I think while yes Bruce is a competent father figure he just forgets certain things about kids because he didn’t really grow up around them or have younger siblings. And like Dick is very much the guinea pig for turning Bruce into the competent (semi competent) father figure. Dick losing his first tooth and getting all excited because his mom told him about the tooth fairy and Bruce is like “But there’s no-” and Alfred appears in his eye line where a happy gummy smiling Dick can’t see him with the scariest expression on his face that Bruce fucking chokes on his breakfast. because if Bruce wants to take in a kid, he’s going to put him first and provide. Dick gets a hundred dollar bill for his first tooth (Bruce tried to write a cheque and apparently it wouldnt do?). Dick sitting at the kitchen table writing a letter to Santa and of course having learned from the Tooth Fairy incident, checks with Alfred whether - oh, yes, that’s his job as well but Alfred volunteers to do the actual buying and wrapping. Bruce never wanted to Manor decorated for Christmas after his parents died and sometimes Alfred didn’t out of respect for Bruce’s feelings but that first Christmas? Bruce is up a ladder hanging tinsel while Dick holds the ladder, babbling about how his dad always hung the lights for everybody at Haley’s. Dick wanting to go Trick or Treating and Bruce is like, “but it’s the busiest night of the year for-” and Alfred is in the back clearing his throat, so cue Bruce Wayne taking his new ward around the neighbourhood dressed as a sunflower while Dick is dressed like a little bee (Bruce drew the line at the Superman costume).
the most realistic thing about the new daredevil season is that when matt meets heather and they realize they're both new york natives the first question heather asks is what high school he went to like 😭 you know what your nyc high school actually does say a lot about you
rewatched the winter soldier and was just thinking how the way fans characterize steve is so different from how he is in the movies. he's actually such a hardass. he has trouble trusting people, and he almost never smiles. he's hardened by the years of fighting and tired of a world where people never do the right thing, but in fanon he's bright and light and joy. i like both characterizations, but it's interesting to see the difference!
just saw a headcanon that said bucky would sense something's wrong when the world forgets spiderman because he knows what it feels like to have his memories altered
jason doesn't know how to explain that weird uncomfortable feeling that grows at night as the world gnaws away at him. he doesn't know how to describe the sinking feeling when he sits up and realizes he's real, he's here, pins and needles prick at his fingers in harsh reminder as the silence whispers until it starts screaming and filling every cavity of his body. he doesn't know how to speak about any of it. he's alive, but at what cost?
so he cracks open a window in freezing temperatures. he cranks the heat when it's already hot. and he sits in the discomfort because he can't afford to forget himself.
Since we all agree that people of the Alley of Crime adore Red Hood and believe in him, I think it is time to imagine Jason in a scene similar to the one from OG Spiderman, where his identity is accidentally outted in front of crowd of people, and they all are just choose to protect him and help him out.
So maybe Gotham is facing especially nasty trouble, and vigilantes are on the receiving end this time. So maybe Jason is thrown at the dirty Alley in his part of town, wounded, with helmet flying off, and there is just a crowd of people staring as bleeds out, astonished. And Jason thinks, oh, that's the end — he can go and shoot himself, honestly, because he just failed the man rule every vigilante have: never show your face, never reveal your identity.
But people are... helping him? His eyes are half-open, breath laboured and pained, but all he hears is gentle murmuring:
'God, he is just a kid...'
'He must be younger than my son.'
'Poor child...'
He feels soft elderly hand against his cheek as someone from the crowd, an ex nurse, comes closer to bandage his injuries, while a kid, barely with the size of his helmet, brings it back, sticking out their tongue as they try to place it back on his head, to hide his face.
'It is okay,' the old woman reassures him. 'You are safe with us, son. We hadn't seen anything.'
Jason's eyes sting, because, oh.
It is his people. He loves them. He will die for them.
And they love him just as much.
He still waits for someone to out him, though. But the week ends, the villain is out of the picture, and no one says a thing. The only proof that it ever happened is civilians, who keep waving at Jason — not Red Hood, just Jason — when their paths cross somewhere in the shops or streets.
And that's how he knows that it is them; it is them, and they keep him safe as much as he keeps safe them.
cw angst, feeling like you can't breathe, implied trauma, description of patrol injuries; wc 318
you hadn't seen peter in days. the city had fallen into chaos with crime—you live in new york city, when did it ever not? but peter, riddled by the responsibility of his spider bite, had swung straight into the thick of it. he ran towards danger, never away. he moved before his mind could catch up, and he fought till he couldn't anymore. that was the type of person he was.
and usually, you wouldn't complain because at least you knew he was still alive. the news had followed spider-man's pursuits across all boroughs. but sitting in the quiet of your apartment, reveling in the pain that came with waiting, you realized you couldn't breathe anymore.
air filled your lungs, and you let it out. but fear had seized you. your chest tightened, and your body felt cold. your breath stuttered, and your hands shook.
how long had you played this dutiful role? how long you had stood by in anticipation? you thought you understood what it meant to fall in love with the hero. you thought you knew this was the road less taken, a life without ease. security and comfort evaded you, and you thought you were okay with that.
but—
the window opened, and peter slipped in. he grasped his mask in his hand. his usually head full of careful curls was wet with dirt and soot and sweat. blood streaked down his face, dried by his chin. and in place of the blush that typically colored his face, purple and yellow bloomed on his skin.
his eyes softened when he finally found you, all but collapsing in your arms. he breathed in your smell---the safety that was you. his fingers twitched at his sides, spasming from the exhaustion settling into his bones.
"i've missed you," he mumbled, holding you tighter. "i'm sorry it took me so long to—"
Freshly adopted Jason, who is so used to taking care of his mother that the first morning in the manor, he wakes up in early hours to cook for Bruce, too.
Logically speaking, he understands that Bruce doesn't need it — he is a healthy adult, and they have Alfred — but it is six in the morning, and his mind is foggy, so he just follows his instincts. Maybe he does not even realise that mom is not here, after all.
Alfred finds him in the weakly dimmed kitchen when he finishes his walk around the Manor before starting with his chores. He is amused at first, stopping quietly behind the child. He is doing great (that's a surprise since Dick intentionally just stirred more trouble), and Alfred can't help but smile a little.
'Good morning, master Jason. If you are hungry, you should wake me up the next time. I promise to take care of you.'
Jason blinks owlishly, still awfully sleepy. His eyes are barely opened, his hands working on the automat.
'Breakfast,' he mumbles, frowning a little. 'For mom- I mean, for dad.'
Alfred's smile falters. His original impression shifts in a late realisation.
Oh.
'Master Jason, you shouldn't really-'
'Finished,' he yawns, putting a one — just one, nothing for himself at all — plate in front of Alfred.
It is a very simple dish, scrambled eggs with some black paper and toasted bread — but not even made in a toaster, just on the pan; this kid probably doesn't know how to use toasters. It smells nice, Alfred compliments mentally.
'Can you-' He yawns. 'Pass to-'
And then little Jason falls asleep helplessly, falling right in Alfred's arms. He catches him, of course. This boy weighs nothing at all.
'Hey, Al,' Bruce sticks his head in the kitchen, no less sleepy. 'What is going on?'
Alfred explains to Bruce what happened, and he is no less distraught. He helps him to put Jason in the bed and eats all the breakfast he prepared, with a mixture of delight and despair.
And when Jason wakes up, embarrassed by the faint memories of the early morning, Alfred puts a big plate in front of him, filled with so much food that his big blue eyes light up instantly.
'Bon appetite, master Jason,' he smiles. 'Your cooking had passed my personal standards for a cook. You are a good soldier.'
Jason giggles, his mouth already stuffed with bacon.
give me peter parker who doesn't take care of himself. sure, he's a hero and he fights crime because he's got powers, but he's also human. he is so insanely human, but he forgets. the pain doesn't go away just because he's different. he still feels it, he just pushes through anyway.
"i'm fine," he says with a nervous laugh, brushing off your concern. "what's a couple of scratches, right?"
except peter doesn't realize he's not just "pushing through" the pain. he's drowning in it. the water is filling his lungs and he's smiling. he's flailing and he doesn't even see it. how many more rags filled with his blood? how many more cuts turned to scars? how many more bruises, yellow and purple and black and blue? how much more pain?
knocking out after exhaustion has riddled his body so sore he can't bear to get up again isn't sleep. it isn't rest. it's his body screaming for a break, for him to stop, but he thinks this is just what the job is. it's sacrifice and the type of tired that haunts you. it's trading your happy ending for everyone else's and being okay with it. it's wearing himself down so much that he forgets how to breathe. it's disregarding his body, himself, because everyone loves spider-man but no one cares for peter parker.
except that's not true.
because you're the one who puts him back together. you're the one who he finds in the middle of the night when he's soaked in blood with cuts scattered on the expanse of his skin. you're the one who feels how his heartbeat never slows even in his slumber because anxiety and trauma and misery are unrelenting; it takes and it takes and it takes from him, and he lets it. you're the one who sees the tattered ruins of spider-man no one else was allowed to—peter, he wasn't a hero; he was just a kid.
"i can't do this anymore," you say quietly when your hands finally stop shaking. you're still covered in his blood, and he stares up at your ceiling, wondering if the pain he feels in his side is his broken rib or his broken heart.
💭 hello everyone and welcome to my masterlist! if works are listed but without links, either the masterlist has not been updated or the works are to be released!
a = angst / f = fluff / a-f = angst ish fluff ish
hc = hurt comfort / hnc = hurt no comfort
🖇️ just character thoughts = just me rambling
⭑ masterlist - dc comics
DICK GRAYSON (nightwing)
link 🧷 DICK GRAYSON IMAGINE #1 (f)
link 🧷 EX-BOYFRIEND DICK GRAYSON PT. 1 (a)
link 🧷 EX-BOYFRIEND DICK GRAYSON PT. 2 (a-f)
JASON TODD (red hood)
link 🧷 JASON TODD IS THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND TO (a-f)
dick grayson x reader; cw angst ish fluff ish, second chance at a failed past relationship, attempted mugging with a gun, blood
💭 we don't talk enough about brenton thwaites as dick grayson
PART 1 HERE
it had been nearly three weeks since his message, and dick grayson had only left confusion in his wake and a ghost of himself in your home.
so maybe you were distracted, and that's why you didn't realize the man hiding in the shadows until the feeling of a gun pressed to your back on your way home stopped you in your tracks. then, a slimy demand for all your money and your bag was whispered near your ear. and the alley you found yourself in seemed darker, more sinister as your blood thrummed with a jumpy pulse.
after living in gotham for so long, it almost slipped from you the dangers of the city. you'd grown so accustomed to the filth, the chaos, and the craziness of it all.
"i—"
but you hadn't even the chance to spill out pleas for mercy when the cold metal fell away from you and you heard a sickening crunch followed by a grunt.
you turned around, nerves afire but curiosity winning out, and you stilled at the sight.
it was funny the way life worked—you'd committed yourself to not calling him, and yet when you needed him most, he was there in a flash.
you'd forgotten how good he looked in his uniform—the skin tight blues and black meshing well together and only leaving so much to imagination. he was beautiful, and your heart tugged against your chest with painful familiarity.
"shit, are you okay?" dick was before you in an instant, fingers gentle as he checked you for injuries, staining your clothes red with every motion.
"you've got blood on your hands." it wasn't so much as a complaint as it was an observation while the shock began to subside.
"i've done worse," he said.
your eyes fell to the crumpled figure on the ground doused in traces of himself, gun kicked to the side and bullets amess. dick, it seemed, had forgone his escrima sticks and wingdings in favor of his fists.
and all at once all the emotions you'd stuffed away deep inside you that came from his voice mail and being held at gunpoint and now seeing dick again for the first time in two years came raining down on you. you weren't sure whether to cry or to crash out, but before you knew it, you were taking your bag and smacking your ex-boyfriend with it.
"i was doing well without you," you choked out, unrelenting in your hits. "i was getting over you. you broke my heart and i was gluing it back piece by piece, and—and then you said you missed me. you missed me?" you breathe in too fast and let out a loud huff, feeling your arms burn the more you try to take your bag to his body. "and then you have the fucking audacity to save me."
dick stayed quiet through it all. he didn't bother to block your blows, and if you had looked closer you might have seen the slightest trace of a smile ghosting his face.
"you're mad i took down your mugger?" he asked, amusement evident into his voice.
and you almost launch your bag at his face with half the mind to pull off his stupid domino mask. "are you seriously having fun right now?"
"i'm just happy we're talking."
"i'm going to—"
but dick catches you by the wrist this time, and your bag drops to the floor with an unceremonious thud.
"unhand me."
he does, but neither of you move away. you refuse to meet his gaze, but it's piercing. you're close enough to feel his breath, the rise and fall of his chest and his beating heart.
"i'm sorry." his whisper comes with the weight of heavy memories, the very words he'd uttered when they'd broken up. it was a reminder of all they had amounted to together—one simple apology and two broken hearts.
what's to say things would be different this time?
"take me back," he asks, and it's unlike him to be like this, to plead.
"it's been two years," you reason, though your resolve is weakening as your heart falls into sync with his.
"and i've spent every moment of it planning this conversation. i was young and stupid before, but i've grown now. i know what i want and where i want to be and every road leads me back to you." dick takes your hand into his, careful as he links them. "it's always been you."
you're scared—to fall, to love, to split yourself open to the world again for him to see. to love is to be vulnerable. it's acquainting yourself with the possibility of pain but praying it never comes. it's risk and variable, jumping into the unknown.
but when you finally look, meeting his stare and wading through the electric blue of his eyes, your worries melt away. because to love is also learning to trust (again). it's forgiveness and beginnings. it's change.
"okay."
💭 shitty cheeseball ending i know but happy endings have always been a little difficult for me. that aside i don't think i'll post a part three to this. it just feels right to leave it here like this
romaincrisis
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