Me, thinking peacefully about Batfam scenarios in the shower when this gem hits me:
Damian should get a pet owl and name it "Grayson"
The same way he did with Alfred the cat, only it plays on the Court of Owls obsession with Dick and/or (if it's a Talon Dick AU) on the fact that Dick is "part owl" and said owl reminded Damian of him (maybe, if it is a Talon Dick AU, then it also helps Dick accept that part of him, since there's something good/nice/wholesome coming out of it and he's not just some monster that everyone is afraid of)
i'm going to write down my Talon dick grayson hcs. i hope i'll make myself understandable jfjejskkaka
it all started when he was stil lat the circus. The court "talked" with john, mary and haly about dick. They were said that, if they didn't cooperate, they'd just take the kid and kill them if they interfeared. So, they reluctantly agreed. The court "trained" and prepared dick to be a talon. they made some trainings that could just pass by as self defense or even circus tricks (this part was inspired by this post). And they also injected him with a "preparation dose" for the electrum, saying it was a flu shot or something like that. Also, the teeth he had in canon. they infiltrated a "pediatrician" into haly to give the doses and keep an eye on him (and nowadays dick knows who it was, and he remembers she had a court mask).
when mary and john died and bruce took dick in, the court tried to interfere with the guard passing process to avoid it, but they failed. they kept watching him from afar, and also watching his training as robin, they decided to leave him there a little to train with the other heroes.
Dick first found out that he had the "preparation doses" when he was slades apprentice. he suffered an accident, and the only way he would fully recuperate would be taking the "mirakuru" (the thing that made slade super soldier). he recuperated well, but after some time, they realized the mirakuru was losing its effect, disappearing. they analized it more deeply and found out that another compound on his blood was destroying the new one. They weren't really able to find out what it was exactly, but now he knew something was going on.
(the mirakuru is from the arrowverse but i like the concept so i'll keep it)
The next thing that happens is the court of owls arc from batman comics, and now he knows why he had that.
after this, he kept investigating, both the court history and haly's relation to that. he went and talked to haly about it, and the man told dick everything that happened when he was little.
he left it alone, he knew now, just had to keep watching if they wanted him again
until bruce dies. i'll just put the fic that inspired it here cuz its easier fkejkwkakak. this part is basically this whole fic.
after this, he basically became a "half-talon". when he's angry, scared, high adrenaline etc AND when he's hit with shockwaves, he'll have talon characteristics. (yellow eyes, black veins, pale skin, and also a little more strenght, speed, enchanted senses and a small healing factor) he's also a little intolerant to cold, won't be like a talon literally, but he'll feel pain and possibly pass out.
i think thats it
some more links that inspired it here
1 2 3 4 5
there's another fic that inspired it a little (the slade part) but i could not find it, i'll search and maybe put as a "6" later
Summary: You need to stop taking in strays. Yes, including the ninja on your fire escape.
A/n: This is my entry for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s writing challenge for the cafe AU. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining. This is a catcafe talon Dick AU. Thank you to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proofreading and helping me write. Thanks especially to Red for telling me how the fuck you write cats. I only know how to write dogs and kids.
Warning: Violence, semi-researched first aid, and Reader is intentionally stupid
"You need to stop taking in strays." Rudy's voice is crystal clear in your head. That certainly doesn't stop you from stooping over a wet cardboard box in the middle of the rain.
A pool of black fur shifts, golden eyes staring up at you. The kitten mews; it sounds high and thin in the unforgiving downpour. The sound tugs at your heartstrings at every repetition. You are so doomed that it hurts.
You sigh, accepting your fate as you peel your glove off and hold your pointer finger out to the kitten. The kitten sniffs your finger then pulls back. Slowly, you pet her head in careful strokes, measuring her reactions. Feeling the warmth radiating from you, she rubs the side of her face against your skin, soaking up the gentleness of your touch and leaning in so far that her little body plops to the floor.
You sit there allowing the kitten to get used to your touch and not really caring that your coat is getting soaked. Once she's comfortable enough to rest her whole weight on your hand, you slowly scoop her up, careful never to jostle her too much as you pull her to your chest.
She mews and squirms but doesn't do much else to protest.
You may just be as much of a bleeding heart as Rudy says you are. But would you really own a cat cafe if you weren't?
Figaro (a name you decided on when you texted Rudy who probably glared at the screen for 15 minutes before sending you the name) swims in the soft fabric of the towel you had her wrapped in, refusing to stop moving as you attempt to nurse her. You had attempted to pawn her off on one of the cats in your shop but apparently, the short walk back to your loft was enough for Figaro to develop an attachment to you. So here you are in your living room watching a rerun of Golden Girls and attempting to nurse the most unruly kitten you have ever met in your life.
It's 11:53 PM. It's a Friday night, you think and your lip quirks up. You look around your apartment with half-a-dozen cats roaming in and out, a rowdy kitten draped across your lap, pawing a steadily cooling bottle of formula. You are an honest-to-god cat-lady.
You hold Figaro up to you and scratch the top of her head. She purrs and tries to pat her paws against your face, soft pads pressing against your skin. You lean back into the couch and rest her against your chest. She purrs contentedly, snuggling to your warmth. Your eyes slide shut.
It's 1 AM when you hear the soft thud on your fire escape. You rub your eyes, grumbling. It was probably just Boss again. You hold Figaro close to your chest doing your best not to wake her as you walk to your window. You really need to figure out a way to get Boss to stay in the shop or just maybe buy ear plugs.
There's a sound again. You can't make it out but it's still too loud for you to fall asleep again. This cat is such an asshole.
You open your window, poking your head out to look for the tell-tale white fur. Now covered in rain water and dead on your feet, you sigh. A flash of lightning illuminates a long line of fire escapes and below you a pair of gold eyes stare up at you.
For a long moment, you stare at each other neither comprehending what you're seeing.
There's a man on your fire escape.
Your mind whirrs trying to dismiss it but he’s there.
He's right there on the floor below you.
He's on the railing.
He's on the railing in front of you.
A clawed hand wraps around your throat and you both go down with a loud crash. Cold metal latches on to skin, sending sparks of terror through your veins. You're awake--awake with your heart pulsing as if it could escape when the rest of you couldn't.
You slap your palm up, the soft flesh pushing against the fabric on his face. The hand around your throat only tightens. Black spots crowd your vision. You panic, jabbing the heel of your hand against the side of his temple. The man on top of you hisses, the hand around your neck loosening. Taking a sharp breath, you draw your hand back and slam your fist into his face, your knuckles connecting with bone. Something fractures.
You scrabble away to your couch as the man topples over, clutching his face. Your skin ripples with adrenaline, every fiber of muscle ringing right under your skin as oxygen scrapes in your chest.
The whole room floods with light as lightning strikes the earth. You can see liquid, shiny and thick, pooling beneath your assailant. He's gasping and trembling on the ground, clutching at his stomach.
You dive for your phone, expecting the man to make another grab for your neck.
Nothing.
You take another sharp inhale and the relief fills your body.
Thud.
The man collapses onto the floor, wincing from pain. You slump against your couch falling to the floor, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your face. Your eyes flick to the screen and your fingers start tapping away.
"Please don't."
The rasp shakes you out of your thoughts. The sudden lucidity makes you dizzy but there's a chance that the man just pleaded with you to stop.
"Please don't report me." He lurches towards you in slow, painful movements.
Oh.
You look back down at your phone to see Doc Leslie's number on screen. Yeah, calling the cops would be the smart thing to do, but you hesitate. Your eyes wander to the growing pool of blood. You look back down to your phone and hit the call button.
The scent of blood is thick on him as he reaches you. Fuck, is he gonna die?
You stoop low--slowly so as to not startle him. You wrap your arms around him, suddenly thankful for all the big cats in your cafe that demand to be carried. "I'm... not... gunna report your dumbass," you drag him onto the couch and for once in your life you are glad for the cheap polyester couch, "My friend-- She runs a clinic. I can--" What can you do? "--She can tell me how to..." You wave your hand at the parts of him that are leaking blood.
"They'll heal." He winces, hand resting on his stomach.
"Before or after you bleed to death?"
"..." He slumps against the couch with his head facing away from you looking very much like a chastised child.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." You huff, voice dripping with petty satisfaction.
You time your breathing with the steady chime of your ringtone. The man shoots up when you hear a click. Splaying your palm over his chest, you shove him back down. He gasps, pain radiating throughout his body. Fuck. You wince.
“I’m sorry.”
“You better be,” Dr. Leslie hisses over the line. The corner of your lip twitches because finally, some semblance of normality. “(Y/n) (L/n), for the last time it isn’t a vet clinic.”
“I know, I know,” you sigh, running your hand through your hair. It was a fair assumption on her end. You take a deep breath before speaking again. “It's just…” How do you phrase this without Dr. Leslie sending anyone to your apartment? “How do I, yanno, fix a bullet wound?”
“Did you get shot?!”
Ok, so that’s not how you phrase it. Good to know.
“No! No!” You wave your hand in front of you then stop, putting back down on the man’s chest. You jump a little when you don’t feel a heartbeat. “I mean I'm bleeding--No, my shirt is. I mean I'll live but there's a guy on my couch.”
Dr. Leslie lets out a breath that at once says that she’s relieved but also that you’ve aged her 15 years. Again. You need to get her a gift basket after this. Maybe 2.
“Can't you call 911?”
“Uh, he said no to that.”
“And you listened?!”
"Doc, please--he's hurt and I don't know what to do." You plead softly.
Dr.Leslie makes a loud frustrated noise, "Do you still have the first aid kit I made for you?"
You perk up. "Yes ma'am!" You chirp, grabbing it from one of the side tables because of your last accident.
"Good. I need you to check for other wounds."
You look down at the man and pause before gulping down a lump in your throat. There's a wound on his shoulder and you can't really roll up his sleeve. You set down your phone and pray Dr. Leslie doesn't hear your next few words. "Hey guy, I'll need you to take your shirt off."
You sincerely hope this is one of those two piece suits.
The man frowns up at you. You shrug at him because what else can you say? Black gloved fingers twitch, but after only a second’s hesitation, he reaches up to the collar of the suit he’s wearing and unfastens some hidden catch there, then slowly unzips the front of it. You're greeted with toned muscle slick with blood and mottled with bruises. There's quite a few scars crisscrossing his skin.
"He's got what looks like a knife wound across his stomach and what looks like a bullet wound in his shoulder."
"How deep is the laceration?"
"I assume you mean the knife wound, uh--" You look over it as you put on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, "--his guts aren't spilling out." You raise a brow. "It's kind of clotting. I mean it's still bleeding but it's clotting."
There's a pause.
"Is there an exit wound on his shoulder?"
You lean over him, shining your phone's flashlight over it. The man winces. You give him an apologetic look as you put your phone away. "Yes."
"Good."
"Should I clean them?"
"Is there debris?"
"Some."
"You can irrigate his wounds after you stem the bleeding."
"Wouldn't that cause infection?"
"Would you rather he bleed to death?" Dr. Leslie asks sharply.
"Right. Sorry. I've done some light cleaning."
"Put bandages on dressings and bandages on both. Make sure they're tight but don't cut off circulation. Check the color of the skin for that."
"Thanks, Doc," you breathe.
"If you die because that man--"
"I know. You won't say anything nice at my funeral. But seriously though thanks Doc."
She sighs, "Is there anything else?"
You pause then turn to the man's face. He stiffens and you can tell he's frowning under the hood. Yeah. That confirms it.
"What do I do if I broke his nose?"
"I doubt it."
"Thanks, Doc." You say gingerly, reaching for the hood.
He grabs your hand.
"Trust me setting a nose is the one thing I really don't wanna do on a full stomach."
"Please- just leave it." He edges backwards and he kind of reminds you of a stray cat who isn't used to people. "It’s gonna hurt." He says quietly as if you were gonna slap him for it.
Your shoulders droop and you let out a breath. "I'll make it quick. Promise." You pause, fingertips barely touching the hood. "If it hurts, I'll- I think I have ice cream."
Yes, offer a ninja ice cream. Brilliant strategy.
"What kind of ice cream?" He asks cautiously but you don't miss the absolutely adorable way he perks up.
You reach down and slowly start to pull his hood off. You see a pink tongue licking plush lips and you nearly slam the hood back down on his face. Bad idea. You draw in a sharp breath.
"I have strawberry but I also have mint chocolate."
"Strawberry," he says quickly, wincing at the light.
"Strawberry, it is then." You smile softly at him.
You set his nose with a long string of apologies and colorful commentary from an unenthusiastic Leslie Thompkins. He waves you off, golden eyes lighting up when he asks about the ice cream.
Your mouth quirks and promises to give him his ice cream.
When you return, you find him snoozing. His cute face scrunching as Figaro settles herself on his chest. You sit on the coffee table, brushing the dark hair flopping out of his face.
Now that you're not fighting for your life (or his), you can admire your guest. Long dark lashes, soft, toned, skin, and the prettiest lips you ever did see.
This must have been how Prince Philip felt when he found Aurora.
You pat his face with a spoon. "Hey tough guy, grab a tub." You whisper softly.
He grouses, blinking those pretty lashes. Your breath catches when he looks at you with golden eyes. You thrust the small tub of ice cream at him. He looks up at you confused.
"Are you sure?"
"Unless you want something else."
"No! I--" He takes it holding it close with the smallest, sweetest smile on his face. "Thank you."
The Talons are slaves the Court Of Owls are the elites descended from olden aristocrats maybe and why didn't I realize that the Talons are slavery?! Like i knew but why didn't I KNOW! And Dick is Romani and that's such a-
In case you guys couldn't tell, Dick Grayson, AKA Nightwing, is my favorite DC character. Specifically because I can just write/imagine him however way I want, within the realm of (fanon) reason, and someone will agree with me/there's already a fic about it.
Want to read about a murderous character? Nightwing has once killed the Joker and (as far as I know) didn't regret it. Not to mention Renegade also exists (along with former Talon AU, secret/resolved "killer" AU, where he kills but doesn't tell anyone, and more minor ones as well) and there are several fics where he takes on that alias in order to deal with some "unfinished business" regarding his family.
Want to read about an undercover character using their looks and flirting to their benefits (and having the attention of everyone at the bar by simply existing and being hot)? I have read so many undercover Dick Grayson that wore the sluttiest outfits just to get info. Even read a few where he did it to make his siblings (mainly Jason) more comfortable since they weren't comfortable with it yet that was his forte (regardless of whether or not he liked doing that as well).
Looking for a rich (kinda spoiled, an act, but still lovable and amazing) Nepo baby that everyone thirsts over in the gala? Richie Wayne is right there and is the eldest Wayne/heir, that's bound to cause some drama at parties/Galas (esp with protective Batfam) and I love that (please give me more fics like that, I can barely find any).
Want a badass vigilante that can beat the absolute life out of criminals and defeat Batman with relative ease? Nightwing is one of the strongest members of the Batfam, if I remember correctly he even defeated Cassandra/an opponent equal to Cassandra before.
Want to read an angst filled story about a character that feels like they're being objectified all the time and just wants a break? Do I even have to say it?
Want a character study about how the annoyed/stubborn/exhausted guy from the comics turned into an "attention whore" on fics? I remember reading (and even writing) character studies where Dick is suffering from stuff such as hypersexuality and anxiety issues where he needs people to see/notice/pay attention to him as a result of his sexual trauma (the assault & other stuff he went through).
And so much more. The duality of that man, when a character has such a variety of interpretations and ways to write about them it just fills that writer/storyteller/reader in me with joy. That complex potential that I seek in characters, like being able to kill someone while also being a hero loved by the hero community, a celebrity loved by the world and a few beyond it, a spoiled rich kid when he likes to indulge himself and a victim that has suffered through so much, it's natural to give them different ways (separation anxiety, exhibitionism, aversion to touch, etc) to cope and deal with the horrible hand that was given to them. It's just something that is very rare to come across in a character, especially one so well known and loved for all of those different things rather than only one or two of them taking over the entire character and its interpretation, and I really love Nightwing for being that character for both writers and readers looking for somethings and finding all they could ask for and more in just a singular tag (ofc I know the other characters have a variety as well, Dick just has such a big variety and his "spectrum" is so big, vast and versatile, he has a piece of the fandom for everything, like a bunch of different characters smacked into one, all sharing the same name, it's why I chose him specifically and why I love reading about him the most specifically).
