#richard ness

[obsessedbyneon]

The 1980s was a period (in)famous for it's bold designs. These are several design proposals for the void Les Halles area in Paris. 1980.

1: Richard Ness

2: Greg Walton

3: Unknown architect (but I like the extreme castle-like feeling)

4: Unknown architect but Rem Koolhaas would have been proud

5: Okumara Takashi

6: Ricardo Porro

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

pt. 2

you just saw your ex boyfriend, dick grayson, for the first time since he broke up with you.

you ran into him on the street.

no, like, literally ran into him.

you were walking your mom’s dog for her, a german shepherd she got when you moved out. she’d aptly named him trouble. despite his name, trouble was usually a mellow guy, even if he was huge. walking him was just another thing you were doing to try and ignore the thoughts constantly pounding out a beat in your head.

oh, dick would think this is funny! that’s dick’s favorite color, i should buy it! dick and i should go there on our next date!

and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on and-

anyways, you were definitely trying to keep yourself busy.

any time a memory popped up in your brain of him—

laughing at your jokes, holding you close while you fell asleep, kissing your neck while he thrust into you

—you’d empty the dishwasher, paint your nails, (any color but blue) turn on reality tv, read a book, stuff your face, whatever.

anything to stop fucking thinking about him and his stupid blue eyes and his dumb smile.

you’d been been watching the news, sprawled across the couch. just the regular gotham news: don’t use main street, mr. freeze’s ray iced out the pavement. the iceberg lounge had been raided by the police for the third time this month. the justice league defeated yet another extraterrestrial threat to humanity, blah, blah, blah. you weren’t really watching. the news program ended, and the next one started. a gotham gossip show. they were doing a special segment on the wayne family.

of course they fucking were. even your tv was conspiring against you. you had to resist the urge to chuck the remote at it.

you turned it off instead, heading to your room to get ready for a run.

(running for exercise or running from your thoughts?)

your mom had asked you to take trouble right before you’d walked out the door, and so you grabbed him and his leash and headed out. you’d forgotten the bags for his poop, but you didn’t think you would be out that long, so you just kept on going.

you were wearing the leggings dick had bought you, ones he joked should be a specific blue color. you hadn’t understood then, but you more than understood now. it was warmer, and so you just had on an old sports bra on top, and some converse.

you were not the athletic type. that was dick. probably still was. you wouldn’t really know.

you hadn’t talked since it happened, like three or four weeks ago.

time had become a little fuzzy. your mom said you could stay with her as long as you needed, but you were starting to get the itch to move out.

nothing against your mom, it’s just hard to sob really loudly into a pint of ice cream when she’s there.

and she keeps trying to wash the one shirt of dick’s you still have. you know, fully well, how dumb it is, (and a little gross) but you’re still wearing his shirt every night to bed. and maybe it’s all in your head, but it still smells like him. you aren’t ready to wash it. besides, now that you’re sleeping by yourself, you’re pretty sure it’s helping you fall asleep. something that was hard to do the first few nights without your big warm boyfriend next to you in bed.

it probably isn’t good for you, to keep wearing his shirt.

you’d had your hand between your thighs more than once late at night thinking about being enveloped in his scent. your nights were haunted with thoughts of his body over yours, his phantom voice in your ear. calling you angel, asking you if this was heaven, like the last time you’d had sex.

it definitely isn’t good for you.

but neither is life without dick grayson.

you try not to dwell on the fact that dick had given you a sort of non-reason for the breakup. sure, it got lonely sometimes, or you got anxious for your masked boyfriend, so you cried. so what if your patience wore thin after a few too many “i’m sorry, angel, i can’t make it this time”-s.

you were human!

but you’d never, never once complained about his absence or his commitments to his family.

never.

he’d just assumed you were silently suffering and it really irked you if you thought about it for too long. you still weren’t sure if you were mad at him or sad, or whatever. it felt like your brain couldn’t decide on an emotion so you just got twelve at once. but what you did know for sure was that he was 110% worth it to you. you just wish he’d realize that. see that. instead of just the times you were a little emotionally strung out. your ex boyfriend was too willing to sacrifice his own mental health for the sake of yours and you were sick of it. but you didn’t know if you had the courage to say that to him. or even see him, after the way this breakup had hit you.

your friends had managed to get you out of the house, a few times now.

you’d gotten almost too drunk every time, escaping your friends and going outside to get some air. this time, you saw a guy that looked just enough like dick, and it’d all been too much. so you got out of there. you sat yourself down on the curb, looking up at the hazy rooftops. you were always looking up. always.

and since the break up, you’d noticed the vigilantes of your city more often. maybe there was more criminal activity. maybe you were just paying more attention than you used to.

you’d seen spoiler and orphan, pounding the pavement behind you to run after some seedy looking guy holding a briefcase. you think spoiler tried to high five you on the way past, but there was no way. you wrote it off as your memory embellishing things.

you were pretty sure red hood had nodded at you before disappearing down a fire escape on the other side of the building.

your mom had recently gotten a delivery of security cameras for her house. but she hadn’t ordered them. the shipping address had only the address of some warehouse on the dock, the name just, ‘R.R.’ you’d set the cameras up, but you and your mom both were still baffled about it.

and here, sitting on the curb, you were staring at what looked like a dark figure crouched on the rooftop opposite. they’d been there when you’d entered the club, too.

you squinted, trying to make out shoulders and suit colors, when they stood up, and the light bounced off his shiny cowl.

fucking batman?

you shook your head, trying to shake your drunk brain like an etch-a-sketch. there was actually no way.

a smaller figure, one you hadn’t seen behind the shape of batman (!?) pulled a weapon, a gleaming silver sword, and pointed it at you. your head spun. batman (there was no way) shook his head at robin. he sheathed his sword, throwing his hands up in what looked like annoyance. you blinked, and they were gone.

you weren’t really sure if it had happened or not. you’d been trying not to think too hard about the fact that you still hadn’t seen nightwing. you’d really been trying.

so instead, you were walking your mom’s dog.

trouble had, in fact, pooped, and you were frantically looking around for something to pick it up with. gotham was already shitty enough without the addition of, well, literal shit. the streets were busy, but not crowded, and someone down the block whistled for a cab, catching your attention. you turned, and at the same time, trouble jerked your arm, pulling you backwards into someone walking on the sidewalk. the stranger made a choked sound.

“trouble??”

your heart stopped. you held your breath, turning around.

trouble was at attention, looking up at your ex-boyfriend with his head cocked.

dick’s eyes were wide. his hair shorter than you remember. he leaned down to scratch trouble behind the ears, his biceps and shoulder muscles in hard relief. are you dreaming? you didn’t recognize the shirt he had on, but he was wearing your favorite jeans of his, and his matching converse. your mouth felt like a desert.

trouble trails around the two of you, the leash long. he loves your ex-boyfriend, you know he won’t go anywhere.

“did you cut your hair?” you take a step forward. dick does too.

“i-” he clears his throat. “i did. do you like it?” he shifts his eyes, his cheeks bright pink.

you make a show of looking it over. he turns his head so you can see it from all angles. like he always did when he got a haircut.

your chest hurts.

you nod approvingly, flashing him a weak smile.

“it looks really nice. you’re very-” your face heats as you stop yourself. “it looks very handsome.”

that’s an understatement. you would’ve climbed him like a tree the minute he’d come home looking like that. the way his biceps were bulging out of his shirt sleeves could not be good for his circulation. it was great for yours, your heart was beating a mile a minute.

dick smiles down at you, stepping forward again.

“thanks.” he looks down, taking in your outfit. “nice leggings, ang-” he’s cut off when trouble spots a squirrel and darts, barking wildly. the problem is, trouble had been walking his leashed self around you and dick.

you’re now chest to chest with your ex boyfriend in the middle of a sidewalk, tied to him by rope. you vaguely hear trouble whine at the way his collar bit into his neck from the leash pulling taut. you didn’t even have the time to process the fact that he had almost called you angel. which was probably a good thing.

you’re breathing heavily, while dick doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

he’s put his arms around you on instinct, and you hate the way you feel like you’re home. a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden closeness, and dick peers down at you through half-lids. your mouth dries up again. you suddenly feel indignant.

“you are not allowed to breakup with me and then show up and look at me like that!” you hiss at him.

you would throw up your hands in exasperation if they weren’t basically pinned to dick’s body. a smile breaks across his face, his bright blue eyes telling you everything you need to know. he stares at you, studying you. you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating.

“alfred taught me a new recipe.” he blurts, his hand clutching at your back.

he’s adorable. but you school your face and raise an eyebrow at him.

“..oookay?”

dick blushes, his face sheepish. “i could make it for you, if you wanted.”

“what i want is an apology.” you look him up and down.

your ex boyfriend grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “understandable.”

“on your hands and knees. i think this is one of those begging-for-my-forgiveness type situations, don’t you think?”

dick nods, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. his eyes flash.

“you don’t have to worry about getting me on my knees.”

one heartbeat pounds behind your ribs, the other one between your legs. you huff out a weird sort of nervous laugh.

“oh, i’m not joking.” his lips curve up in a smile, one you know very well. he obviously plans to make up on lost time.

you forgot how charming he was. you have to practically force yourself to breathe. you’d do anything to have the real thing over his old t-shirt. you give yourself a mental shake.

he can flirt all he wants, but what about your heart? you look up at him, and his face softens, his pupils huge.

“can you get us untangled?”

dick nods, whistling for trouble. he frees an arm and grabs trouble’s collar, guiding him back around so the leash falls to the sidewalk. you step back, taking a deep breath. you’re cold at the sudden loss of his body heat. it’s a harsh reminder of reality. you grab trouble’s leash, having him sit. you look at your ex boyfriend.

“thanks.” you take another deep breath. “can you promise me something, though?”

he nods, his face serious. “anything. anything at all.”

“promise you won’t break my heart again?” you hold out your pinky finger.

dick coughs, surprised at your words. he looks down, taking a shaky breath. he’s in disbelief, he’s ecstatic, he’s on top of the world, he…has a lot of apologizing to do.

when he looks back up to offer up his own pinky, his eyes are shining. the sight makes your heart melt. you take his finger in yours, beaming up at him.

he gives you a soft smile in return. “i promise.”

you take your hand back, feeling the most hopeful you have in a month.

a breeze picks up, and the whiff you get reminds you of your earlier predicament. you look down. dick looks down too.

shit. literally.

you forgot about the fact that trouble had used the sidewalk as a toilet.

“is that trouble’s?” he asks.

you nod, making a face. “i forgot the poop bags.”

“rookie mistake.” dick shakes his head, smiling. you look him up and down, and then turn, walking back the way you came.

“text me about that recipe!” you lift your hand in a wave.

“but-..uh, the shit?” he calls after you.

“that’s alllll you, baby!” you yell back, practically skipping away. you feel like you’re floating.

[fairmoephelia]

I CAN’T LOVE YOU HOW YOU WANT ME TO

richard siken // boygenius // tumblruser cruellesummer // boygenius // mitski // noah kahan // richard siken

[image description: seven images that read and appear as follows.

1. “If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.”

2. “I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to. I can’t love you how you want me to.”

3. an image of the salon d’hercule with torn edges, underneath it, text on lightly yellowed paper can be seen. on top of the image, there are separate words in capital letters with torn edges that read “always an angel, never a god”. the entire image is covered in small, yellow, reflective stars. in the corner, there is a label that reads “designed by @/cruellesummer”.

4. “I don’t know why I am the way I am, not strong enough to be your man, I tried, I can’t.”

5. “If you get to close and I’m not how you hoped, forgive my northern attitude. Oh, I was raised out in the cold.”

6. “Sorry, I don’t want your touch, it’s not that I don’t want you. Sorry, I can’t take your touch.”

7. “And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.”

end ID.]

[the-moon-will-mourn]

now i haven't finished the dream thieves yet (i'm like,,, 7 chapters away from finishing) and i think this may contain spoilers???? but i'm not too sure yet. i'm basically gonna word vomit. i'm sorry for not using any quotes, i wish i could but i only have the ebook version and a very limited storage space on my phone where i can only have ~two books downloaded

like a normal person, i enjoy listening to video essays, see what creators want to explain to their audience and leave with a certain view, try to come to my own arguments about certain points in the videos, see if i can apply some points to other aspects of my life etc etc. (this was the type of shi that helped me with my eng lit essays rip i miss alevels) and like a normal british citizen i looked up stuff about classism in the uk. in the end, i found a video essay about classism in general and how the ultra rich try to mimic being poor to get away from their hard issues that comes with being rich (which, frankly, is probably a lot less compared to someone who is working class).

recently, i was talking to my friend about specifics in the book about certain characters and i remember we went onto the convo of making music playlists for the characters. they said "it's gonna be hard for adam [...] cuz his whole thing is about being unknowable" and it always struck me with how unknowable he truly is when reading his character because his character is intrinsically linked to his working class background. (context: i'm a middle class child of immigrants who built themselves in the uk)

it's very clear the kind of social commentary stiefvater wanted to make using adam's character with how isolating and alienating it can be coming from a working class background trying to assimilate yourself into a society of those protected and privileged enough to not have any problems with accessing opportunities. how class is a huge obstacle between interpersonal relationships and feeling safe enough to be vulnerable with your issues with being working class. how difference in class can cause one-sided shame because of the meritocratic society we're living in. how, no matter how much money you earn or how many connections you can make, your attachment to your working class identity can be enough reason to aim for something supernaturally larger than yourself.

it's evident that other characters overlook adam's social class because he's a "self-made man" (or smth) and mainly because he's their friend: adam. however, when we get a chapter in his pov, class is a driving factor in how he interacts and views everyone. we can see the privilege gansey and ronan have for being able to not even consider class as an intimidating aspect about themselves to a normal person, but it's everything to adam in the sense that he feels like his earned money doesn't give him access to a similar respect.

now that i truly think about it, it was a good idea for adam not to join them in monmouth manufacturing because it just feels like they're... mocking him in an indirect way? they have the ability to choose to live in a nice place and instead chose to live in a random, run-down building because it seemed aesthetic. adam was forced to live in a rundown trailer because that's all they could have afforded. i know gansey had good intentions for wanting adam to join them, but everything that he likes as an aesthetic (monmouth manufacturing, the run-down camaro, eating mint leaves instead of gum) can seem like he's flaunting the fact he can choose that lifestyle without any consequences.

back to the point of the meritocratic society (which we usually assume in books that take place in a similar world as our own) creating shame because of their class: the assumption that because someone has worked hard to earn what they have gives them a right to be proud. but this is the opposite for adam as he fights with the fact that he could have maybe be seen as even more equal to gansey if he had just been born with wealth.

we can frame it as, maybe, despite gansey's desire to appear working class, it only broadens the distance between him and adam. it only worsens adam's difficult relationship with his class shame despite probably wanting to be more relatable or even laid-back.

when reading the second book after his sacrifice, i was confused as to why adam was so un-adam-like. i mean, in the first book i didn't really understand him because of his huge insistance that his class makes him inherently inferior to everyone he surrounds himself with and i don't see class as an issue myself.

however, his sacrifice basically was watering the seed of ambition that was planted when he decided to aim for aglionby. it becamse clearer to me how much this opportunity to be superior, even if it's supernatural and terrifying, is important for him understanding in what he thinks he lacks. by those thoughts of what he lacks, he thought that this chance to be cabeswater's channel could be a way to compensate for his inferior social class. or something.

anyways, thank you for coming to my ted talk. this is not proofread, and my sister keeps nagging at me to shower. also i simp for gansey do not think this is me trying mischaracterising him i'm just trying to understand the theme of class in this series and having gansey as a figure to compare to is literally integral.

[asterdeer]

“i’m no longer funny because i miss the way you laugh” there’s a richgene fic in this line somehow i know it and i will excavate it

[chrrywvea]

you open your door and see this what do you do

am i leaving? nO

[fuckyeahcoelacanths]

A strange discovery made on a fishing trawler just off the east coast of South Africa in 1938 has some wondering, could the Loch Ness Monster be real after all?

Come for the coelacanth, stay for the Loch Ness monster theories...

[blumamiu]

nessa barrett. it girl.

[waugh-bao]

Keith, Charlie, and Martin Scorsese (2008)

[bitterseaproduction]

I know that he doesn’t have the Stark grey eyes, but his resemblance to Kit Harrington really makes me want to say Fra Fee would make a prime Cregan Stark fancast.

[astrovian]

god just everything about this interview is a sucker-punch to the gut:

- RA calling out toxic masculinity and at the same time the just abject sadness that comes across in his statement that he experienced that so much in his career that it made him realise

- the fact that he STILL SOMEHOW thinks that he's both not attractive but also that he's mostly only been cast for his attractiveness and the fucking unsaid depressing undertone of his concept of self-image and self-worth and just the fucking THERAPY this lad needs to have because seriously sir this must have fostered such self-loathing and terrible body image issues over the years and I just can't and I desperately need RA to know that he could have the head of a donkey and the body of a 80 year old woman and we wouldn't care as much as we joke about being sad that you don't want to take your top off anymore please please please don't do so if you don't want to because we don't care we'll watch your stuff anyway

- the fact that he thinks being openly out is not a big deal because it's not like he's been discrimated against when it kinda would be a big deal for the LGBTQIA+ community who support him but also at the same time how we really should pressure him with this in any way

[sidonius5]

𝒜𝓃 𝒜𝓇𝓀𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓈 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓅𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝗛𝗲𝗻𝗿𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝘂𝗯𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 (𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝) 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. ℋ𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒾𝓃𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒾𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝒾𝒷𝒾'𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒. 𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃, 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝓈𝑜𝓁𝓊𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒾𝒻𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃'𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝒾𝓃𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹/𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝓊𝓈 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒. 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒, 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓈 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝐘𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐭 𝐊𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨. ℐ'𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝐌𝐫. 𝐊𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓈 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐚 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑒 ℐ 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒾𝓃, 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐧 (1979). 𝗛𝗲𝗻𝗿𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝘂𝗯𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃, 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒽𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓊𝒷𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓈 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓊𝓅𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝓎𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓂, 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂. ℐ 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝓎, 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

ex boyfriend!dick grayson is distraught.

it’s been two weeks, three days, ten hours, and seven minutes since the two of you broke up. not that anyone is counting.

his days are spent with him walking around like a zombie.

batman has to practically yell into the comms link to even get a reply during patrol. dick’s not even sure he’s been putting his suit on properly. two nights ago he only went out with one escrima stick. he almost lost a fight with some goons, and one of them asked him if he had a death wish. he went home bruised, his lip bloodied, wondering if maybe he did have a death wish.

he tried going out to the store. he was out of shaving cream and eggs. dick made it as far as the produce section. he had a staring contest with the apples for ten minutes, and left without buying anything.

the first week he kept wearing hats. seeing his hair in the mirror practically made his eye twitch with the memory of you running your hands through it. he could almost hear you cooing over how nice it looks long.

“dick, you look so handsome! are you growing it out? dick, you look so handsome! are you growing it out? dick, you look so handsome! are you growing it out? dick, you look so handsome! are you growing it out? dick you look so—”

he cuts it a week later, sick of his brothers making fun of him for the hats and sick of your voice in his ear.

he barely touches his hair now, his hands nothing compared to the way yours felt on his scalp. almost every other night he cries in the shower, thinking about the way your eyes would flash when you’d offer to wash his hair for him. you’d always bite your lip in this cute way when you slicked all his hair back, the soap fluffy in your hands. you’d wiggle your eyebrows and call him distinguished, and then pull it up into a mohawk and tell him to call up jason and ask to join the outlaws. a few nights ago he made the mistake of looking at your razor, still on the shower caddy. he cried so hard his head hurt the next morning like he’d had a hangover.

his family stops whispering when he enters rooms, their worry and concern growing more obvious by the day. alfred won’t stop feeding him. bruce keeps looking him over, his eyebrows furrowed. jason left at least four self help books on his coffee table and in his cubby in the batcave. tim took over all of the video surveillance batman had assigned him, waving him away when dick tried to insist it was okay, and that he could do it. steph wouldn’t stop high fiving him? cass hugged him, at least three times. wally tried to get him to go out, but dick drank one beer and left, walking home in the pouring rain like he was in a music video. wally took the hint, but started texting him good morning, every day. even damian stopped picking on him, instead asking to spar just so dick would have something else to think about. it didn’t work, obviously, but he’d mussed damian’s hair, giving him a wan smile on the way out of the practice room. he’d left immediately after.

he spent the rest of the day at home thinking about how he’d always let you win when the two of you would play wrestle. you had this expression you’d make right before, where your eyes would squint a little and the corner of your mouth would turn up. the whole time you’d dated, dick was never able to figure out if it was because you were about to play fight or fuck. he loved it.

his nights are full of tossing and turning.

he spent the first week not washing his sheets, sleeping face down on your side of the bed. the second week he washed his sheets every night, trying to rid his nose of the phantom smell of you. the pillowcase you used is shoved deep into his linen cabinet. he now sleeps on the couch. he had to wash all of his t shirts too, the ones you’d steal to wear to bed with nothing under. he rummaged through his dresser in his old room in Wayne Manor hoping to find ones to wear that didn’t smell like you. ones that didn’t make him think of you pulling them off in the middle of the night, to then sink down onto his cock. you’d toss it onto the ground while you straddled him, smiling down at him.

he couldn’t sit and watch tv without thinking of all the times he’d gone down on you on the couch.

couldn’t brush his teeth without seeing the last time he’d bent you over the sink, thrusting into you while your breath fogged the bathroom mirror.

he couldn’t go out to eat at any of the restaurants by his apartment without seeing the two of you at a table, you stealing one of his fries or swapping sandwiches to try the other’s order.

he still couldn’t go to the little family-owned grocery store, not when the old couple that ran it knew both of you by name.

couldn’t look at his keys without seeing the keychains you’d bought him.

his every waking moment was spent with thinking of you, all you, always you.

you were everywhere,

he thought about how you’d beamed when he’d first asked you out, your eyes shining when you’d nodded yes.

how surprised you’d looked when he finally told you he was nightwing, and how you made him pinky swear to be careful.

he couldn’t appreciate enough how you had always been gracious when he’d show up late to dates, bruce always needing his help with something or other.

he thought of the way you’d looked washing the dishes, up to your elbows in suds when he’d roll in from the window, coming up behind you to kiss you and push you over to the couch while he’d finished the dishes, still in his nightwing suit.

what you’d looked like when you opened the promise ring he got you, and showed you his matching one. you’d both gotten teary eyed then.

the way you tried to hide the fact you’d been crying when he came home from patrol one night.

when your expression would change after he’d tell you he had to miss a family dinner at your mom’s house. you thought he wouldn’t notice but c’mon, he was trained by batman.

how your face had crumpled like his heart did when he had realized what he needed to do. when he had said he loved you more than anything, but knew that you deserved to be treated better, and that he couldn’t give you that right now. couldn’t give you all of his time like he wanted to.

you’d accepted it, nodding while tears slipped down your cheeks silently, walking out of his apartment to go stay at your mom’s house.

it’d been two weeks, three days, ten hours, and seven minutes, yet dick hadn’t accepted it. and your toothbrush was still next to his. so he didn’t think you’d really accepted it either.

but yet, you were now nowhere.

[jr-verse]

I had a though of Vanessa (FNAF Security Breach) and Ness (Earthbound). But their clothes are swapped and... well you can guess the second reason why I did this.

[voluptuarian]

Secrets of the Dead: Resurrecting Richard III

Was assigned this for class-- I've watched a lot of historical shows and documentaries over my life, but I'm not sure I've seen one where everyone involved was living their Dream as much as the people involved in this did

[jeandejard3n]

Road to Perdition Ambience