#shifty cowl

[neonkewpie]

Shifty cowl by Andrea Mowry coming along nicely 😎 yarn is Spincycle Dyed in the Wool

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023. AGENTS OF DREAMLAND by Caitlín R Kiernan.

I don't always match my books to my yarn, but when I do it's because they're both VERY Aesthetic™. (The yarn is Madelinetosh Twist Light in Cardigan, for those who are interested!)

[diddlysquash]

More finished spins from Tour de Fleece!

The three skeins together were intended for a shifty cowl, but now I’m thinking they might be too similar for that? The left and center skeins are both a merino/yak/silk blend from Fossil Fibers, Emerald City Building and Beorn’s Bear. The right is Rambouillet from Three Waters Farm, called sheep in the field.

The odd skein out is a three ply I spun with batts I made last year. Corriedale, merino, silk, and some copper colored angelina.

[disillusioneddanny]

Cat’s Cradle

Parts:  1 

Danny looked around the town, taking everything in. From what he had figured out so far from his explorations he was in Gotham City which was not…ideal. While he technically wasn’t a meta, he probably would seem like a meta if Batman found out he was here. But, that would just have to be something he would deal with. He had been here for maybe three hours and could already feel stolen artifacts literally everywhere in the ancient’s forsaken city. 

He was going to start his mission in looking for them soon but first, it would be pretty cool to check out Gotham. The ghost had already made his way through the upper side of Gotham and was about to take to the skies so he could find a nice place to stay while here. 

He slipped into a dark alleyway and let the usual shift take over. Danny smiled as he immediately took to the skies, turning himself invisible as he did so. There was something that was just absolutely freeing about being able to fly through the sky without having to worry about his parents or a stray GIW agent trying to shoot him down. Maybe the GIW would never even find out about him here, that had to be wishful thinking, though. There was no way he would just be away from them for the rest of his life. The GIW would always be there to haunt him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t spend this time acting as though they didn’t exist. 

He smiled to himself as he flew through fog and passed the large towering buildings. Gotham definitely was nothing like home, that was for sure. He spun through the skies, letting himself stretch out happily, eyes closed as he just lazily flew around, taking in the freedom. 

 Danny had never quite experienced freedom like this before, it was amazing and scary and exhilarating. He didn’t have to worry about getting shot by his parents, Jazz wasn’t calling him every five seconds to check on him and he had no ghosts trying to hunt him down for his pelt. It was amazing. 

A sharp tug to his core distracted him, though, as he flew over a large white building. Danny frowned to himself before he dipped down lower only to realize that it was a museum. The Gotham Museum of Ancient Artifacts to be precise. He tilted his head to the side as he thought. He was here for his kingly duties, might as well get started now. He would figure out the rest later. Maybe he could even find a spot in the museum itself for him to make his home at, that way he can check on each and every artifact to see if he needed to take any. 

Danny flew through the roof of the large building and followed the pull to an ancient Egyptian exhibit. He frowned, looking around at all of the artifacts that were scattered around on pedestals for others to stare at. Sure, history was important and it was imperative for others to learn about it, but did they have to steal things from graves to do it? Or hell, steal bodies from their graves? Danny landed on his feet and slipped into the shadows carefully. He didn’t want to use his powers for this, it would take away all of the fun. No, Danny wanted to be a full on criminal! He wanted the world to see the new museum thief playing his own version of Robin Hood. Steal from the museums and other shifty places and return to the graves. He closed his eyes and focused on his appearance. He shifted back to human, but his clothes were different. Gone were his pajamas that he had been wearing when he had been first thrown into the portal, in their place was a black hooded cowl covering his hair, a black mask covered his mouth, just leaving his eyes in view for others to see. A black jacket hugged his torso tight while black boots and black pants covered his lower half. He looked like a ninja. 

He felt cool as fuck. 

Danny squinted his eyes as he looked around before spotting it. The artifact that seemed to scream at him was a beautiful, black crystalline cat. Danny stalked forward slowly and carefully, keeping to the shadows as he made his way to the pedestal. 

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna take you home,” Danny said, reaching for the cat only for a dark, clawed hand to reach out and snatch it first. 

“Sorry, Little Kitten but this kitty is all mine,” a woman purred. Danny whipped his head over and stared wide eyed at the woman before him. Holy shit Batman! It was Catwoman herself! In the flesh! Ancients, she was so cool. Danny had been following her for years. For a human she acted as though she was a ghost, no one could ever get more than blurred pictures of her, she always seemed to get away in ways that no one quite knew how. 

“Wow! I’m sorry Ms. Catwoman, Ma’am, I love your work! I”m a huge fan, really, I am. But that piece is mine, I kinda saw it first,” Danny said, reaching his arm over to try to snag the piece away from the woman.  

Catwoman gave the boy a smirk and just as Danny blinked, the artifact was gone from sight. “I’m sorry Kitty Cat but that is not how the game works,” she said, stepping closer to Danny, a predatory look in her eyes. “Besides, hasn’t anyone told you? I’m the only cat burglar in Gotham.”

Danny flushed and rubbed at his neck. “I get that, Ms. Catwoman. But I’m kinda on a mission and there’s some things that I gotta collect and that’s one of them, ya know? So, I’m just gonna,” Danny reached out again to where he felt the artifact pulse only for the rogue to glare and slap Danny’s hand away. 

“No. It’s mine, you are not getting it. Do you understand me?” She said, gripping Danny’s hand tight. Danny smirked and phased his hand through her grip and rocked on his heels. 

“I really don’t. No disrespect, like I said you’re like my hero,” he said, causing the woman’s green eyes to widen slightly, her eyebrows raised. Ancients, her goggles were so cool! “But has no one ever told you the saying? It’s finders keepers losers weepers,” he said just as she pressed a clawed hand to his forehead to keep him back.

“You need better heroes kid,” she said as he swiped his hands at her trying to find the artifact, only for the rogue to keep him held back. 

“No! You’re so cool!” He whined, trying to get closer. “Just give me the cat! I need it.”

“No. I want it, it’s mine Kitten,” Catwoman said, a sharp smile on her face as though she was enjoying the interaction. 

Danny let out a huff and pulled away just as someone burst into the room. “You win this round but I’m gonna get that damn cat,” he muttered. Catwoman just winked at him before she twiddled her fingers at the vigilantes running towards them and practically disappeared in thin air. 

“Halt! What do you think you’re doing?” A voice shouted. Danny looked away from the spot that Catwoman had just been standing in to smile at the vigilante who had drawn–was that a sword? Did Robin have a sword now? Holy shit!

“I’m gonna have to figure out how she did that,” Danny muttered to himself before he waved at the Robin, Batman close behind him. “Sorry Birdy! But this kitty needs to get going,” he said before turning invisible and intangible and flying through the ceiling. He was going to have to figure out something to get that damn cat back. 

Like what you read? Buy me a coffee <3 

@skulld3mort-1fan @mattybook1987-blog @alinmenttreasure @amygdalasragdoll07 @robinmedea @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @starscreamlover @akikoyuii @thegatorsgoose

[tryan-a-bex]

Velma’s Close Call

The Endless, Velma thought. The Endless…. 

She’d been working on the problem for weeks. It was out of her normal range of study, since there was nothing scientific about “Dream of the Endless,” nor his sister, Death, apparently of the Endless as well. She had looked into myth, and art, and, eventually, to her chagrin, mysticism and magic. Although most crooks used the idea of magic to hide their criminal activity, apparently there were a few, a very select and carefully concealed cohort, who used actual magic to pursue their crimes. Still. She was sure the gang would be able to unveil them if necessary.

For now, she wasn’t unveiling anyone. In fact, she fidgeted uncomfortably with her own veil. She and Daphne were going undercover with a group she had found that seemed to have some information on the Endless. They were really shifty about revealing anything, but they wanted virgins and she wasn’t above lying. It was none of their business anyway. And she needed to get inside and see what they had. Good thing her contact had been able to get them into the group. Marcie was a good friend, even if she did smell like hot dog water and get up to questionable activities sometimes. It was time to go…

Fred sat nervously in the Mystery Machine. Daphne and Velma had gone with Velma’s friend to the … party? Event? Magic ritual? He wasn’t sure and didn’t want to think about it too hard. Meanwhile, he and Shaggy had driven around by the backroads and were parked on a groundskeepers’ access lane behind the dilapidated mansion. His job was to be ready to charge in if he heard signs of a struggle, or to wait in the van and be prepared for a quick get-away if necessary. He would be glad when they left Yenwaf Gir behind them. Weirdest name for a house. Whatever. Who knew how these people thought?

---

Shaggy wiggled restlessly in the back of the van. Scooby wiggled even more restlessly. 

“Hey, Fred, do we have any food in here?”

“Your snacks are in your tackle box.”

“No, not those, I ate them already.”

“All of them???”

“I was hungry on the way here, man!”

“Well, you can wait then.”

Huff

“Aroooooooo!”

“Scooby can’t wait! He has to go really bad! I should take him for a walk!”

“He can wait! Can’t he?”

“Ro! Ro! Rotta ro row!”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, right now?! Fine then! Go for a walk! But stay close to the van and keep an eye on the house! You don’t want to be spotted, and you need to be back here if the girls come out!”

---

“Thank goodness we’re out of the van, eh, Scooby?”

“Ruff!”

“This is a pretty interesting place, isn’t it?”

Sniff sniff sniff

“Oh, look! It looks like a kitchen through that window!  Hey, man, if it’s a party, do you think they have food? Oh, groovy, I see a sandwich plate! Let’s go!”

“Ran-rich?”

---

Velma tried not to let her nerves show. Daphne looked cool as a cucumber, beautiful as always in her white robe and cowl, and Marcie was in her element. Velma was having a hard time not fidgeting, and she just knew she was going to catch something on fire with her candle if she didn’t focus. The dark basement cavern was filled with ceremonial candles and mystical symbols. It made her skin itch. There was no way this was for real. It just could not be. “Dream of the Endless” echoed in her head. Well, she’d give it a bit longer. Even she’d been known to be wrong. Once. She was pretty sure. 

Kirdor Segrub (she did not understand how these people chose their mage names) finally finished his long-winded chanting and weird ingredient mixing and gave the signal.

“Death Comes to Everyone,” the women chanted in unison. 

Velma stared as a black mist coalesced and swirled inside the magic circle. She’d checked for gimmicks. She’d checked. What was this?

The swirling black took shape as a gorgeous dark-skinned woman lying on the floor. Velma froze. Was this an Endless?

“Ooh, pretty necklace!” Daphne murmured from her side. 

An ankh. It was an ankh necklace. The ankh is the ancient Egyptian symbol of life, but by extension, also the afterlife. Could this really be Death? Jinkies! Velma’s mind spun. What would happen if Death was captured? If no one could die?  No more cycle of life. No more relief from pain or the vagaries of age. No more afterlife to look forward to. Despite the honest desire to avoid Death, Velma couldn’t accept a world where Death was not possible. 

“Daphne, it’s really Death! We have to do something to get her out of there!” she hissed.

As Daphne jerked her head toward Velma, her hair, which had come untucked from her veil, flowed gracefully into the candle she’d forgotten she was holding. 

“AAAAH!!! My hair’s on fire!” she hollered, tossing her candle toward Marcie.

“Stop, Drop and Roll!” Velma, Daphne and Marcie yelled in one voice. Daphne rolled toward the circle, as Hot Dog Water put out the candle while creating as much commotion as possible. Velma really did appreciate her support. Meanwhile, under pretense of trying to put out the fire in Daphne’s hair (which was already out, Daphne was an expert in putting out fires), Velma knelt beside the circle and used her robe to smudge and smear as much of the arcane writing as possible. Good thing it was done in blood and chalk rather than paint or something.

The woman in the circle drew a breath and stood. 

“I owe you one,” she whispered to Velma as she passed them by. Velma shivered at the cool waft of air and the sound of wings at her passing. 

“Your time is up.” Kirdor Segrub crumpled to the ground, and the woman disappeared amongst dark, wing-shaped shadows.

---

Well, it was a bit of a scramble after that. Velma’s heart was beating so hard, she wasn’t quite sure how it all went down. But it wasn’t too many minutes later that the crew were leaving the house and heading for the van again. Fred had shown up; apparently he heard the screaming. The guards in the basement stared forlornly at their dead leader and didn’t think to stop the women from fleeing. One of them was holding a sandwich plate. Velma just grabbed Marci and Daphne and followed Fred out the back. 

“Oh, darn it!” Shaggy suddenly exclaimed. “I forgot my sandwiches!”

“You’re not going back for them!” Fred admonished. “What were you doing with a plate of sandwiches, anyway?” 

“I was hungry, dude!” 

“So you just grabbed a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen?” They all piled into the van in short order.

“Yeah, man! But then there was screaming, so I ran down the stairs, and that guy had a gun so I gave him the sandwiches and he dropped the gun. And I picked up this book so maybe he’d trade me for the sandwiches, but I forgot to! What a bummer!”

“I’ll take that book, if you don’t mind,” said a cool, gentle voice. Everyone turned to stare at the same lovely woman from the basement.

“Death? Of the Endless?” Velma asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” she smiled. “You know of me?”

“Well, we met Dream, and he mentioned a sister.”

“Ah, yes, he does that,” she chuckled, holding out her hand to Shaggy for the leatherbound spellbook he was clutching. He wordlessly handed it over, and she turned back to Velma, Daphne and Marcie.

“So, I owe you three a boon for rescuing me.”

“Oh no!” Daphne protested. “We would do the same for anyone! You don’t have to owe us anything!”

Shhh, Hush! protested Velma and Hot Dog Water. Death smirked at them.

“So, do you know what you will ask?”

“I want to meet another Endless,” breathed Velma.

On AO3

Previous

Thanks to @hazyshadeofwintyr for beta reading!

[aobawilliams]

Role reversal what if Izuku was All Might and vice versa.

[Roleswap Prompts]

That was a though one:

- Izuku didn’t so much decided to become the number 1 hero so much as stumbled into it.

- Let’s rewind: Izuku was a scraggly little kid, who’s dream as always been to save people. Back in his youth, with a society more chaotic, nothing stopped him from going out and helping people however he can. (His mother disapproved but couldn’t stop him.)

- This is how he met Nana, receives OfA, it doesn’t come to him naturally but he manages Full Cowl (and etc.) under Nana and Torino’s teachings. He doesn’t have the set-up that he needs to be like All Might since All Might doesn’t exist, and he manages to build up his own style. (In the same way, his arms aren’t so bad but he still has chronic pain and stuff. The quirk isn’t overpowered from 40 of All Might holding it.)

- He saves people. And saves more people. And never stops saving people. This is how he slowly rises to the number One stop, but he doesn’t build up his reputation as “symbol of Peace” in the way All Might does. He doesn’t have the same kind of charisma, but he doe have the reputation that if you’re ever in trouble, he’ll come and save you. Very little is known about him/his private life. (In the background there is still Nana’s death, still the fight against AfO, things stays the same on that side. He became even more of a cryptid after his fight against AfO, 5/6 years ago)

- Toshinori Yagi is a young quirkless kid, he’s not meek or shy. He’s part of the foster system, goes to the same school as Bakugou Katsuki with whom he got a strange friend/rivalry. He gives as much as he receives but is never mean about it.

- One day he gets attacked by a villain on his way home, and got saved by a hero he doesn’t know. Somehow, they keep meeting. He isn’t aware this is Dekiru, the number one Hero. Yagi does train on his own to become a hero (and probably gets into more than one shifty situation) but can only go so far by himself. Dekiru provides advice.

- Under the belief AfO is dead, Dekiru pass him his quirk. Toshinori takes to it very easily, but has a lot of trouble regulating his strength.

[bluegarners]

“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts! 

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it. 

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill. 

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed. 

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of. 

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection. 

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home. 

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge. 

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl. 

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward. 

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet. 

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming. 

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it. 

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy. 

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now. 

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

.

.

.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer. 

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated. 

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more. 

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

.

.

.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in. 

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit. 

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted. 

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange. 

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands. 

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice. 

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma. 

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort. 

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person. 

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience. 

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

[sineala]

I'm certainly not asking with any intent whatsoever *shifty eyes* but who draws the prettiest Steve? Which artists' versions of Steve do you most enjoy?

Well, now I’m awfully curious as to what your intent is. :D

I’m reasonably picky about Steve artists -- I have fewer favorite Steve artists than Tony artists, at least -- because the way I like to see Steve drawn and the way Marvel usually likes people to draw Steve are at odds. I know that he represents a very particular type of power fantasy and as such Marvel often likes him to look primarily like he could punch straight through a brick wall and has shoulders wide enough for three people. (Not talking to you, EMH Steve. You can stay. You’re adorable.)

(I also don’t like a lot of the Classic Steve Artists and in particular a lot of Jack Kirby’s Steve art weirds me out because he does this thing where Steve’s cowl isn’t so much a cowl but more like his actual face is painted blue, and Steve’s eyes are bulging directly from the middle of what is supposed to be fabric, and, yes, I understand that Kirby worked under a lot of time pressure but it really creeps me out. Uh. Yeah.)

So I think as far as Steve artists go I like artists who are not afraid to Make Steve Pretty, and that’s not a lot of people. Off the top of my head, I like Olivier Coipel (that page of Uncanny Avengers #5 where Steve was doing gymnastics, yeah, you know the one I mean), Nik Virella (1872), Tommy Lee Edwards (Bullet Points) and David Marquez, who makes everybody pretty. HydraCap was unfortunately awfully pretty a lot of the time, much prettier than Steve usually is allowed to be. I think Saiz did most of the art on CA:SR. (He also did a very pretty Strange.) I don’t know if they were trying to make some point about evil being seductive or what, but, like, the cover for Captain America: Steve Rogers #8 is really pretty.

I also like Samnee’s Cap but I think that’s going for a different kind of aesthetic, and I think he absolutely nails the square-jawed earnest look, which is, y’know, another important aspect of Steve.

[callmesteve]

sneak peak at what i’m writing?

for real this time, sghlidugh. 

so, that post i just posted? yeah, i started a rough draft. here’s the first half! (not really any dami yet, sorry folks :((. also, note: i’ve made jon and damian the same age, i think there’s an age gap normally, but this works better for me.) 

do i continue it?

(fic below the cut)

Dick and Bruce go back in time to save Damian before he was killed. They end up in the wrong time. There’s so many ways it goes wrong.

Dick crosses through the portal to dusty air and ashes scattered amongst the ground. Buildings crumble around the torn up street. Markings all over the remains of Gotham tell Dick all he needs to know. Green and red spray paint curl heavenward in a sick imitation of Joker’s manic grin. When he hears Dick grunt, he whirls around, already gesturing to their belts. “We’ve hit the wrong time,” he says, voice carefully low. “I think we went forward, not back.” 

It’s just like Bruce said, before they left. Time travel is a fickle thing. There’s no right way to do it with the resources they’re working with. Plus, it doesn’t really help that ever since Bruce’s whole incident with Frankenstien, Tim’s been hellbent on not helping their efforts to get Damian back. 

God, Dick knew this wasn’t going to work. There had been too many variables in the beginning. Too many what if’s, too many maybe not’s. 

He just had to agree to go with Bruce anyway, hadn’t he? 

With a groan, he drops his head into the palms of his hands. Ever since Damian died, all Bruce could think of doing was bringing him back to life. He hadn’t been like this with Jason, but with the knowledge that Jason had managed to come back to life- Bruce took it and ran and somehow ended up coming across time travel. Their plan was simple. Go back to the fight that took Damian’s life far too early, stop Heretic before he was able to slide that sword through his little brother’s chest. They’d open themselves a new life where Damian lived and breathed and-

And Dick swallows a sob, fixing his domino mask to make sure it covers his teary eyes. He was just like Bruce, in the end. All Dick wanted was to wrap his arms around Damian one last time, to hold him close and breathe in that stupid strawberry shampoo Dick decided to buy him. Why wouldn’t he want to help Bruce with this? Dick and Bruce, although they both avoided the conversation, knew that Damian and Dick were closer than the title of brothers allowed. (Father and son fit better, Dick dares to think.)

“Should we stop by the Batcave in our time?” Bruce questions, as he fiddles with his wrist computer. While the actual portal-opening-thing-a-ma-jigs were attached to their belts, all the information they needed rested in their batcomputer’s archives, for Alfred to monitor over. “Or should we just skip to the next time we have queued up?”

Home rests on the tip of Dick’s tongue. They’ve only just started this time travel task, and Dick already feels weighed down by his grief. He’s still mourning, naturally. At this rate, he knows he’ll end up compromised by the time they make it to the time they’re shooting to find. All he wants to do, (besides save Damian and hold him again), is to go home to the manor, make tea, and cry as Mean Girls plays in the backgr-

“You’re not Batman,” someone scoffs, voice laced with a pout. They sound offended, almost, and- And Dick knows that voice. It’s older, sure, but- “It’s rude to pretend to be a dead man- and to dress up as someone who’s still around. I think. Technically. Okay, okay- Didn’t your mom’s ever teach you not to play pretend as dead men, guys?” 

Dick’s eyes shoot up, to a familiar little getup. The red cape, cropped so it doesn’t pass the knees, the ripped jeans still baby blue, the same old Superman t-shirt, long since faded. Beat up converse, double knotted on his feet. He’s a few years older and a whole lot taller than when Dick last saw him, but it’s all the same. 

Jonathan Kent stands before Dick and Bruce, hands folded across his chest. 

Dick still remembers the days that Jon and Damian raced around the manor, (and the penthouse, while Bruce had disappeared). Years ago, Clark had decided it’d be a good idea to get the two to be friends, given the fact they were around the same age. It’s just a shame that they never got the chance to grow up as complete heroes together. Him and Damian had been close- really close. Their time’s Jon was still torn up about Damian’s death. 

This Jon blinks as he takes in Dick and Bruce, before tutting an all too familiar tut. “I’m gonna have to bring you guys in to the base. No running away.” He purses his lips, regarding Bruce closer for a moment. “B-boy doesn’t like it when people do that. It always attracts the Joker’s attention, and we don’t need that.” 

Dick looks back to Bruce, and they both share a nod. No confrontation until Heretic- not unless it’s totally needed. That was their agreement. Besides, from Jon’s reaction of them, this time’s Nightwing and Bruce-Batman are obviously dead. It’s a dull thought, considering that Jon’s only a few years older. Dick can admit that he’s at least curious about who dawns the cowl now, though. Dick had done it last time- Jason probably refused to this time, too. Especially with Joker leading this whole thing.

Tim, then? He’ll be the smartest Batman there ever were, that’s for sure. It’s just a shame he had to do it so young. 

A pit forms in Dick’s gut. If Bruce, Dick and Damian are dead, there’s a big chance that all Tim really has left is Alfred. (God, Dick hopes Alfred’s still alive.) 

“We’ll go,” Dick says, raising his hands in the air. “You’ve just got a misunderstanding about us, is all. We’ll clear it up and explain it to- uh- B-boy?” 

B-boy could mean Beast Boy, really, but Dick’s pretty sure it’s just Batman. He’s confirmed as correct when Jon amends with, “Batman. He’s so uptight and serious now-a-days. We like to make fun of him- All friendly teasing, y’know- But- You probably shouldn’t- He’ll feed you to Ivy’s plants the next time she decides it’s time to swarm the city.” He winced at his own words, the nod to Ivy sending the conversation and joking cold. 

Dick has a feeling the new Batman might just be Jason. Prickly and serious could fit with Tim, but- Hey. Who knows. Grief and mourning do things to people that you can’t always explain. Time travel included. 

Jon leads them by the wrists after slapping cuffs on their wrists. They’re the plastic kind you can buy in toy stores for your kids to play with, but they’ve been modified and bulked up with metal, steel and tech. The locks have been changed from a key to a fingerprint scanner. When Jon’s fingers brush over it, the little screen beeps red. He clearly can’t unlock it. (The Bruce-influenced part of his mind thinks that it’s good- if he needs to, he can put a pair on Jon and not need to worry about him getting out. They seem pretty solid. Though, there’s always the chance that he could break out, Super-something’s always seem to surprise him.) 

“These are pretty high tech,” Dick remarks, more for the sake of something to say and to focus on, than to learn about the cuffs. Not that it’s not cool, or important to hear about. “How’d you guys make them?” 

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” Jon scowls. “I won’t hand away free information just because you think I’m stupid and easy to trick.” 

It’s a completely valid concern. Dick gets to work shooting it down. “We’ve been compliant! If I wanted to cause trouble, I would’ve already. As soon as we get to Batman, we’ll explain that this whole thing was a mistake and that he doesn’t have to worry about us! Or- Me, at least.” He gestures to Bruce. “He’s pretty shifty. We’ll be fine.”

Surprisingly enough, Jon gives. “B made them,” he half-beams. Tim then. “Only his fingerprint is recognised. Way too many times have we had traitors in our midst that free our prisoners, or just plain old teammates who are super gullible. He was gonna let me be one of the only other people, besides- uh- someone else. But.” He adopts a sheepish grin. “Stuff happened, I guess. It was really bad. I trust his judgement, though!” 

“If he’s good, then all power to you,” Dick grins back. 

Bruce hunches his shoulders. “What the hell happened to Gotham?” he asks, and Dick winces at his wrecked tone. It’s their city, to be reduced to ash in a few years time. There’s no point in asking the year instead, anyhow. Jon’s no older than sixteen now, no younger than twelve or thirteen. They can take a pretty good guess. “We were just here-” Bruce pauses, piling on an alibi fast. “-a few years ago.” 

Nice save, B.

“B always says a lot can happen in a few years! You’d be surprised. And- Everyone’s heard of the old Batman’s loss at the hands of the Joker and his Arkham crew. He didn’t die in the battle- He came close. Present day Batman took up the cowl while the villains reaped their spoils of war. Old Batman died pretty soon after that. Health complications, I think?” Jon hums. “I thought you might’ve been posing as the old Batman. I guess I was wrong then, since you didn’t know?” 

“I’m not posing as anyone,” Bruce grinds out. Dick chokes back a laugh, which goes sour as soon as he grumbles, “Fuckin’ Joker.” 

Dick steps over a stray piece of rubble on nimble feet. “See?” he whispers to Bruce. “You should’ve let Lil’ D beat up Joker when he had him in that damn room.” He scowls low, matching Bruce to a near perfect T. The Joker has messed with their lives way too much, at this point. 

Jon stiffens. 

Shit. 

The Supers have super hearing, and Damian’s still probably a sore spot for everyone. 

Just before Dick can question about Nightwing’s death, on rolls to a stop. “Close your eyes,” he says, tacking on a sorry soon after. Dick obliges. He hopes Bruce does too. Jon drops their hands, but reaches back a moment later. Something rolls open. He doesn’t tell them to open their eyes, so Dick keeps them close. Jon leads them forward, and immediately, Dick recognises the smell of the place they're in. Musty, damp. The Batcave. They’re using the cave as their base of operations?

Of course they would. 

“Hey, B-boy!” Jon yells, before saying, “you can open your eyes.” 

Dick does, expecting the same old vave. What he gets is something nearly three times larger. There’s more space in the center, lined with more vehicles that Dick cares to count. They’ve all got a reoccuring theme- Beat up, covered in spikes and neon green spray paint. Undercover vehicles, no doubt. The Batcomputer ahead has grown a few sizes, monitoring different sectors of Gotham and others displaying some of Arkham’s more dangerous ex-patients. Bane’s profile is marked with a deep red stamp, right over top his picture, that reads off deceased. 

The glass cases hosting the Bat-clan’s fallen uniforms has been moved, now showing Bruce’s old cowl, Dick’s Nightwing uniform, and so many others he can’t name. One’s nothing more than a brown one piece with orange stripes on the side, gloves and a mask. Towards the end is Damian’s old Robin outfit, shoved over there like it doesn’t even matter. It should be in the dead center with the rest of the Batfamily’s fallen members, Dick thinks, and makes a note to yell at Tim/Jason/Batman for it. Family should stick together, even if it’s only their old legacies that stay by each other's sides. 

The other platforms scattered around the cave’s walls are hard to see. There’s more than there used to be, all covered with discarded training weapons and dummies, with cots for sleeping. What an upgrade. 

“B-boy!” Jon tries, cupping his hands around his mouth “I know you’re here! We’ve got prisoners!” 

The voice that responds is low, older, but not overly so. It can’t be Tim or Jason- then who? “Then send them to the cells,” this Batman says. “Why on Earth do I-” 

Oh, Dick knows the exact moment that Batman sees the two of them. Is it really that big of a crime to dress up as Nightwing or Batman around here? Jeez. 

“Take off those damn masks,” Batman hisses, dropping from his perch atop one of the lower platforms. He’s- He’s tiny. Smaller than Jon by nearly a whole foot! “How dare you tarnish the fallen’s legacies like this! Did the Joker put you up to this? Harley? Catwoman’s not normally this cruel.” 

“We can explain,” Dick defends. Bruce gives him a grunt and that’s all the conformation that Dick needs. He tears off his mask. Bruce pulls down his cowl. 

Jon recognises them immediately, taking half a step back. “Mr. Wayne?” he says, soft. “And- And Dick-? They weren’t- You two weren’t imposters-? How did you survive? We saw both of you die-” 

Bruce steps up, holding out his cuffs to Batman. “We’re not your Batman and Robin,” he explains. “Not yet. We’ve come from the past. A miscalculation while trying to travel through time brought us here.” He waves his wrists. “Now, Batman. If you’d be so kind as to let us know who decided to carry on the cowl? You aren’t Tim or Jason.” 

“B-” Jon whispers, and it sounds wrong. “You should-” 

“I know,” Batman interrupts. He reaches out, pulling off his glove, and unlocks Bruce’s cuffs. He does the same for Dick, with shaking hands. Then, his hand snakes up to his mask.

“You don’t have to,” Jon reminds. 

“I know.” 

Batman pulls off his cowl. Glassy green eyes- for the first time in near months- peer right back at Dick.

[primroseyarnco]

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[incoherentbabblings]

As someone who loves the timsteph relationship i hate what new 52 robbed us of. Tim had previously been a dick to Steph by telling her to never be a hero again and Steph had been a dick to Tim by faking her death and lying to him but they still obviously cared about each other and i feel like they would have gotten back together if new 52 hadnt happened

Oh for sure!

I’ve always been on the fence with their interactions when Steph came back because on the one hand it’s just plain bad writing in that, Steph had no reason to follow through on Batman’s bizarre plan to make Tim a better Robin.  She had nothing to prove to Bruce since she’d survived being tortured for god know’s how long and still came back to help people once she’d healed.  She even asks Bruce if she’s welcome back and Bruce affirms yes ‘if you want it’.  And then she notices straight away that Tim is acting and behaving far more coldly and assigns herself her the mission of basically bringing joy back into his life.

So even though ‘she was hiding in Africa and lied to everyone about it’ there were ways round it where you could address it but also remember that the poor girl had been through a lot and I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to disappear.  The fact that she realised she wouldn’t ever be able to stop helping people and she needed to go back to Gotham I feel is really important to her character and something her and Tim (and the batfam in general) have in common, like a chronic need to protect people.  It’s an important part of her character which people tend to ignore for wanting to spite her dad or Bruce or any of the people who doubted her.

Tim’s behaviour is also really cold and annoying to read but I think it’s just showing that he was shutting down emotionally and just that he was terrified for Steph.  I wish they’d more of a big deal of why Tim was a bit shifty around Bruce after War Games, after all Bruce didn’t let Stephanie and Tim talk to each other while she was Robin, he hid that Stephanie had been kidnapped as long as he could and he stopped Tim from being with her when she was dying (EVEN THOUGH she was asking after him.  She was terrified he hated her and yes Bruce reassures her that Tim adores her always has always will she should have had a moment with Tim, to hear it from him.  She just deserved better.  Every part of those arcs. She deserved better).  Bruce massively bungled how much the two were reliant on each other but dead dad and dead best friend meant she got lost in the shuffle and was just one of many dead loved ones.  Which is bad writing and bad editorial for a character that was fridged to make Bruce and Tim sad.  But we all know that.    

Moving to when she came back, their conversation on the rooftop after Battle for the Cowl has Tim inform Steph that a) he’s leaving Gotham b) he wants her to stop wearing the costume because c) he’s scared for her and of her actions.  So it’s pretty ‘this is us done for real’. And yet they are drawn doing this

Which is part of why they had such an interesting dynamic because their body language is always having them stand close together with lots of hand holding and face smushing.  Which you normally don’t do with an ex or someone you don’t trust.  One of the first posts I made about these two was showing how often they are drawn with their hands reaching out to the other during their batgirl and red robin run.  It’s near constant in the batgirl issue and crops up a few times in red robin too.

Also all throughout his RR solo Tim’s gutted that he feels like he can’t trust her anymore until he grows up a little and is like yeah I was wrong actually she’s doing so well and meanwhile she’s doing her own thing trying to cement down why she can’t ever stop doing what she does and it’s not to spite her dad anymore and it’s not so she can maybe on the off chance run across Tim anymore.  At the same time, I think Miller wrote during their crossover that Tim and Steph’s relationship is one which he describes as “comfort and familiarity” hence why Steph stopped them getting back together at that moment.  She was in a transition stage in her life and needed to focus on grounding herself before she could ‘fall back in’ with Tim, and I think Tim understood that.  Also he was dating Tam so he shouldn’t have tried it in the first place but Tim is forever dating Ariana/Zo/Tam/Cassie and then smooching Steph and realising oh no that one that one I like that one more and usually Steph is like lol ok sure I like you too.

By the end of their respective runs you have Steph in a very good place whereas Tim’s work at building himself back from the ground up is shaken in that final issue with him essentially trying to murder his father’s murderer, and Bruce’s response to his actions makes Tim sort of… shut down again, after everything he put himself through to convince others that Bruce wasn’t dead.   Tim’s growth came mostly from re-connecting with Dick and Cass, Stephanie, and the Titans.

So I guess if I’d had my way what would have been the best way for these two to find their way back to each other would have been post Bat Inc when Steph gets back from England and Tim has a proper sit down with Bruce and Dick and is like ‘the past two years have been really hard and I think I’m getting there but need a bit more help’ and like… put himself together first.  I kinda like to read Steph and Tim’s final interactions during their crossover as a sort of ‘wait for me a bit longer okay?’ line of thought.  Steph doesn’t say ‘I’m not doing this with you anymore’, she says ‘This isn’t good for me right now’ which just goes to show how emotionally intelligent she is, especially regarding herself by the mid point of her batgirl run.  Tim needed to work on his own crap first before they could meet halfway.  

Anyway I really recommend Sorry I Bruced You by quipquipquip which is how I headcanon them growing back together.  Steph did a lot of hard work looking at why and how she was going to be a hero after being physically and emotionally wrecked by her torture.  Tim had started to do so but stumbled at the end of Red Robin, and I think he needed to do a bit more work on himself.  Ultimately it wasn’t Stephanie’s job to make him a lighter person.  It would have been nice for them reuniting to be a ‘look how far we’ve come apart and yet I still at the end of the day want to sit and talk with you on your mum’s old couch because you’re warm, safe, gentle and alive’.

But HEY thanks reboot for dropping all that and wiping Steph from existence and breaking Tim away from what made him that gentle boy in the first place.  Don’t get me wrong I actually really love the way Tynion wrote them together but to like properly love it you have to read it with all of their pre-War Games interactions in mind which is an understandable but still not great cut off point. I’ve always wanted Tim and Stephanie to be the one couple of the batfam who just kind of do their own thing and live in their own bubble and get on with their own lives whilst the rest of the batfam romantic relationships are more than welcome to be full blown melodrama any given day of the week.  And I think DC sees it that way?  The number of hints in other universes where Tim pops up in the future tend to imply Steph is a presence too (Batman Beyond, Nightwing New Order, Tom King’s Batman Annual… the exception is the original Batman of Tomorrow Arcs, where Steph was dead and LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT FOR EVERYONE and in even in Tynion’s run where she isn’t dead in the future BatTim is like…haunted by her disapproval, she really is his anchor when given the chance to be) and this has gone on long enough look what you’ve done anon(!!!)

[vulpixen]

Thinking more about my Forest Guardian Shifty AU, Shifty would have some magical creature and human friends. Possibly with Tate McGucket, the only person he can trust to keep his secret like many others. Best friends or more. 

Shifty may have one or more friends among the gnomes, fairies, a decent manotaur, and others. Including Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Wendy after getting past them being suspicious of him for awhile while he was in human disguise. 

Shifty would make occasional visits to The Crawl Space if he needed something he couldn’t get, but would be wary of the cons that sell their wares. Like pick up cowl milk. 

[rikrakyarnncrafts]

Fall Staff Projects

It’s been a bit since our last staff project post. Most of us have been up to our ears in traveling to shows, developing new exciting products, and in general just resisting the temptation to stay inside all day and make ALL the things. Regardless of how busy we are, you know we spend an inordinate amount of time with our pattern queue and massive yarn stash. Here’s a look at what has been coming off of our needles around the office this fall!

  Kate’s Shifty Shawl

Color Shifting Shawl in Hawthorne yarns – Lovejoy Multi, Kerns, Kettle Slate, and Sock Lab Specimen 1809.03

There’s nothing quite like a lovely shawl draped over ones’ shoulders to imbue an air of worldliness and overall fancy lady-ness. While I’m not quite ready to don elegant lacy shawls made with exquisite silky fibers (I don’t trust myself to not snag them on ev-er-y-thing), I AM ready to up my accessories game and sport a modern shawl or two around town.  The easy lace portion of this pattern was very beginner-friendly, and the staggered striping of changing colors kept me interested while I plugged away at this project every night.

Alexis’ Seed Stitch Frenzy

Seed Stitch Cowl knit in new Capra colors (held double) and Bare Shimmer Bulky

There’s a running joke around the office pertaining to our Merchandise Buyer, Alexis, having an “issue”. That issue being that she is producing massive quantities of the Seed Stitch Cowl like some sort of super-human knitting machine! Granted, 95% of the cowls she makes are gifts for her loved ones. We like to kid her that she should, just once, pile them all on at one time and let us take a picture. Fingers crossed she says yes.

Hillary’s First Colorwork Adventure

Arri Hat knit in Biggo from the Under 200 Collection.

I have been wanting to try my hand at colorwork, and the Arri Hat was the perfect project for me! Fashionable and something I will wear all winter, the Arri Hat is a great hat! And surprisingly, colorwork isn’t as scary as I thought!

Look for our next staff project post sometime around the holidays, when some of our resident expert knitters will share their most recent creations. Until then, happy knitting!

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[aion-rsa]

The Harder They Fall: Netflix’s All-Black Western Revitalizes Genre

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Westerns were the superhero movies of yesteryear. That��s the first thing you’ll see in any thread on Twitter bemoaning the abundance of cape and cowl flicks, and how they’ve dominated the multiplex. Once upon a time, Westerns were the dominant genre, and all things run their course. But maybe Westerns ran their course because they were all fixated on the same archetype: the white cowboy. Outlaws of color are scattered throughout legends of the Old West, yet we still always hear about the same figures: Butch and Sundance, Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday, Jesse James and Cole Younger.

If Westerns were ever to reclaim their place as cinema’s favorite genre, it would be a movie like The Harder They Fall that would start the sea change. By giving us something new and focusing on Black legends of the West, first time feature director Jeymes Samuel delivers a high-energy and stylish romp of a Western that both puts its stamp on the genre while carving out its own place.

Accented by an anachronistic soundtrack featuring Fela Kuti, Nina Simone, and Jay-Z, The Harder They Fall is crackling with vibrancy. It also helps that the film’s impeccably cool cowboys are portrayed by impossibly charismatic actors. Jonathan Majors stars as Nat Love, the leader of a gang of outlaws who steal from other outlaws. Flanked by saloon owner Stagecoach Mary (Zazie Beetz), shifty bouncer Cuffee (Danielle Deadwyler), sharpshooting Bill Pickett (Edi Gathegi), and the mouthy, quickdrawing Jim Beckwourth (RJ Cyler), Nat decides to steal from notorious outlaw Rufus Buck, played with both menace and gravitas by Idris Elba. Freshly broken out of prison by his own gang, which is fronted by Treacherous Trudy Smith (Regina King) and philosophical, yet sadistic Cherokee Bill (LaKeith Stanfield), Rufus is put on a collision course with Nat. However, their feud is deeper than money. Nat has a decades-old grudge against Rufus, and he won’t stop until the notorious criminal is gunned down.

If you can’t tell by the names assembled, the cast is electric. Majors proves yet again that he’s primed for superstardom. He so easily fluctuates between fierce determination and swaggering, effortless coolness. Regina King, great in just about everything, shows us she can play the heavy, and Stanfield and Cyler steal every scene in which they appear.

Finally, Elba highlights that he’s still Hollywood’s best villain. Samuel wisely films him like the shark in Jaws, keeping him out of focus until he’s ready to strike, and when he does appear on-screen, he imbues Buck with an understated weariness that only makes his misdeeds sting more. Samuel lets every actor cook, giving them all a chance to showcase their chops. It also adds to a runtime that can lag, but it mostly leads to brilliant scenes like Trudy coolly peeling an apple while she delivers her harrowing backstory.

Samuel also shows off some kinetic camerawork as the director. He pulls the focus in and out, spins around tense face-offs, holds long takes on characters delivering weighty monologues in close-up, and expertly uses split-screen to build tension.

The Harder They Fall is dripping with style, and while the whizbang technique and cheeky script can sometimes make the film feel like a Tarantino rip-off, Samuel also ties his film to many Westerns of the past by having his actors sing. Melding the singing cowboy archetype to his hyper-stylized action shows that Samuel wanted to both honor the genre and modernize it. The costumes are flashy, and the set design is inventive, especially a visit to a “white town” where everything is painted white down to the sand, but there are moments where it is very noticeable that the action is taking place on a closed set. It’s just one little nitpick in a film that’s deliriously entertaining.

The Harder They Fall is anchored by its livewire cast, but it adds enough of its own flourishes to make director Jeymes Samuel a name to watch. A third-act revelation doesn’t quite hit how it should,  and a runtime that’s a bit long in the tooth keep it from being a stone-cold classic, but it’s one of the best Netflix films to hit the streaming service in quite some time.

Could more neo-Westerns follow in The Harder They Fall’s wake? If they have as fresh of a take as this film does, we’d welcome them with guns a’blazin’. 

The Harder They Fall is streaming on Netflix now.

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The post The Harder They Fall: Netflix’s All-Black Western Revitalizes Genre appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[elderscrollsexplained]

I would love to see TES go to Elsweyr or Hammerfell! I feel like 1) characters of color are kind of underwritten/cast aside by the elder scrolls. You dont have many pivotal or important Redguard characters(I can only think of Nazir from Skyrim but even he is kinda mundane). 2) Kajits are seen as theieves/shifty in ES and I want a new perspective on them and their culture. 3) have you ever played The Gray Cowl of Nocturnal mod for Skyrim? HOLY CRAP THEY MADE HAMMERFELL LOOK SO FLIPPING COOL!!

No I haven't played that mod! I agree though they don't use Redguards for very much in skyrim, I can think of a lot more in Oblivion though. They are a really cool race and I would like to see more of their culture. Both the animal type races seem to have really interesting cultures so I wouldn't be opposed to a game set in either Elsweyr or Black Marsh!