

Eternal Night is about vampires, thus my vampires, being immortal, can take a lot of hits and not suffer long-term consequences compared to a mortal. I adhere to a lot of classic vampire lore while also making up my own rules. They don’t have super speed, super strength, or compulsion, they just have a lot of experience and know how to use their weapons well, and can essentially go at 100% without mortal limitations of fatigue.

Basically: My vampires are only as strong as a mortal in absolute life-or-death situations, but that’s also dependent on how strong they were in life. Somebody who was a couch potato isn’t going to be as strong as a bodybuilder, and that carries over. I don’t have “younger/older vampires are supernaturally stronger” rules.

They have the same immortality risks as most versions: Stakes, beheadings, sunlight. Anything else is survivable.

Simple magic systems tend to be the most robust because there’s less rules available to risk breaking or forgetting (why ATLA's bending feels so real).

So when I was writing ENNS’s big fight, on top of making sure they weren’t all gods with their weapons—they missed shots, got tired, made bad calls—priority one was making sure I kept killing blows consistent, and when they’re temporarily “dead,” that the timing of when they revive isn’t determined by the plot.

Meaning: If I have a vampire who, idk, gets stabbed by a regular sword and it “kills” them, they have to stay “dead” for whatever amount of time I’d previously established and not wake them up early to participate in the plot again. Those are my rules and I have to work with them.

And in that way, yes the choreography is frustrating, but even if it’s an average description of a fight, I will appreciate that the writer respects their own rules and still be entertained.

With that, in the sci-fi WIP I had incredibly complex and diverse magic systems, 3 complete and unique practices split between two characters. One of which was incredibly OP.

This was a very reluctant OP character who wouldn’t use the full extent of his powers even to save his own life, often to the ire of his team who suffers the consequences of unnecessarily complicated battles when he could one-shot the enemy but chooses not to.

Internal limits tend to be stronger than external ones if you have an OP character, because they’re more believably toggled on and off without breaking the lore.

Even with OP character stubbornly making life harder for himself, he was still OP. He had two different magic systems at his disposal, and beyond his internal limits, they had two very easily exploitable external limits.

Magic system A was tied to a physical artifact he had on his person. If he got separated from it, he couldn’t use it. A is also a lot harder to use if B is also busted.

Magic system B was counteracted easily by users of Magic system A, and by the enemy military who’d developed weapons specifically to nullify those powers, and that weapon was everywhere.

Which meant my fights concerning OP character were rarely “why doesn’t he insta-kill them” it was “oh shit, he can’t insta-kill them, now he has to be clever to get out of this alive”.

One of my favorite fights was at the tail end of Book 2 where he was stuck with two of his non-powered teammates, on a ship dead in the water being overrun by the enemy. The ship had no power, the radios were dead, and the engines were fried.

He had already been sick for half the book and physically and mentally exhausted, and when the enemy arrived, they nullified the rest of his powers. All he had was Magic System A, but in his condition, it was like being asked to do long division on paper by hand, because his calculator was broken.

Dude was not having a good time.

Which meant he was basically useless, with two of his basically useless teammates, who all had to work together to get creative and clever with the tools that they had, on a ship they all knew like the backs of their hands.

So many things they would not have had to do in any other situation, with stakes so much higher because OP was powerless. The characters came first, not their powers, which I think is the most crucial ingredient to any fight you want people to keep talking about for years to come.

—

I can’t tell you how to choreograph your scenes, but I do think that why they’re fighting matters far more than what they’re fighting about, and especially in fantasy: What’s the point of writing magic if you don’t take full advantage of your magical characters?

#writing #writeblr #writing a book #writing advice #writing resources #writing tools #writing tips #character development #character design #fantasy #fight scenes

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the1entirecircus · 5 months ago

Text

Reasons for why I dislike The Dark Knight Trilogy

The list I am going to make right now is in no particular order. Each part is going to be divided up and talked about individually. But before I begin, I want to preference that I do not totally hate this trilogy. I do think there are some good parts such as the aesthetics of Batman Begins and Heath Ledger's Joker. And with that said, I do think this trilogy is overrated (in terms of adapting the comics and lore of Batman). Mind you, this is not a constructed essay, so if you're bothered by the insults I give to this trilogy, you don't have to say anything. I am not here to make a formal argument, but just complain overall. Enjoy my whining!

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The Lost Mysticism of Batman

Now, Batman Begins does establish Bruce as a sort of mythical character that acts as a symbol of justice and fear. Of course, this gets undermined by the equipment montage Bruce has with Lucius and Ra's. This is the main reason I like calling BatBale the armored furry version of James Bond, because that sequence is literally the whole "hey Mr. Bond heres this new gadget I have for you" they have in stereotypical spy movies. It reminds me of the saying "A Magician never reveals his secrets" and this is exactly that. Sure, Batman's equipment do receive explanations from HIM. He makes his equipment, not that he is presented with them.

Another part of this lost mysticism is that Christopher Nolan attempted to make Batman be "realistic" when the whole point of characters like batman is that he isn't "realistic". This has always felt like a strange way to adapt the character as Nolan isn't unfamiliar with unrealistic settings or concepts. The Prestige is a terrific example with its twist ending of utilizing clones, which is very unrealistic! Making Batman realistic also undermines the public's perception of him as, in my opinion, most people don't realize how much of an underdog batman is. Across his different iterations, he has face kryptonians, cosmic threats, immortal owl-themed assassins, and more! Sure he gets bruised and broken, but he's like a wolverine, he can handle enemies far bigger than him. Its why I like Batman vs Superman, because while it does get Batfleck's morals wrong, he's still capable of handling far more dangerous threats than him.

Batbale does whats impossible for a regular man that could exist in our world, not in a world like the DC Comcis multiverse. And sure, that is the point of the Nolan Dark Knight Trilogy, its a realistic setting, but it sets expectations for people that are damaging to the character.

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The Batsuit

I get that the suit is based on military equipment, but this could have been done better. And it has, that suit debuted in The Batman and it looks phenomenal compared to what we were shown the TDK trilogy. And you know why that is? It genuinely feels inspired compared to the TDK trilogy suit. This leads to my follow up problem with the costume and its the sheer ignorance that went into making it:

"When they started addressing the question of it being a bull's-eye they took that opportunity to go: "well, yeah, okay, then it is a bull's eye." He wears Kevlar behind that section of the costume hoping that criminals will actually fire at that, and its bulletproof. Well, once you start doing that, the next logical question is: "Well, if you're gonna wear Kevlar there, why aren't you wearing Kevlar under the entire costume?"" -Wein, one of the costume designer from The Dark Knight.

Wein, no hard feelings, but I hate you for saying that. The whole reason why Batman only wears armor on that part of his suit is so that he can still be nimble enough to move around quickly. An entire armor of Kevlar adds weight and you need to still be agile in order to be able to react quickly to attack enemies.

Not to mention the suit itself isn't great aesthetically. Its over designed and you can barely see the detail in that over-designed armor in the movies. You can't even see the bat symbol for the most part unless there is light shining on it. And again, the most apparent part of the batsuit is the belt and the mouth-opening, which makes for great targets. Wein mentioned the bat-symbol thing, so why didn't they incorporate that?

All the other batmen have their symbols being present in some eye-catching way. Batkeaton's bat symbol is the iconic bat surrounded by yellow. Batkilmer's and Batclooney's first suit's symbols stick out of their chest, and their later suits spread out the bat symbol. Batfleck's bat symbol is big broad to both match with Cavill's House of El crest and act as a large target. Battinson's bat symbol has a double purpose as both a target and a bat-knife-arang-thingy. Not to mention, its holding place, is likely the armored part of his hefty suit. Batbale's symbol could be seen as a target in the first film, but in the second and third, its just there. He doesn't even need it as the long bat ears, the cape, you just know its batman without the symbol which I completely dislike.

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Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne and Batman

Something about Batman that I totally agree with is that Batman is the face, Bruce Wayne is the mask. And Christian Bale does not do the mask thing very well. When Bale plays Batman, it feels like Bruce Wayne is the face and Batman is the mask. Even in the writing, he still feels obligated to make appearances as Bruce Wayne. While this changes slightly in The Dark Knight Rises, it isn't an entire change.

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"I don't kill" he said just as he brutally murdered someone

People don't crap on Batbale enough for this. Even before he kills Harvey Dent, this Batman has set fire to the League of Shadows' hq, killing countless members and killed Ra's Al Ghul by not saving him. When putting that into perspective, it really makes you realize that Joker and Ra's trying to make Batman kill him has lost its weight. In fact, its very akin to how Batfleck kills criminals: indirectly.

"Oh, well those ninjas shouldn't have been in that temple!"

"Ra's shouldn't have been on that train!"

"Harvey shouldn't have been so high up when I knocked him down!"

"Talia shouldn't have been in that truck when I shot at the driver!"

You see what I'm saying? It's ridiculous how badly sticks to his supposed "one rule" even though its a key part in the story of the Dark Knight.

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(The Lack of) Gimmicky Villains

Why are Scarecrow and Joker the only ones who have been adapted properly? Sure, there are differences between their comic counterparts, but they're still adapted beautifully and look like they were meant for a live action realistic batman. But Ra's, Two-Face, and Bane? What was Christopher Nolan thinking?? Ra's whole schtick is that he is the immortal leader of an elite league of ninja warriors that have controlled the governments of countless nations. How do you try to make that seem realistic? By removing the lazarus pits and immortality stuff? That still seems incredibly unrealistic! This is part of the mysticism that comes with Batman's lore, you can't take away certain elements and expect everything to make sense.

Then there's Two-Face. In the comics, Harvey is obsessed with the number 2 and decides things with the toss of his coin. He also has DID to explain how him and Two-Face are "two" people cohabiting the same body. In The Dark Knight, Harvey still decides things with a toss of his coin, but instead of DID, he has anger. I actually don't mind this change as although both Harvey and Two-Face are both inherently bad people (Harvey isn't as much of a white knight in the comics) people with DID often get a bad rap by the terrible representation they get in media. However, Two-Face's whole thing is based on the number two and his coin, however this element while there, there is something lacking, and I think its his relationship with Batman. His relationship with Gordon is fine, its just his connection with Batman is terrible. They just know each other, Batman isn't really trusted by Harvey in the beginning on TDK which makes sense but still.

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The Race-Swapping and other racisms

Ra's Al Ghul is supposed to be pronounced similar to "Racial Ghoul" but is said as "Raz al ghoul" which is mild compared to the other things. Ra's was born as an Arabian Nomad and is considered Egyptian, not born in Northern Ireland like Liam Neeson. The Trilogy's version of Talia suffers the same problem. Sure it was fine to have a good plot twist on who the real Ra's Al Ghul was, but did it have to be a white guy?

Then there's Bane, who was race-swapped from being hispanic to arabian, but then he's played by a british guy doing the voice impression of an english wrestler. Its a unique choice, I can give Bane that, but again, why is he played a white guy if Arabic?

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Gotham

Gotham city is supposed to be a dark and foreboding place that feels like its cursed. Mainly because in the comics it is, but thats not the point. We got this type of Gotham in batman begins, but in the Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises, that Gotham got recast by New Chicago-York City. Instead of those warm lightning from lamp posts needing new bulbs, we have colder lights. Wayne tower is covered with glass rather than being built up with bricks and other material. This is a Gotham that is completely different compared to the one we met in Batman Begins. Gotham was once covered in shadows, but now it isn't. It feels stale.

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Rachel Dawson

My opinions on Rachel are all negative. We have seen Batman struggle with love before and a want to get out of being Batman in Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. Rachel is basically Andrea Beaumant, but worse, because Christopher Nolan is directing the movie. Now, I have mixed opinions on the concept of Fridging. On one hand, I do think its bad that female characters are frequently killed off just to motivate the main (often male) character. On the other hand, I do like it when that loss of a character (who sometimes is coincidentally a woman) leads to the exploration of grief and guilt as seen in Christopher Nolan's Inception. Aaaand, because of what I said earlier about my opinions on Rachel, you can guess which side of fridging I'm on about this.

Andrea Beaumant and Rachel Dawson were both created to be Bruce's love interest and act as a way to show Bruce that there is a way out of his war on crime. Except Rachel is more a plot device rather than an actual character because B

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This is a Comic Book movie trilogy?

Sure, Batman and a bunch of the characters in the trilogy are from comic books, but you don't really think that while watching it.

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Thank you for reading my rant. I just want to say, I am no Snyder cultist or Battinson dick rider. I have my own problems with every version of batman. Battinson's costume, while great isn't entirely perfect. Batfleck needs could've used more specialized batarangs rather than guns/blaster weaponry. Batclooney did not need nipples on his batsuit, and theres other stuff I could mention. Its just I have a problem with Batbale and the Dark Knight Trilogy as a whole.

#batman #the dark knight trilogy #batman begins #the dark knight #the dark knight rises #dc comics #dc #dcu #dc comics universe #christopher nolan

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