dyanasaur

[dyanasaur]

imagine dating JASON TODD, and the two of you were on your way home after a cozy, lowkey date night at batburger. you were both laughing, discussing the latest drama and gossip happening in his family—what do you mean dick got blacklisted from his local supermarket for buying up the entire cereal aisle?—stomachs full of french fries and milkshakes as you guys turned the corner to take a shortcut through an empty alleyway.

this being gotham, of course a sketchy-looking fellow soon emerged from the shadows, brandishing a knife and threatening you and your boyfriend to hand over your wallets.

“sure, man. take whatever you want. just don’t hurt her,” jason implored, taking a few cautious steps forward as he held out his wallet.

“that’s right. just hand over the money, nice and quietly, and you lovely folks will be right on your way,” the man chuckled.

“please, don’t hurt him!” you could be heard pleading behind jason, anxiously clutching your bag to your chest.

“don’t worry, dollface. so long as your boy toy here doesn’t make any sudden movements, we’re peachy.”

“not you, you idiot,” you scoffed in disgust. “him!”

before the would-be mugger could register what happened next, pain suddenly exploded from his jaw, and white dots clouded his vision as his body fell to the ground with a deafening thud. the knife in his hand was promptly kicked away before jason grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and lifted him to match his height.

“let me make one thing clear,” your boyfriend began to explain with a seething glare. “i’m not trapped in this alleyway with you. you’re trapped in here with me. and if it was just me, i’d call it a day after that punch. but you threatened my girl, so now i’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

“jay, be careful! we don’t have any more bleach at home to clean up your jacket if his blood gets on it.”

“no promises, babe!”

REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

[dyanasaur]

When big gruff Jason gets sleepy and needy- and a little delirious, he rubs his face against yours like a cat. Then immediately gets shy about it, his ears turn pink at the tips :(

[dyanasaur]

A note, because not everyone knows this: if you're driving and another driver flashes their brights at you, this is a signal to be on alert and slow down. There may be debris in the road, a cop out of sight, or an animal crossing ahead of you. (Or, alternatively, your brights are on and they're getting blinded.) Whatever the reason, it's a signal that you need to focus and reduce speed. And possibly turn your own brights off.

This PSA has been brought to you by the four fawns and does that ran out in front of me at various points on my drive home.

Let's court death with mama!

[dyanasaur]

Iron Man doesn't exist because of Tony Stark and a box of scraps, he exists because James Rhodes loves that little MIT dweeb.

Tony was lost in the desert for THREE MONTHS. Rhodey was still using up military resources against his superior's judgement and risking his job, just for the slight chance Tony Stark was still alive and needed him

Humans can only live about 3 days without water, that's if heat stroke didn't get him first, or hypothermia at night. Tony Stark would have died in Afghanistan if he didn't have a best friend who loved him, believed in him, and was a little stupid with grief

[dyanasaur]

Examination [B. F.]

Bob Floyd x doctor!reader

wc: 1.7k

summary: Bob suffers a concussion and Nat insists he get checked out. He doesn't seem convinced until he meets the doctor who will examine him.

You were reviewing files and filling out some medical certification forms when someone knocked on your door. You didn't remember having a checkup appointment scheduled at that time, so a frown accompanied you as you walked to the doorknob. You had hoped it was just a colleague who needed help.

“Lieutenants?”

“Good morning, doctor,” the woman murmured cordially.

On her green jumpsuit was an embroidered patch that read Natasha Trace, below her callsign and a shield. She was firmly holding the arm of one of her crewmates, a bespectacled man you remembered from previous medical exams. You checked his name by looking at the left side of his chest.

“My partner suffered a concussion while we were flying,” she continued, “Do you think you could check him out?”

“Of course. Come this way.”

“I’m fine,” the boy complained. However, his actions contradicted him as he held the side of his head with his palm open. “It was nothing.”

“She has to check you out anyway. It could be something bad.”

Her tone of voice was firm, and you assumed this wasn't just an argument that had surfaced. You vaguely remembered the two of them being a team on the plane, so you understood her insistence to some extent.

You put on the lab coat over your black clothes, hung the stethoscope around your neck, and grabbed some tools you'd need for the evaluation. Calmly, you asked the woman to guide him to the examination table so he could sit there, and you instructed him to remove his glasses. You also offered her a chair if she wanted to rest during the procedure.

“Okay, let’s get started, shall we?” you announced, positioning yourself between his legs without being intrusive. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know?”

“I need to know if you know,” you smiled, at the apparent disappointment that had seeped into his voice.

“Robert Floyd. They call me Bob.”

“Fine, Bob,” you murmured.

His name hung between you for a second before your gloved hands found his head. You carefully moved his hair to the side, feeling for any unevenness hidden beneath his skin.

“Do you know what day of the week it is today?”

"Thursday"

“Good, we’re doing well,” you flattered him, with a smile. “Who’s the president?”

“Biden?”

"You're sure?"

“Yes. Sure,” he nodded, feeling quite confident with the answer.

“And where do you feel the blow? Here?”

You gently pressed the right side of his head. He reacted with only a grimace that didn't quite turn into a gesture of pain.

“Here it is. There’s no blood, just a bump,” you informed him. “But I need to check you to rule out internal bleeding. Sometimes the wound doesn’t find a way out, but it’s there.”

The man nodded slightly every time you spoke to him, and although he seemed somewhat lethargic, you wouldn't have classified it as alarmingly disoriented. You took a medical penlight from your lab coat pocket and explained that you were going to check his pupil reflexes for any abnormalities—if any—based on how his eyes reacted to light.

You lifted his face with your fingertips on his chin. He didn't resist. On the contrary, he let himself be guided, as if that brief hold anchored him to something.

“Look this way. Now look at the light… good. Reactive pupils. Does the light bother you?”

“A little. About normal.”

You hummed a nod, focused on catching any change in his reaction. He, there under your touch, seemed mesmerized by your movements.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are, Bob?”

“Blues”

“They’re very pretty,” you exclaimed without thinking. To try to fix it, you asked, “Blue like the color of the sky?”

“I would say more like the sea,” he replied. “Dark… when it’s about to rain.”

The comparison took you by surprise. There was something in his voice that wasn't meant to shock. He said it like someone describing something he knew very well.

You turned off the flashlight without taking your eyes off him. You gently released him from your touch.

"Now I'm going to move my finger. I need you to follow it with your eyes, without moving your head. If it hurts, let me know."

Bob obeyed. His pupils moved precisely. There were no signs of anisocoria or loss of focus.

“Good job. Now I want you to touch the tip of your nose with your index finger and then mine. Three times.”

He smiled faintly. It wasn't blatant. It was slight, involuntary, as if the command was too intimate for him not to notice. His fingers performed the exercise, though on the third repetition, his index finger touched your nose more slowly than before. You said nothing. But you registered everything.

"Do you feel any ringing in your ears? Dizziness?"

“I feel a little dizzy,” he exclaimed, though you saw a hint of doubt as the words left his mouth. “But I don’t think it’s the blow. It’s just… you’re so close.”

The phrase wasn't a play or a joke. It was honest, loaded with something he didn't try to hide. You stared at him without moving, measuring the fine line between side effect and real impulse.

You carefully began an examination of his neck to rule out cervical injury, and as you felt around and asked him if it hurt, he said only a little. Again, nothing out of the question.

“Your shampoo smells nice,” he whispered suddenly. “It smells like lavender, but with something else… rosemary?”

You laughed nervously, trying to ignore the fact that he'd leaned a little closer to your body to capture the scent. The fact that his body emanated such warmth at the proximity didn't help you stay calm either.

“You are so perceptive. Give me your arm.”

You walked over to the cuff and began taking his blood pressure. He remained silent as you inflated and released the air. After a minute, the number appeared on the screen: elevated, but not critical.

“Your blood pressure is a little high.”

“I’m in a small room, you’re right in front of me, and you just told me my eyes are pretty,” he justified himself. “Is it that surprising?”

You let out a short laugh, barely audible.

“Are you always this flirtatious?” you asked, feigning seriousness. “Or is this a symptom I should be recording?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor,” chimed in the pilot, who had remained silent until now. “Bob is usually charming, though he doesn’t show it much. It’s probably just the concussion.”

“It might still be worth checking it out,” he insisted. “You know, just in case it gets worse.”

“Would we classify this as overconfidence or the disappearance of shyness?” you decided to joke.

There was a warmth spreading through your chest, even though you knew it wasn't ethical or appropriate to get so flustered with a patient. Hoping to salvage what little professionalism remained, you spoke before he could respond:

“Let me take your heart rate.”

Next, you placed the stethoscope against his chest and the ear tips in their place. You registered the heartbeat. It was firm. A little rapid, not pathological, but not normal either.

You had to lean a little closer to hear properly. You heard him suck in his breath.

“Breathe normally”

“I try,” he exhaled honestly. His breath tickled your cheek, and his voice was so low you could barely hear him. “It’s hard with such a beautiful doctor.”

“I can call another medic if that makes you feel more comfortable,” you whispered. By that point, you'd already given up, so you didn't even try to hide your smile.

“No. Stay, I like you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure as he looked at you with that mix of genuine interest and something harder to name. With a firm voice, you resumed your clinical approach.

“Okay, Bob. Everything indicates you're fine, but you need complete rest. No flying or sudden maneuvers at least until tomorrow. I want you to take it easy for the rest of the day. Nothing that involves force, pressure changes, or adrenaline.”

He looked at you intently, as if memorizing your words was as important as following them.

“If you get a headache, you can take some paracetamol—500 milligrams, no more than once every six hours," you added, writing it on his file sheet. “But if the pain gets worse, or if you notice blurred vision, nausea, drowsiness… you come right away. Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated softly.

“You’ll be fine in a few hours, I promise,” you continued filling out his medical report, under his watchful eye. When you finished, you took something else out of your pocket and offered it to him: “Do you want a lollipop?”

Bob blinked, and the smile that spread across his face was like a warm breeze.

“Can you still give it to me even though I’m an adult now?”

“To my lovely, well-behaved patients, yes,” you replied, your expression coming out sweeter than you thought.

He took it, letting his fingers brush against yours casually but deliberately. Phoenix watched the exchange with a mocking smile.

“What if…?” he began, lacking the confidence he’d spoken with earlier. “What if I feel weird later? Could you stop by my room? Just to make sure everything’s okay?”

It took you by surprise, not because of the content of the question, but because of the way he said it: without pressure, without pretense. Just with disarming honesty.

"I could do it in about two or three hours, okay? That way you'll have more peace of mind."

Bob smiled victoriously and nodded happily. Phoenix stood up to approach him, forcing you to move away to give them space.

“Come on, Casanova. You’re going straight to sleep.”

“Fineee” Bob replied reluctantly, as he walked toward her with the paddle between his fingers.

Before leaving, he turned around one last time.

“Thank you, doctor.”

"It’s nothing. Just rest up and take care of yourself" you said, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

She thanked you too and then they both left.

You tried to continue with your duties. You put on the new gloves, updated the file, checked the next name on the list.

But the heat in your cheeks didn't go away. Nor did the sudden awareness of how conscious you were of every step you took. You'd seen dozens of patients that week, and yet, Bob Floyd had just become a tiny anomaly in your pulse that would be hard to ignore during the day.

taglist <3: @littlemsbumblebee @qardasngan

[dyanasaur]

As a bilingual person though, I feel this 😭😭😭 way too much

just to gauge opinions...Damian Wayne and Southern reader. I cannot tell if this is actually funny or if I'm just delusional.

"Poor thing's been rode hard and put up wet"

"She's been what?"

"Rode hard and put up wet. Means she's had a rough time"

"Your speaking is inefficient"

"Well I'll be, Devil's beatin' his wife again"

"Excuse me?"

"It just means it's rainin' while the sun's out."

"That is not a logical correlation."

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscut"

"...Why would I ever-"

"It means i'm surprised, calm down."

The whole situation has so much potential.

[dyanasaur]

I am looking neither respectfully nor disrespectfully. I gaze without recognition of your form, and without understanding.

[dyanasaur]

remember when deathstroke kidnapped damian and put him in a tank slowly filling with water and damian spent the entire time being like “your kids hate you and you’re bad at your job and you’re a fucking boomer” before finishing it off with “come in here and slash my neck then i can be your kid too”. fucking GOT his ass.

[dyanasaur]

You know how the Robins were trained to be able to fight enemies way bigger than them, since they started really young and also were taught by Batman (a Very Big Guy)?

It just occured to me that the reverse is also true: Batman is very good at fighting very short enemies.

I wonder if it ever came up.

Like if someone was trying to use their smaller size to their advantage and surprise Batman but it's just. Impossible. There is no move his little hypercompetent gremlins didn't already try against him.

[dyanasaur]

I think there’s a lot of top gun fans/fic writers who don’t know what the Academy actually is. Which is fine because it’s a military propaganda movie. However, since the Academy is a major part of Maverick’s and Rooster’s stories, here’s a little info dump about USNA and why it’s important in the world of Naval Aviation.

The United States Naval Academy (USNA or the Academy) is a military academy. It’s a four-year university. Acceptance is limited and the application process is competitive and difficult. Applicants must have a letter of recommendation from their current Congressman and they also must have proof of high level academic achievement and be able to meet all physical and medical qualifications required to join the Navy. Tuition is covered in full by the military. Midshipmen (students) graduate with a bachelor degree in the major of their choice and a commission into the Navy. It’s a military academy, so obviously it’s not exactly the typical college environment/experience. (Don’t worry they still have a football team and a mascot!)

Just under 40% of naval aviators receive their commission from USNA. Just over 40% receive their commission from a NROTC program at a four-year university. The academy isn’t the only way to get into naval aviation but it is a big deal that Mav and Rooster didn’t go, mostly because they both come from military families. (whose parents died in active duty)

I’m not in the Navy nor am i affiliated with it, but I do know more about the Navy than a boring civilian probably should. I live in a Navy town and my dad is a history buff who knows a lot of military history. (Have I learned more because I can’t be normal about Top Gun? Yes.) Anyway, I hope this is helpful to Top Gun fans who aren’t really familiar with the US Navy.

Feel free to add or correct me if there’s anything that’s incorrect. Also feel free to ask if there’s something that you want to know and I’ll do my best to answer!

[dyanasaur]

What's one "boomer take" you actually agree with (either political or non-political)?

[dyanasaur]

Tim: I am at a loss for words

Bruce: Despite being lost for words, Tim yelled at me for forty-five minutes

[dyanasaur]

Bruce doesn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch.

He’s just resting his eyes. That’s all. The living room is warm and quiet, the fireplace humming softly. His book is still open on his chest, and the throw blanket Alfred left on the armrest somehow ended up over his legs.

He wakes up to weight. Small, shifting, warm weight.

Cass is curled up on one side of him, knees tucked into his hip like a cat. Tim has claimed the other end of the couch, feet in Bruce’s lap, earbuds in, head tipped back and mouth slightly open in the kind of deep sleep only caffeine withdrawal can produce.

Jason’s on the floor, back against the couch, sharing popcorn with Duke as they watch some loud, low-quality horror movie. Stephanie is lying facedown on the rug with a bowl of grapes beside her. She’s not eating them, just throwing them at Damian every few minutes. He catches each one without looking up from his book.

Dick walks in with bags from that bakery Bruce likes but never goes to himself, and says, “Hey, Dad.”

Bruce should say something. Tell them to go home. Or at least use coasters.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts slightly, careful not to wake Cass or dislodge Tim’s legs, and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

This isn’t what he thought family would look like.

It’s louder. Messier. Theres's music playing from three different speakers. Someone else smells like gun powder and cinnamon. There’s glitter on the coffee table. There’s a dent in the ceiling no one will admit to causing.

But no one’s yelling. No one’s walking away.

They’re here.

They’re staying.

And Bruce… he’s starting to believe that maybe he doesn’t have to earn this over and over again. Maybe they love him just as he is, not as he was trying to be. Maybe he doesn’t need to be perfect for them to choose him.

There’s a pause in the movie. Jason asks, "You good?”

Bruce looks around at them—all of them, here, safe, alive—and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m good.”

Jason throws popcorn at him anyway.

[dyanasaur]

5 times the batfam uses Dick's name to persecute Bruce

"Dick is ready - "

"Not unless you've taken Viagra, old man"

-

"Dick is up-"

"Do not be disgusting Father."

-

"I need Dick for this."

"I'll call Clark but TMI Bruce."

-

"Dick - "

"Language, Master Bruce."

-

It's been weeks since Bruce last said Nightwing's name out loud, and they are all here to punish him for it.

"I'll remind you all we are in a public space," he says in warning, before sighing heavily. His considers his words and grimaces, but there is no way out. Gordon also appears to be holding back his delight. "Dick will not be available for dinner, Commissioner."

Swanning past, his eldest (who had clearly lied about an emergency in Blüdhaven) remarks, "The catering staff finalised the menu weeks ago, too late to change it B."

He is going to disown them all.

-

Thank you @grannyhitsuzen!

[dyanasaur]

dc can try to push whatever ship they want but the only person who actually deserves jason is reader and that's the only person who can/will treat him right and with all the love he needs and deserves

[dyanasaur]

Today's aesthetic: when a cat decides it's going to make a very difficult or precise jump, spends several minutes examining the problem from all angles and warming up its muscles and minutely adjusting the positions of its paws and such, then proceeds to totally eat shit.

[dyanasaur]

You stole a cursed artifact. You knew it was cursed, you actually stole it specifically because of its curse, but the curse does not seem to be affecting you.