howlingday

[tunastime]

No Night that Doesn't End

Jimmy is the sheriff of Tumble Town. Everyone knows that. Some people like it--some don't. Whether or not they like it is a problem he's not really worried about. Right now, his town is empty. So is his farm, his wells, his home, and his heart. And that is a much bigger problem. Deep in the stuffing of his chest, Jimmy knows something he's pretending he's forgotten: Every desert town goes. It's just a matter of when.

so I wrote this back in july when I was really having jimmy feelings and now I'm back to having jimmy feelings. good grief!! it's fine!!

(3532 words) (read it on ao3!)

Through the window, a pale, yellow-white beam of light cuts through, illuminating the dust that filters through the edges, making the perfect tile on the sanded wood floor. Jimmy stares at the ceiling. He thinks he’s watching the barely-there oscillations of the ceiling fan above him, turning ever so slightly in the still air. But he’s not. Instead, his tired, achy eyes bore into the wooden slats of the roof above him, and his hand rests against his chest. He can feel the thudding of his pulse against the side of his wrist, against the pads of his fingers, as well as he can feel the sleep-warm fabric of his shirt. He sighs, taking in a breath that pushes at the limits of his chest, no matter how small those limits are. It almost doesn’t seem worth it. But he does it on instinct. He stretches, the spaces between his bones expanding and contracting as they pop and settle and he settles, too, back against the soft mattress.

Staring into the ceiling, Jimmy lifts a hand to wipe the sleep from the corner of his eyes. He blinks, and the grey-gold room comes into better focus. He can at least count the knots in the wood, now, if he so desires to go back to sleep. But his body settles with a nervous energy as he lies still, like a vibration from the soft curve of the arch of his foot to the hair at the line of his forehead. He scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, runs one hand through his hair. He shifts to sit up. As he does, the small grey shape beside him stretches awake, and so does the shape beside that. Two pairs of eyes blink back at him before both cats resettle themselves. Jimmy watches the tip of Norman’s tail flick against the quilt he’s laid out on. 

Jimmy moves in one motion. His socked feet hit the cold wood floor. He sits there, hands pressed to the mattress, fingers curled over the edge. His knees sit apart. His shoulders are bent forward. The world waits for him to rise from bed, only for a second, as the light from the window catches dust and Jimmy digs his fingers into the sheets he’s rumpled. They’re soft and worn—he’s not sure if he’s noticed the texture before now, as he runs his thumb over the seam of the mattress, where feathers and cotton and sewn edges meet. After a moment, his hand jerks away, finds his chest instead. There’s still a pulse there, and still a breath as well.

The world is still very still, despite his lingering movement. He feels as if he’s puncturing a bubble as he stands, pulling back the sheets to fix them. His fingers run over stitching. The world stays that same quiet even as he pulls away from the beside and his feet shuffle against the wooden floors. He pads to the dresser, searching for something clean—white shirts, blue shirts, black shirts. Jeans. Any combination of colors. The top of the dresser comes away dusty on his hand as he braces against it. He leaves a streak of grey on the blue jeans he pulls on. His blue shirt stays partially unbuttoned and untucked, and the shirt is cool against his skin. Skin, he promises. He can feel it. He combs back through his hair with his fingers, and he can feel that too, each curly, soft fluff of hair. He keeps combing as he wanders the room. From behind him, he hears Norman and Flick wade and bound over the rumpled sheets. One of them collides with his ankle as he turns back to the bedside. Jimmy only hears the jingle of his collar as he leaps back onto the bed. Reaching out, Jimmy runs his hand down Norman’s back. Norman turns, bumping against his hand. 

As he stands at the bed, Jimmy catches movement in the spotty, dusty mirror. He stands for a second, eyes focused on the edge of the dark wood. Through the grime, he can see the rise of his chest, where an unbuttoned shirt gives to a soft collarbone, the outline of his wrist and down his thumb. Other than the general shape of his body, no minute details stand out. For a fraction of a moment, he thinks he sees the glint of his eyes, much too bright in the sunlight that shifts to catch him. He takes in a sharp breath and drags his eyes from the dusty surface. It’ll keep collecting dust, that’s what it’ll do.

Jimmy wanders his way downstairs, tucking in the tail end of his white-trimmed blue shirt. The air is still cool downstairs, even as Jimmy lights the stove and hears it click, and even as the kettle comes to a rolling boil. He listens to the water against the tin. His stomach pangs. He chews the inside of his bottom lip as he opens the cabinet, mouth twisting in a frown. 

The morning goes like that. The silence is cut through by the sound of toast on the stove and jars of jam being opened. There’s a clunk when the pan gets dropped into the sink unceremoniously and the clink of dishes as the cats are fed and the teacup finds its way to the table. In a warm beam of light against the kitchen table, Jimmy eats breakfast, and Norman stands on the windowsill, and the warm thing curling in his chest hasn’t died yet. Tipping back the rest of his tea, Jimmy wanders into the living room. The cup sits on the oak desk jammed up against the wall—the impromptu office that stood before the jailhouse was built. If he were to dig through the cabinets, he’s sure the first land deeds would be sitting at the bottom, or that his official notice, the first time he was sworn in as sheriff, would be, too. Lately, he’s not even worn the badge. Every time he looks at it, the heavy pit in his stomach grows a little heavier, a little colder. Instead, Jimmy drags his hand over the smooth, dark surface, and picks the hat off the side of the chair. 

The Bowl is still a cool red-grey as Jimmy steps out. The quietness settles as the sun starts to climb in the sky. With it, grey clouds sit on the horizon, just above the lip of the Bowl, like a taunt. Jimmy rounds the side of the house, searching for a spade and till. The side garden, just a handful of dead plants, now, had wormed its way up to the top of his to-do list. So now, spade in hand, bandana pulled over his nose, he sets his hat on his head and sinks to the red dirt.

On the edge of the mesa, thunder rolls. Jimmy stiffens. His spade is stuck pointing down into the dry earth, a small pile of crisp herbs beside his hip. When he stares up into the greying sky, he feels his neck ache in protest. His face feels warm with exertion, and his arms are red with dirt and sticky with sweat. He can feel the tan worsening on his neck and arms, even through the shirt. The thunder rumbles again. He turns to it, nerves sharp, suddenly more alert than he’s been in days, like a haze had suddenly, momentarily, lifted off of him. He scrambles up, darting to the side of his house. On the edge of the building, tucked under the siding, is a large, blue barrel, faded on one side where the sun had hit it over and over. He pushes the barrel through the dirt, shoving it under where the siding meets the rain gutter above. He darts back to the small shed situated opposite of the house. There, he drags out large, heavy buckets, tugging on the ropes until they give across the dry earth. He pulls them into place at the other corner of the house, and falls back in the dirt. 

Rising quickly to a wobbly stand, Jimmy looks up into the grey, darkening sky, and sighs out a long breath. He dusts his freshly-raw hands on the sides of his jeans, trying to beat off the dust and dirt as he wanders to the porch. There, on the step, just below the awning, he sits, and kicks his boots out.

The sky opens up. When it does, Jimmy sticks his hand out, and the first big, wet raindrop falls into the palm of his hand.

He stares into the rain as it begins to fall.

It soaks the soil until the dry brown earth turns dark, until small pools start to form as the sky goes from grey to black. Jimmy stares into the falling rain.

The first time the sky opened up and poured its heart into the fishbowl, people celebrated. They dragged out big buckets to fill, looking for pots, pans, and bowls to supplement them. Children stood ankle deep in rich, dark mud, soaking wet. The cats stayed tucked under the bed, but Jimmy Solidarity, boots off, pants cuffed past his ankles, was also standing in it. He let the rain soak his white shirt through and didn’t even mind that his hair was plastered to his face. It was before a time where his skin felt sticky and cold when damp, before a time where it was too much to wash more than just his hair, or wipe down his face. He turned circles in that storm, letting the warm rain run down his arms and hands and fingers, let it darken his jeans, let the kids drag him about, stomping in the mud. Somewhere, under an awning, somewhere he found himself laughing, was a liquor bottle and food and his hat, safe from the rain, under the watchful eye of a deputy. Soon enough there was no one who wasn’t soaked. The cobbles only stayed damp until the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, but the rain barrels stayed full until the next time. The next time there was singing, dancing, more food and more bottles. More familiar faces, tucking themselves under awnings so as to not risk the rain. A smile on that face. A warm body he knew, to pass food to, and to laugh with.

But every desert town goes. 

It's sewn into the soil, the deep red and orange earth nothing grows in. It's written in the dry wells with cracked bricks. It's on the wind, where the taste of rain is just a memory. Maybe the lights go out first, or the rivers dry, or the plants die, or the trades stop. It doesn't matter what kills it—every desert town becomes a ghost town eventually. It's just a matter of when.

Jimmy remembers the first time they asked him to come with them. The day was hot, baking the soil to near ash, heating every stone hot enough to cook on. The days were hot—always, relentlessly, from noon up until dinner, when the red-yellow sun slipped down the side of the bowl and the wind started up, bringing a cool breeze that tasted like rain but never gave it over. There was always the linger of dampness in the air as it settled. But on that day, the sun was up nearly 3/4ths of the way in the sky, and someone was packing a market wagon outside of the stall Jimmy himself had set up first. The sign was loose and faded now, and the barrels were empty of gunpowder, but he'd filled it—he'd filled it a week ago, hadn't he? No matter—someone was packing and it was packing to leave, not packing to go home and light a little stove fire and make a cup of tea. 

Jimmy held a rust lipped, tin watering can with the dredges of dusty water. It was for the saguaro cactus on the porch, the thing dark green and heavy in its pot, stretching up its fleshy stalk toward the roof of the porch, a small, wilted desert flower on its top. He was staring at two hands tying a knot in frayed rope around the metal grommets. As he had watched, guilt sinking in his chest, his leatherworker had turned toward him, a tight expression to his face. 

The leatherworker had spent too many hours teaching Jimmy how to punch grommets into leather, to work the fabric until it became soft and pliable, on how to keep his boots sealed and clean, how to make them shiny, how to buff them to keep the grit off. He’d followed his careful hands to fix frayed fringe and tie leads, to keep the cracks out of Arrow’s saddle. Hell—the leatherworker had taught him how to catch horses in the first place. Half of his success with Bullseye could be chalked up to that alone. Jimmy’s eyes pass over the tight expression wrought across his face, finding the fine lines under his eyes, hand raised to shield from the sun, red hot above the bowl. He watches him blink the sun from his eyes and frown, mouth curving down sharply as he shakes his head.

"Sheriff,” He says, in a voice Jimmy can only half remember. “'s a damn shame you won't come with. You’re a fine craftsman."

Jimmy swallows, but for a moment, he isn’t sure what exactly he might be swallowing down—disappointment, mostly, maybe grief, the taste of both lingering on the back of his tongue. He shrugs. The leatherman’s never told him he was good at the work he did. He guesses it was maybe implied—and now that he thinks about it, he can remember nods, or the look in his eye. Jimmy wishes the can were still in his hands so he would have something to do with them, besides let them hang awkwardly at his sides before they find his back pockets. There, he finds a loose string, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. He says:

“You know me,” and tries to smile. “As long as people stay, I’ll stay, too. ‘Ve got a duty to uphold, ‘n all.”

The leatherworker shakes his head, the same smile reflected on his face.

“Better man than me, son,” he says. He stands with his arms folded now, still squinting, but keeps his eyes downcast, away from the glare of the fishbowl around him. He sighs, watching his boots in the dirt. Jimmy chews at the inside of his cheek. His fingers dig into the denim of his pockets.

“Sure you won’t be back?” He tries, shrugging his shoulders. Another sigh from the leatherworker.

“I don’t want to leave…” he says, letting out a tired, weak laugh. “Trust me. But we’re not sellin’ anything, anymore.” He looks up, meeting Jimmy’s eye, likely for the final time. Jimmy remembers that gaze, the first one that looked at him, rather than through him. One of many times that he felt more like himself than he ever had. Where he wasn’t just ropy hair and a soft body, despite how many of these people had become that way. He feels the words like stones in his stomach, but he lets them sit. He has no other choice. The leatherman nods, offers a smile, and extends his hand. Jimmy takes it.

“‘M sure I’ll be back around.”

It was an unfortunate pattern that continued long into the rainless season. As the air grew hot and dusty, and rain showers grew less and less frequent, it became heavily apparent that the town couldn’t survive. He’d gone and lost a deputy, he’d lost his friends, he’d lost a gunpowder farm to the chaos of the rest of the world. Even boxed in with an artificial sky, there was nothing he could do to keep the town from trickling out. It wasn’t a steady thing. People seemed to know right when they needed to leave. And it was always the same look, the same tug at him to come with them. It was empty, wasn’t it? The water well. The gunpowder farms. The stocks. Himself. If it was so empty, wouldn’t he come with to fill it somewhere else? Would he rather watch it crumble?

It’s noon.

The mesa air, even into the canyon where the jailhouse sits, is dry and heavy and still. It isn't quiet, though. It brings sounds of movement. Jimmy catalogs the sounds, tracing the inside of his mouth with his tongue, feeling the ridges of the back of his teeth. He worries his quill pen between his fingers. The metal nib digs into the side of his finger, making an impression where it sits as he writes, and he feels that out too, alongside his teeth, alongside the heat seeping in through the wooden slats. At least inside, the heat doesn't get to him as fast. The fan above him makes lazy oscillations in the slight breeze through the windows. He can feel a line of sweat down the back of his neck. As he signs his letter, there comes a high whistle. He stands from the desk with a start, even in his daze of work, and pulls his hat on his head as he steps out of the door and onto the orange dirt.

A woman stands by a cart, a few steps away, soothing a horse. He can tell there are other people in the wagon the horse pulls, but he can’t see them. A second woman at the front of the cart doesn’t face him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she’s holding something in. He knows the woman by the cart. He can’t remember her face. But he knows her. He does. He swallows. He knows the look on her face. He takes off his hat, and sets it on the banister. His hair sticks up. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her glassy eyes.

"Oh, Sheriff,” she says, sighing. Her voice is sad. “Won't you come with?"

He shakes his head. His heart has already leapt into his throat, as much as he tries to swallow it back down. Talking forces it back up over and over, and he can’t stop the words from pouring out of him. He never really could. He never learned how to hold his tongue. 

"You know I can't do that..." he tries. The woman’s tone takes on an edge of desperation that has him blinking, swallowing down something that isn’t just his heart anymore.

"Please,” she says, spreading her hands. She steps a bit closer. She’s within arms distance, now, or, at least this is how he remembers her. “This place has nothin' for you."

He shakes his head, again. It’s the only thing he can seem to make himself do. 

"I can't—” he manages. He drops his head, staring at his boots. “I can't."

The woman touches his arm. Her hand is warm against his sleeve, but he doesn’t feel it like he should. 

"Please."

"I'm sorry,” he says. There, the woman pulls away. She touches his cheek, just briefly, studies his face as he looks her over. She smiles, profound and sad and a bit far away, and Jimmy thinks the look of her face up close will ever be etched into his memory. He sniffles. Her thumb drags over his cheek.

"You're a good man, Sheriff,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. “You keep that cactus alive, you hear me?"

Jimmy nods, sighing wetly as she lets him go. He laughs, the same damp sound from his chest, watching her turn away from him, watching her pet the nose of her horse as he nods again, forcing a wobbly smile onto his face.

“I will,” he says. “I promise!”

She laughs. It’s the clearest sound Jimmy’s ever heard. It’s clear, even in the fog of memory.

Jimmy watches the cart as the road turns from cobble to dirt, as the dust settles and the strong, temperate horse gains speed, as someone watches back, before the image is too blurry to see right. He turns back to the jailhouse. Something curls and dies in his chest, and for the life of him, he hopes it isn’t something important.

Cicadas start to sing again in the crisp, dead trees.

Jimmy blinks.

In the rain, on the porch, shielded from the thunder and the downpour, he sits. The memories are simply memories, nothing more. He watches a raindrop hit his boot, and pulls his legs in. His knees tuck up to his chest. He loops his arms around them, holding to each elbow, and sets his chin on one knee. The rain falls, loud, blocking out the sound of anything else. The town is still as empty as it was when he first sat. He is still a man of cloth and rope and stuffing begging to be flesh and blood again. And he’s still the sheriff of an empty town he refused to abandon. 

Jimmy stares into the falling rain. He hopes something in it will fix everything. But he knows that’s not the case.

[llamahearted]

two people will go through similar things & learn to cope in different ways

print ♥︎ song

[dcxdpdabbles]

For your adoptive son au all I can think about is the media storm that’s about to destroy these two 😭

Like when the news comes out everyone’s gonna bash Danny, saying things like “always knew he was shady” or “figures, rich people are all bad” and then praising Dick for going undercover and revealing the monster

And then BAM the accusations are false! All the kids that were on his file of “trafficked” kids all came to testify in Danny’s defense!

Then because the media needs someone to hate all eyes turn to Dick. Because “these are serious accusations he’s practically ruined Danny’s career!”

Tbh when all the court stuff is done I totally imagine Danny severing any and all ties to Wayne company, not because he’s petty but because it genuinely hurts to be connected to a company that belongs to his exes family

Like this is gonna destroy Danny and Dick but the media is gonna make it so much worse for them

The batfam is gonna kick themselves for honestly not digging a little deeper and interviewing a few of the kids on file before straight up turning him in, they probably think they ruined Danny’s life with these accusations

Danny probably doesn’t care that much about the company at this point, he’s just sad that the man he thought he was having a genuine relationship with turned out to be a fake and probably never loved him at all 💔

Despite the pain, Dick keeps an eye on the news, waiting for the announcement of Crowne's arrest to be announced. He went back to bed after taking some photos of the journals. He laid next to the man one that was profiting off of children.

He stared at the ceiling, feeling a sick sort of numb. Unwillingly he thought back to all the times he had had the stray thought that Crowne wasn't evil.

That the bats had it wrong. How could a man as kind and dear as he does something so horrid? Dick had allowed himself to be relived with each failed month of searching for evdidnce.

He can admit it now. He had prayed that Crowne was innocent and had conducted his investigation not nearly as through as he should have.

He had.

Crowne even keeps a record of who and where the children were sold to. The man he fallen in love with was bookkeeping his crimes as easily as he did for his company.

The following day, Crowne- he had been Danny only a few hours ago.- had made him breakfast. The same way his mother used to make for Dick, admitting with a blush that he contacted Harley Cirius to ask for the recipe.

He made his heart swell and then break in the same bite. Dick played his role through the breakfast. His face felt like plastic, the smile he sent Crowne slimly, and he all but ran out of that house.

The house that, in another life, they would have likely raise a family in.

Don't think about it. Dick hissed at himself, tears filling his eyes as he drove away. Bruce had edited out the evidence and would break in while Crowne was working to capture the record books. They would meet in Commissioner Gordon's office, where Dick would turn in his lover. Not my lover. It was never real.

If he tells himself that, maybe he will believe it.

The commissioner had been grim faced as Dick broke down in his office, speaking through wrenched sobs and broken words of the journals he had found. He didn't even need to pretend to be a sobbing mess.

Dick doesn't think he's felt this terrible in a long time. It felt worse than when he and Bruce had their fights. At least then he could also feel anger. Now, he only feels pain, grief, betyal and shattered hope. Bruce- playing the part of a worried father- rubbed his back and anchored him through the moment.

The story they went with was that a few weeks ago, Dick started to suspect that Crowne was cheating on him. After learning about his work schedule, he noticed his boyfriend was always busy with non-work business.

He brought it up with Crowne, but the other man would often dance around the subject. After a while of this, Dick had been unable to help snoop around, where he stumbled across the journals.

At first, he assumed the books were for the many children-based charities that Crowne ran and didn't think they were too important. He continues to date Crowne after not finding any cheating evidence. But Dick could not help about those strange journals or Crowne's cagey behavior about his wearabouts.

Dick had searched the children's names, only to find them all matching missing children notices. He realized what Crowne was doing and had gone straight to Bruce, freaking out.

Bruce had taken them to Gordon since the man was such a close family friend, and they were worried what Crowne would do to Dick if he learned what Dick had discovered.

Gordon had assured them that they would remain anonymous until the trial,getting the warrants and taking the necessary steps to arrest Crowne. Feeling numb, Dick had been taken back to the Wayne Manor.

Bruce fretted around him, unsure what to do with his son, who had obviously fallen for a monster. Jason and Damian tried in their own way too help too, but Dick could not feel up to any of it.

He climbs into his room, muffling his sobs into his pillow, feeling sick and wrong to his stomach. He tossed and turneduntil Crowne's voice whispered I think I love you, Dick and he as if his world was ending.

A few seconds later, he's racing into the bathroom, hurling the breakfast Crowne had made him. It swirled around in the toilet as Dick gagged and gasped, mourning what he had lost for this mission.

The sweet kind man he fell in love with was dead to him.

"The worst part," Dick thinks he confessed to Bruce between tears and throwing up. His father had come racing when Jason reported the noises coming from Dick's bathroom. "Is that I was the one who killed him."

It's been three days.

He had texted Crowne lying about going on a trip and barely responded to the messages he received in return. He hadn't gone out on patrol in days and had barely ventured out of his room.

Sleep evaded because all he dreamed about was Crowne's sweet smiles, gentle hugs, and laughing eyes. His nightmares were filled with Crowne's smug smirk, surrounded by screaming children in cages. The worst nights were when Crowne would kiss him, pushing him against the cages as children cling to Dick's legs screaming and crying in haunting tones. why? why? why? Why do you love him? Look what he's done to us! Why!? Save us!

Dick woke with his own scream trapped in his throat and his arms reaching for a man who he shouldn't want anymore.

Now he, in the present, he sat before his tv watching the News. The lights were all off, the curtains drawn tightly closed. His family worried about him, but they all agree to watch the moment by himself, if only to spare his diginty.

Gordon had sent the message that the warrents were approve and proof had been dropped off by Batman after bringing it to the hero's attention.

They would be arresting Crowne.

Dick would watch it live. See with his own eyes, and his own ears what his lies had exposed.

"Breaking news," The anchor suddenly says, staring intently into the camera. Besides her, a small window shows the familiar front entrance of Crowne's company offices. Dick clenches his fist into the blankets he has wrapped around himself. "Danny Crowne, Owner, CEO and head developer for his family company, Crowne Co. has just been arrested on accusations of human trafficking. We go live to Crowne Co Admin bulding"

The window expands to the entire screen, and Dick feels his stomach turn into horrific mini-whirl pools as various camera crew scramble for a clear view. There is a crowd of unhappy citizens being held back by the police.

Someone had leaked what crimes Crowne had done. The news had spread fast enough that he was deeply hated by the people who had once cheered onhis name.

Crowne is led out in handcuffs by two scowling police officers. His suit is rumpled, and three large bruises are forming on his face- probably due to Officer Black, whose sister was sold to human traffickers when he was a kid-but it means nothing to his expression of devastation.

He looks to be in shock, staring down at his bound hands with dead seat eyes as if he was unsure of what he was seeing. The crowd starts screaming the moment they catch sight of him. Loud curses and swears are all aimed at the man who stumbles his way into the police car.

The doors of Crowne headquarters burst open by a screaming child. Timothy Drake is held back by officers as he desperately screams for his older brother. He starts fighting with all his tiny might as a woman from CPS drags him away.

The reporting journalist for the News outlet doesn't stop speaking as Crowne is led away, looking to be sobbing into his hands as the Police drive away. Drake is thrown into another car, banging on the windows and screaming so much his voice is raw.

The two would likely never see each other again.

Dick's vision blurs with more tears.

He wishes this would have made him angry. He's good with anger. He knows his rage. This grief is consumingly painful.

She outlines the accusations against Crowne, explaining that Gotham's finest had gotten a tip from an unknown source about the possible missing children. Dick slumps into his bed ice racing down his arms and legs, leaving each limb in pins and needles.

He can't stop picturing Crowne's form hunched over in tears, glowing in those red and blue lights.

"There is a gag order on the investigation, " the woman says, mic close to her face and looking grim. "We will keep the people updated with any new information released as we wait for Crowne's trail. Back to you Susan."

The screen flashes back to the old news member, who makes one single comment of disgust for Crowne before moving on to a string of cyber attackes by a unknown hacker.

Dick stops listening due to the rining that build up in his ears. It's done. Crowne was arrested. He will be go through his trail, be found guilty and locked up for the rest of his life.

Batman, Robin, and Sparrow would be hunting down the people involved in the ring, rescuing the missing children. The story was over. The villian defeated and the heros had won.

Yet, Dick felt that he could never live to see a happily ever after. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to feel happy.

______________________________________________________

Days blend into each other. Dick isn't sure how much time passes with him lying in his room, too exhausted to get upand go about his day. His family crowds around him, speaking in low, worried tones.

Jason tries to read to him. In bursts of awareness, he discusses the plot but most days, Dick can only find the energy to only stare at him.

Damian, still trying to find his footing in the manor, brings his cat- Alfred- to cuddle against Dick's chest. He doesn't speak much but the purring of his pe helps some sensations return.

Bruce spent most of his time petting Dick's hair and whispering apologies. For the fighting. For the war, he brought him into. For making him due something that had broken Dick's heart. Dick tells him between sobs that he forgives him and that he's sorry too.

Alfred just provids support, tea and stories of his own lost broken heart.

Dick can feel himself rot around in his room but can't bring himself to care. Not even when Bruce finally panics enough to invite the Teen Titians to speak to him. His friends arrive between waves of consciousness, forcing food down his throat and pushing him into the shower.

He isn't aware of how Crowne's trial is going. Walley doesn't think it is a good idea to keep up with it, blocking it from all his outlets. He's the only one he would be allowed to do that.

It leaves Dick in the dark, and suddenly the world looks so much colder. It is hard to remember the world is still spinning outside of the Manor.

Dick closes his eyes, sinking into his mattress, drifting away among the worried chattered of his friends. Thankfully, the nightmares have stopped. The memoriess too.

All that greets him is the blissful nothing of darkness.

____________________________________________________________

"You did this." A voice hisses, snapping Dick from his blank stare at the wall. Raven and Kori had just stepped out after magically him clean and had gone to go get him food.

How many days has it been since he left his room? Dick can't remember. It's been a while; his body feels weak. His friends' and family's eyes have grown increasingly frantic in worry.

He twists his head to find a small figure in his doorway. It's not any of his younger brothers but someone dressed in all black. The bottom half of their face is covered by a black cloth, leaving their burning blue eyes alight with hatred in plain sight.

A intruder.

Dick should be worried about that, shouldn't he? He can't find the energy to be.

"He trusted you. He loved you. And you did this to him," The figure spats, striding forward, hatred dripping from his words. "They're investigating my parents too. The police think they helped Danny and took me away from them. My life is ruined because of you."

He stands over his figure now, holding a needle. Dick wonders if he's going to kill him. He can't find it in himself to care. Is that not an alarming thought?

But he doesn't feel fear. In fact, Dick can't feel anything at all. He makes no sound as the needle breaks the skin of his neck, nor when the figure leans in to whisper. "It's only fair I ruin yours in turn, right?"

Dick slowly gives into the blissful darkness as more figures enter the room, surrounding his body and lifting it off the bed. The last thing he sees is the thrown picture frame, one of the intruders throwing onto the sheets.

It holds the smiling faces of Dick and Crowne on their last date.

[skateboardtotheheart]

there is just something about the difference between edwin's love interests and having the cat king's reaction to edwin in hell being "i'll be waiting when he gets back" vs charles "no version of this where i don't come get you" rowland convincing a powerful trans-dimensional being to open a door to hell just so he could get him back

i am insane

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dungeon Meshi: The RPG

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Jazz makes a deal with Desiree after finding her brother in their parent’s basement. And it’s not a pretty sight.

Her deal: Desiree gets a slightly longer leash (in a matter of speaking) as long as Danny and Jazz are safe. (Or something like that. Point is, she made a deal)

I wish this never happened and that Danny and I were safe somewhere else!

There’s a snap of fingers, a bright flash, then she’s outside in an unfamiliar city with sirens blaring and people wailing as a scarecrow runs by with some sort of gas, chased by someone dressed like Vlad adjacent except all black with a weird looking bat symbol on his chest.

Not normal, but also not the weirdest thing she’s seen.

But there’s no sign of Danny.

Desiree looks at Jazz and smiles bitterly, “I never said you’d be safe together.” And disappears.

Meanwhile, Danny wakes up screaming in an alley until he realizes he is not in pain and somehow has no wounds from their parents. His screams attract the attention of a man walking by, who comes to investigate, Danny decides to go invisible right in front of him which was dumb but he was injured just a couple seconds ago so cut him some slack. It really should have freaked the guy out, but he just has an astonished look on his face before also turning invisible.

Or: Jazz is sent to Gotham and Danny is sent to Coast City. Jazz becomes an unwilling part of scarecrow’s scheme (could be any villain) and is saved by a bat (any bat, although I prefer Red Hood or Robin) and Danny accidentally showed Martian Manhunter his powers.

Could work with Superman too in Metropolis. He could pick up a dumpster and throw it at Clark and Clark would calmly catch it while Danny is babbling/apologizing for getting scared and throwing something that could have killed the man, then slowly everything clicks and he disappears, leaving Clark Kent to investigate.

(Also background: Danny has just been told he will be the future Ghost King in this and Jazz was told by Clockwork that she would have a difficult decision and a difficult future in store but that it will be good for them and for the realms. Jazz doesn’t believe in fortune tellers, especially vague ones and says so to Clockwork’s face which cracks a smile. I’d personally write it as a Hardcover ship, but honestly if anyone wants to yoink this and do something else with it, I’d be okay with that too!)

[yourlocalabomination]

I am not immune to funny crackships.

+ Bonus

[silverwhittlingknife]

So you're a go to source for all things Dick&Tim bros and you tend to write primarily from Dick's POV. So, odd question, but if you were to summarize their relationship from his POV in FIVE panels which panels would you pick? Keeping in mind that one specific aspect of their relationship that you love needs to be clearly represented by each panel (loyalty, trust etc). I hope this is a fun challenge and not an annoying question so if you don't want to answer that's cool! Have a wonderful day!

No more talk. The same thoughts run through two minds... (SotB 29) / You're my equal. My closest ally. (RR 1) / I can't stop thinking how much I rely on him. (GoG 3)

25 Feelings Dick Has About Tim

This was such a kind ask & a cool challenge which I totally failed; here are TWENTY-five panels of Dick's POV on Tim sdfdsfds Look, I got carried away! Marcia and Cindy! The boys!!

OKAY SO BEFORE I GET TO THE PANELS A FEW NOTES:

WARNING THAT THERE ARE SOME NEGATIVE EMOTIONS IN HERE because I love conflict but but but you gotta remember those are not the final word!! They are complicated people and sometimes they get mad at each other BUT ultimately their relationship is so hugely important in both their lives & they love each other and rely on each other so much -!!! <3

Also I have CONCLUDING THOUGHTS at the end about what Dick's POV leaves out (mostly: a lot of Dick defending & protecting & supporting Tim, which Dick does instinctively but isn't very self-aware about most of the time)

I have loosely organized my list into 5^5 format (5 categories with 5 examples each!), so if you want to skip to a relevant one, here are the categories!!

Below the cut:

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1-5)

On second thought, he's endearing & fun (#6-10)

Grief is complicated & he's all tangled up in mine (#11-15)

I love him & think highly of him (#16-20)

I rely on him & though it's hard for me, I trust him (#21-25)

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1 - 5)

1) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze me and Bruce, but he doesn’t know me at all, he should get lost (New Titans 61)

2) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze Bruce but he doesn’t know Bruce at all, he should get lost (Gotham Knights 26)

3) He is so nosy about stuff that is MY business (Robin 0)

4) He sounds like an insincere suck-up half the time... but okay, fine, if you push him he's got a sense of humor about it (New Titans 65)

5) I'm sure he's a better vigilante than me. It's my fault for being a failure, but I resent him anyway. (Nightwing 9 - Dick's having a nightmare)

On second thought, he's kinda endearing (#6-10)

6) He worries too much and gets anxious so easily, but it makes him fun to tease (Robin 67)

7) I'm not that competitive - okay, so maybe I'm a little competitive, I gotta make sure he doesn't get a swelled head (Prodigal)

8) I'm supposed to be his favorite! It is not cool for him to be fanboying over my not-girlfriend's not-boyfriend!! (Birds of Prey 19)

9) We have fun together. I can kick back and relax when it's just the two of us. Plus I get to boss him around a bit. (Prodigal)

10) He’s always trying to reassure me, and I guess it's a little comforting, but also he doesn’t really get it. Or me. He makes excuses that he shouldn't, because he doesn't understand that I suck. (Nightwing 64)

Grief is complicated and he's all tangled up in mine (#11 - 15)

11) He reminds me of everything I try not to think about. Sometimes the memories are so strong it hurts to look at him. (Batman 441)

12) WHY IS HE BEING IMPOSSIBLE ALL OF A SUDDEN??? THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING (Nightwing 139)

13) We're the same. He says all the things I don't let myself think about. It's like arguing with myself. (Nightwing 139)

14) He thinks he gets to tell me what to do but he doesn’t, fuck him (Battle for the Cowl)

15) Life sucks, so what. I sucked it up so he should too (RR 1)

I love him and think highly of him (#16 - 20)

16) He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have.  If someone hurts him I will hurt them harder. (Nightwing 6)

17) I can't handle the idea of losing him. (Nightwing 97)

17) He’s so good and I’m not. I'm afraid I’m bad for him. (Nightwing 110)

18) He’s better than me, and it’s kind of a relief because I know no matter what he’ll be okay. (Gates of Gotham 3)

19) In my head he’s the responsible one.  (Gotham Knights 10)

I rely on him, and though it's hard for me, I trust him (#20-25)

20) I know I have to trust him but I'm afraid he'll make the wrong choices and get hurt (Nightwing 139)

21) I'm sure I know what he should do because I see myself in him - not that I can take my own advice, but he should (Blackest Night 3)

22) I trust him.  When I’m losing my grip on things, he pulls me back. (Gotham Knights 10)

23) I want him to trust me (Red Robin 12)

24) He can tell when I'm lying. Sometimes he sees my weaknesses better than I wish he did. (Detective Comics 874)

25) He’s always there when I need him. (Teen Titans / Outsiders Secret Files)

Final rambling thoughts:

TIM: Uhh, okay, so I'm just skimming this list - do you really trust me? you're not just saying that? - but anyway, I'm confused because you left some stuff out? Like some stuff that's kinda important? DICK: No? I think I got everything? TIM (starts counting on his fingers): The time I was having a bad day but then I called you. The time I got captured by Two-Face but then you saved me. The time I fell off a train but then you saved me. The time I fell off a building but then you saved me. The time I fell off a different building - DICK: I feel like you're trying to make some kind of point but I'm not sure what it could be.

SO THE THING IS, I put 25 panels in here and not a single one has Dick catching Tim when he’s falling!!! But I think that's a central motif of their relationship from Tim’s POV, not Dick’s. I love Dick, but in some ways I think he is spectacularly un-self-aware.

And I think he especially has a lot of blind spots about Tim. He kinda intermittently gets that Tim admires him, and he enjoys it in a playful I-get-to-boss-you-around way. But Dick tends to consistently underestimate all of his own good qualities & skills, and he meets Tim at a point in his life when he's especially down on himself & his abilities. And so he's unable to see his own influence on Tim, & therefore unable to fully understand a lot of Tim's priorities and loyalties and motivations, because you can't actually understand Tim without understanding Dick's impact on him. There's a fascinating moment in Bruce Wayne: Murderer when Dick's completely blindsided & upset to discover that Tim doesn't entirely trust Bruce, even though this has been a definitive fact of Tim's whole thing ever since he showed up with his Batman needs Robin theory, and Barbara has to actively remind Dick of the obvious-to-everyone-except-Dick fact that a lot of Tim's loyalty is to Dick, and Tim loves Bruce but feels free to be more wary of him. (And to give Bruce credit: this is not something he ever begrudges.) But anyway Babs points this out, and Dick manages to sorta process it for about five seconds, but he cannot actually accept it into his worldview so instead he discards it at the speed of light and goes off and has an argument with Tim instead sdfsfdsf

All of Dick's virtues - Dick's kindness at the circus and Dick's determination to fight through grief and Dick's rigid sense of morals and Dick's vigilante skills and every time Dick has ever backed Tim up or listened to him or protected him or saved him from something or just been casually kind to a stranger in Tim's presence etc etc etc - all these things loom really large in Tim's mental story of Who Dick Is, and What Dick And Tim's Relationship Is. Tim meets Dick before he meets Bruce, trusts Dick more than Bruce, aspires to be Robin instead of Batman. And so in Tim's default version of the story, Dick is the super-special and admirable hero and Tim is... nobody in particular, a tagalong outsider who's barely managing to be a hero, not part of Dick and Bruce's family and not part of their story, who, if he's VERY LUCKY and tries REALLY HARD, might be able to fight his way to proving himself and offering something to Dick that Dick will value, if Dick doesn't get fed up with him first.

But that's not Dick's version of the story!!!

Dick's version of the story is almost the exact opposite, a story where Dick's an outcast failure black sheep who's screwing up everything he tries, and meanwhile Tim is The Sudden New Perfect Robin Who's Better Than Me And Probably Bruce Loves Him More And Probably They Gossip About What A Loser I Am, mixed with a complicated edge of Tim Thinks He's So Smart But He Doesn't Know Me/Us At All. Dick gets much more attached to Tim over time, and Tim gets unnervingly better at the know-it-all psychoanalysis so then Dick gets to have complicated feelings about him being right instead of just annoyance at him for being wrong, plus Dick's relationship with Bruce improves a lot, so Tim stops feeling so threatening. But Dick never fundamentally changes his basic theory of their relationship in which Tim is highly impressive and capable, and Dick is not so much.

And so asking Dick about Tim is kinda like if you asked George Bailey to tell you about Harry Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life; like, you'll be there for five hours while he tells you how great Harry is, and how accomplished Harry is, and how he doesn't really get how or why Harry does the things he does, and maybe George does feel a little resentful or jealous sometimes, but that pales in comparison to all his admiration and trust for Harry who he loves so much, who's better than him in so many ways, and he's not gonna openly gripe but secretly he can't help but feel sometimes like he's such a failure in comparison to Harry, a perfect person who emerged fully formed from Zeus's head with all the virtues and also all the accomplishments, etc. etc. etc. --

-- and he will not actually remember the part where he changed and saved Harry's whole entire life unless you literally send him to an alternate timeline in order to force him to remember it. <3

[feelo-fick]

doodles from varying times :] kicking my feet and giggling. put your hand in my cage youre safe :]

[erinwantstowrite]

fanfiction is incredible. right now i'm trying to write a character i know next to nothing about, for a single scene, and realizing i have no idea what's going on. who the fuck hangs out with zatanna? i don't fucking know. i'm gonna put together the most random line up of heroes for this mission because i can do what i want

[s-sextape]

i am writing an accidental haiku to attract haiku bot

[tesco-finest-aromantics]

i feel like the queer community lost when we started policing labels and making sure everyone used the Correct™ labels instead of letting a person decide what feels right for them

[snekdood]

so uh

for 1. most people are gonna take advantage of black friday and wont see your specific niche tumblr post, I hate to say it

2. the us isnt running out of money for war any time soon, so...

3. this is just antisemitism???????? all we need is some (((echoes))) around the us and israel and then I'd have no reason to suspect otherwise from op...............

[himbionn]

We can all thank tumblr and my partner for getting my ass back on these two Jesus christ.

(Alt version w/ no glasses Matt and other stuff below the cut 💪)

Silly doodles and art which are old as fuck but I needed to put somewhere cause they're silly and I think people would enjoy them lololol

[front-facing-pokemon]

[rxttenfish]

merfolk in general are just. horrible horrible polyglots. their brains are already hardwired for language and quick language acquisition that remains active all their lives, further helped by retaining a high neural plasticity for their long lives, and especially enjoy complex language and language-based play and problem solving. but they also tend to have a lot of their society arranged where there's often multiple different languages at play within the same area, and only really stops being so once you get into especially small villages that have below the merfolk norm for outside contact. every merfolk alive today knows at least two languages, but most of them know far more than that, especially because one of those two will be the common-technical language. its been standardized and wide-scale implemented across the merkingdom after their dominance, to help bridge the gap between these different languages, basically as a successful version of esperanto. but its a trade language, and is mostly used for information you might want to reach as many people as possible, such as laws or business dealings or public announcements or the like. most merfolk don't view it as and don't treat it as a language proper, and its not what they prefer to converse in if they have another choice, usually finding it pretty limiting and restrictive, which is why its called common-technical.

miranda, being a royal who is regularly in contact with many different people around the merkingdom and regularly expected to be fully able to converse with them to do her job, knows just. so many languages. i might be changing exactly how many soon, but last time i counted it was in the low teens. like its just a perfect storm of her brain being wired for swift language acquisition and having a job that requires it and a position that means shes constantly around people from all around the merkingdom. not to mention having to know english too, which isn't just not her first language, it's not even her fourth language.

meanwhile, aaravi knows english and a little bit of hindi, less because of her mother and moreso because of her nana... its not that her mother never used it with her, but she was. less focused on using it or teaching aaravi, let's say. nana mishra uses it a lot more and is more interested in teaching aaravi when she asks her, especially in the intermittent period after her mom died and nana mishra was able to come back into her life to help aaravi pick up the pieces (though not after aaravi kind of. got left on her own. for an unfortunate amount of time). its just also fallen by the wayside with aaravi's whole Everything Else and kind of having a hard time accepting her nana's help and kind of being terrified of her (of no fault of her nana's, aaravi's just. she's just really traumatized after Everything, alright. having someone try to offer her help afterwards, especially when aaravi's scared of getting singled out as half human and half monster, is just. it's not something she can bring herself to trust.)