#Narrated stories

[microsff]

I have a YouTube now!

** Exciting news! I now have a YouTube channel, where we'll be posting shorts of earlier stories, read and presented by my good friend Lena. Please watch, like, subscribe, share and all that. https://youtube.com/@MicroSFF **

[wordsbyparker]

A Moonlit Dilemma (Short Story) by Rhonda Parker - October 21, 2021

Originally published at: https://www.wordsbyparker.com/blog/story-a-moonlit-dilemma/

Listen to the full cast audio narration at: https://youtu.be/drSuf0xAJp0

The sound of the poachers crashing through the forest echoed behind Mason. He managed to stay ahead of them but he had a feeling his luck was running out.

Mason had been enjoying a quiet night in the woods, a rare treat for a werewolf in the modern age of technology with fewer wild spaces. His family had lived in the area for generations, and his roots ran deep. His grandfather left him a sizable expanse of wilderness outside of town, covered in a lush forest and teeming with wildlife.

The young man had carved out a small habitat deep within it, a space where he could safely run free and enjoy connecting with nature every full moon. The sanctity of being on private land gave him a sense of security, and Mason was grateful that he hadn’t cleared any land for a homestead. The forest became his refuge.

Mason was careful. He didn’t hunt humans, hadn’t even thought about it since he started living with his wolf nature a few years ago. The forest had plenty of game to keep him occupied and fed. While he owned a car, he never brought it to the woods. No need to bring anything that could lead anyone back to him.

This suited him just fine. Mason had been an avid hiker before, and now that his physical characteristics and abilities were enhanced he could pack his gear and walk from home. The challenge and the exercise were good for him in a lot of ways.

Then the poachers showed up, a blight on the forest and Mason’s monthly excursions. They were unpredictable, less prone to staying in a general area, and better at stealth than a regular hunter. They didn’t want to be caught, so Mason felt like he needed to keep his guard up constantly, often exhausting both halves of himself.

Except for tonight. The autumn wind ran invisible fingers through his chestnut brown fur, gentle and loving. Mason relished the feel of it, took comfort in Mother Nature’s touch. He’d kept enough composure to avoid howling, but he did sigh in contentment. If nothing else, being a werewolf fed his lifelong love for the outdoors in ways his humanity couldn’t.

Unfortunately he wasn’t able to stop the canine roar of a sneeze that escaped his snout. The sound felt like it echoed into the night.

“What was that?” a voice cut into the darkness.

Mason froze, listening and sniffing. Poachers. Once he had determined where they were, he bolted to get some distance between himself and his pursuers.

As he cleared the forest proper, Mason could smell as well as hear a large group of humans. “Great,” he thought. “More poachers?” Then he caught the scent of a multitude of foods, heard the sounds of laughter and playful screams. The town’s Halloween Festival. He forgot all about it.

Now he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Deal with the ignorant humans at the festival, or the ones in the woods that thought he was a good trophy? The odds weren’t in his favor against the poachers.

He didn’t have a choice. Mason steeled himself as best as he could and entered at the edge of the festival grounds.

The smells and sounds were intriguing outside of the fairgrounds, but once inside his senses went into overload. His human brain tried to tell his wolf brain that everything was okay, but animal instinct fought with common sense and reason. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

Once he regained some control, Mason looked around. Most of the people at the festival were in costumes of varying intensity, from basic getups to full-blown ensembles. No one would notice a stray dog in all of this commotion. Right? He shook himself off and started wandering the festival.

Mason usually avoided humans during the week of the full moon. While he knew he could maintain control, it wasn’t wise to risk harming someone. Now he had an up close view of the people from his town. It was entertaining, to say the least. People laughing, joking with each other, comparing costumes and enjoying themselves in general. A few people tried to coax him over with “C’mere, boy” or even a treat, but he played skittish and kept moving.

As he neared the opposite end of the fairgrounds, Mason raised his head and sniffed the air. The kaleidoscope of scents inside the area hadn’t changed much. The poachers might be nearby, but the crowd at the festival should have obscured any tracks he made and thrown them off his trail. At least he hoped it had. He should be able to sneak out of the festival and-

“PUPPY!”

What the-?

Mason yelped as something collided with him, making him stumble back a step or two. He felt something wrap around his neck, and he twisted and pulled away from whatever it was. Once he got his bearings again he looked at what hit him.

An adorable strawberry blonde girl stood there, draped in a purple satiny dress with puffs of pink tulle, her sparkly plastic crown askew. A smile lit up her face as she reached out and patted his head with the awkward roughness of a child. “Puppy,” she said, a thick coating of sweetness and adoration on her voice. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked at him.

Mason thought for a second of growling at her, then decided he didn’t want to scare her. But how was this kid not scared of him?

Oh boy, he thought. This is what it’s come to.

Mason sat down, wagged his tail, and panted. He felt like an idiot.

The little girl, however, was thrilled. “Good puppy,” she cooed as she stroked his fur. She couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 years old, that age where all animals are trustworthy playmates. Mason wasn’t about to destroy that illusion for her. He endured the attention for as long as he could, then started to walk away. But the little girl followed.

“Come back, puppy!”

Mason tried running a little faster, which only made the little girl more determined to catch him. “Wait! Come back!”

Where are her parents? Mason thought. He didn’t see any adults or teenagers that looked like her family members. Given that the little girl seemed precocious, he had a feeling that she might have slipped away unnoticed. Well, I can’t leave her by herself. And being a pet is a good cover. Might as well make the best of this.

The two of them started walking around the fairgrounds. The little girl reached over to pet Mason every so often, and spoke to him a few times, but mostly she exuded the wonder of a child her age. Mason laughed to himself as he kept a close eye on her. Something would catch her attention, and she went after it with gusto. His protective instinct was out in full force.

Mason was also keeping an eye out for the poachers, making sure they hadn’t entered the fairgrounds. The varied scents of the festival hadn’t changed. So far, so good.

“Well, hey there, little girl,” an oily voice cooed.

Mason snapped his head around. A man dressed rather shabbily was walking towards him and the girl. His salt and pepper beard was scraggly, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been washed recently. Something about the look in his eye set the werewolf’s fur on end, and he knew this was not a man to be trusted. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

The man gave Mason a look, as if he thought the large dog wasn’t a threat. “Easy, boy. I’m just talking to your friend.” Mason put himself between the girl and the man. Her fingers gripped Mason’s fur, and he sensed her fear.

The man pulled a piece of beef jerky from his pocket and held it out to Mason. “Want a treat, boy? Huh?”

Mason responded with a warning – a loud growl, slightly bared teeth. He wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near the girl. He might not hunt humans as a general rule, but he wouldn’t hesitate attacking one to protect her.

The man met the werewolf’s gaze, and he stopped short. Mason felt the girl’s grip get tighter and heard a slight whimper escape her throat. He snapped at the man, flashing his teeth, saliva dripping from his canines. He dared the interloper to move any closer. His muscles were tensed, ready to spring.

The man realized that continuing to antagonize the dog was a very bad idea. “Okay, okay…” he said as he started to back away. Once Mason couldn’t smell him anymore, he relaxed, sitting down and wagging his tail. That seemed to be the little girl’s cue to release her death grip on his fur.

“He was scary.” Mason nodded, then remembered he was pretending to be a dog. He did his best goofy dog imitation, complete with his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

The little girl hugged his neck, and once she let him go he led her back to the main crowd and hopefully to safety. Now the little girl kept close to Mason’s side, never letting him out of her sight. Sometimes her tiny fingers would wrap themselves in his fur again, unsure of herself, and he tried to keep reassuring her the best that he could.

The crowd was starting to thin out, the guests exiting at the main gates. Mason once again looked for any sign of the poachers, sniffing the air in larger gulps. Until he got out of the fairgrounds proper he couldn’t be sure they were gone, but nothing suggested they were nearby.

“Have you seen my little girl? She’s about this tall…”

Mason turned his head towards the sound of the voice. A woman who looked like a larger version of his charge, minus the princess costume, was asking someone if they had seen her daughter.

As they got closer, Mason barked to get the woman’s attention. She turned in the direction of the sound and relief washed over her face. “Oh, thank God – there you are!” She scooped the little girl up into her arms and held her tight. Mason smiled to himself. Mission accomplished.

“Hi Mommy! I found a puppy!” she said brightly.

“I can see that, Stephanie,” her mother said as she gave Mason a wary expression. He turned the friendly dog look up to eleven. Her face softened. She smiled at him as she set the girl down, and the family resemblance was clear.

“He’s a good puppy. Isn’t he pretty?” Mason closed his eyes as she scratched behind his ears.

Stephanie’s mother roughed up the fur on his head. “Thank you for taking care of her.” She looked at her daughter. “Come on, sweetie. Time to go home.”

“Can we take the puppy?” Mason froze. How was he going to get out of this?

Stephanie’s mother knelt down. “No, Stephanie. He probably belongs to someone nearby. You wouldn’t want to take someone’s dog away from them, would you?”

The little girl looked downcast. “No.”

“Okay, then. Say bye bye to the puppy, sweetie.”

Stephanie flung her little arms around Mason’s shaggy neck, snuggling into his fur. He closed his eyes, wishing he could return the hug or at least say something to her. He thought about licking her cheek, but he wasn’t truly a dog, plus that would be weird. He settled for resting his chin on her shoulder, and his sigh ruffled her hair.

After a few moments, the little girl let him go. “Bye puppy,” she said with more than a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I miss you.” She took her mother’s hand and left Mason sitting there.

The whine in his throat caught him off guard. Mason wasn’t expecting to miss the little tyke. He would remember her name, though. Stephanie. The little girl who wasn’t afraid of the big bad wolf.

[metanarrates]

fans when a story has some sense of inexplicable mystery or intrigue beyond the scope of its borders: oh fuck we need to explain all the mystery and intrigue immediately it was so rude of the author to leave the story open like that

[gildedbearediting]

Audiobook Appreciation Month: A Brief Audiobook History

1932: A Jumpstart, and LPs The start of audibooks may date back to 1877 when Edison invented the phonograph with Graham Bell improving the device. Yet, the technology wasn’t quite to where it needed to be. The recordings were sold on cylinders and were often short-spoken recordings with 15 minutes worth of audio on either side. It wasn’t until 1932 to 1935 when talking book technology truly got…

[maninmauve]

International Read to Me Day

With International Read to Me Day coming up on March 19th, I’m reminded of a goal that I had in mind for myself when I started my site. I had planned on narrating classical works, and perhaps even my own. It wasn’t a lofty goal that was on daunting heights, but rather something that I could work towards. Something that I could build on, and work on as I get myself settled into an online…

[uncanny-tranny]

Honestly, there is a certain type of fetishizing of violence that occurs when you are the victim of abuse - wherein people talk directly to you about how much they fantasize about your abuser/s dying and being killed - "all abusers must be killed!" they say.

As a victim of prolonged abuse, I never felt cared for when people indulged that information to me. It often feels like my abuse is being exploited for others to enact their own violent fantasies and secret desires - my abuse means nothing to them in the same way that I didn't matter to my abusers. It's not support - it's just another cycle of violence.

I'm begging people to care more about victims and survivors than they do about retribution of abusers. Nowhere along the way should your focus on the abuser outweigh the people affected by their abuse. If you truly want to support abuse victims and survivors, start with us

[bethanydelleman]

I'm on a duet kick and I'm marvelling about what an amazing song Somebody That I Used to Know is from a narrative perspective. We're told this sad tale about love and we're all sympathizing with this poor man:

And then the girl shows up shouts, "UNRELIABLE NARRATOR!"

The guy tries to get us back, "No wait! This is my pity party! Hear my sad tale again." But he's lost us, we can't see him in the same way again. The spell is broken. And the spell remains broken, you cannot hear the first verse in the same way ever again.

The acting in the music video too, the way he silently accepts her words. The way he flinches as she talks. He was trying to write his own narrative but he can't stand hearing the truth. And he has no new rebuttal, he can't refute her.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Before my beloved and I moved in together they were living with roommates in a place that didn't have a bathtub. Now, a reasonable person might conclude from this that baths would be out of the equation in a home with only one standing shower and no tub.

But these people weren't quitters. Naturopathic doctors and acupuncturists they were dedicated to treating their bodies well and one of the ways they liked to do that was hydrotherapy. Most people are familiar with this through things like polar bear plunges. You sit in a hot tub then jump in freezing water.

It's supposedly good for you and they were way into it. But again, no tub. They'd do hydro showers but it just wasn't the same. These people were not quitters, though. (One of them is the boob soap person, so it really isn't a surprise that she goes hard on everything). So they got what looked like two big metal old timey tubs but which were actually animal food troughs and set them up in the garage. They set up a water heater and god knows how they emptied the tub after, I think there was hoses involved? A pump maybe? I honestly can't remember. Anyway! Voila, hydrotherapy on demand.

I was not aware of this. So when I came over after a long day and my beloved said we should take a bath I was extremely puzzled. I only knew about the one shower. They showed me the garage tubs. I did want a bath and I wasn't really sure about the setup, but honestly I'll try anything once if only for the story, so I agreed.

Fun fact about me though. I haaaate being cold. I've been 0% body fat most of my life with skin barely keeping my bones enclosed. I'm always cold. My favorite activity at the time was sitting directly in front of space heaters. My shower temperatures turn me lobster red and make my beloved cringe. Willingly dunking myself into cold water is the antipathy of my entire deal.

On the night in question I happily submerged into the warm tank, pleasantly surprised by the big silly improvised tub. Which again was meant for livestock. My knees bumped companionably against my beloved as we soaked in the hot water. After a while they rose to go into the cold water. "You don't have to," they told me.

But I was haunted. I wouldn't be doing hydro if I just stayed in the warm tub. Maybe hydro was amazing. It has all these health benefits. I desperately didn't want to but I stood up with them. We were having this nice intimate evening in the garage, just us, I felt safe. I was gonna do it.

They stepped easily into the cold tub, dunking matter of factly into the frigid water. I went to step. I did. I really really tried. My foot went in and I started shrieking, my progress arrested by the total state of shock I entered when my warm toasty foot hit that smug arctic water tension. My beloved started laughing as my pitch ascended the deeper my foot went into the cold water.

I started loudly narrating my discomfort as my foot touched the bottom and I willed my other foot up to join it. "THIS IS VERY COLD," I yelled, "IT'S SO COLD I THINK I MIGHT DIE HOW ARE YOU JUST CASUALLY SITTING IN THIS FREEZING COLD WATER?! I'M DYING- I THINK I'M DYING! I'M DYING BUT WE'RE HERE, TOGETHER! I CAN DO THIS! I CAN DO THESE EVEN THOUGH IT'S SO COLD ALL MY MOLECULES HAVE COMPRESSED INTO A SOLID STATE!"

I ended up with both feet planted in the cold tub, water up to my shins, bellowing and panting while my beloved laughed so hard they couldn't breathe. I hunkered over the cold water, squatting like a frozen gargoyle.

My beloved was trying to psyche me up while I willed my body to obey me. In a sudden jerky drop like a puppet whose strings have been cut I plummeted my body into the cold and let out a shriek that I’m sure could have shattered glass and then leapt up out of the water at a speed relative to a rocket achieving space flight. I didn’t like it.

When we got back inside my beloved's roommates were collapsed on the ground with tears in the their eyes from how hard they'd been laughing. They and probably every neighbor down the block had heard my pterodactyl screeching and narration because the garage was not remotely soundproof.

[cuntylouis]

I feel like many people have a fundamental misconception of what unreliable narrator means. It's simply a narrative vehicle not a character flaw or a sign that the character is a bad person. There are also many different types of unreliable narrators in fiction. Being an unreliable narrator doesn't necessarily mean that the character is 'wrong', it definitely doesn't mean that they're wrong about everything even if some aspects in their story are inaccurate, and only some unreliable narrators actively and consciously lie. Stories that have unreliable narrators also tend to deal with perception and memory and they often don't even have one objective truth, just different versions. It reflects real life where we know human memory is highly unreliable and vague and people can interpret same events very differently

[ryllen]

d a m n , i t ' s ' i ' ... not 'we' i guess everybody can perish now

[tremendously-crazy]

The reason we never see a Sherlock Holmes mystery narrated by Holmes where Watson is actually there is because Holmes would ONLY talk about Watson the entire time

[wordsbyparker]

The Knight Protector (Short Story) by Rhonda Parker - February 10, 2022

Originally published at: https://www.wordsbyparker.com/blog/story-the-knight-protector/

Listen to the full cast audio narration at: https://youtu.be/5-0dWV3ks8g

The princess struggled in her sleep, then settled down. After what she had been through, the knight was glad to see her taking any rest at all.

Rain sluiced down the entrance to the cave in broken sheets, allowing him glimpses of the surrounding area. His arm rang with pain where the dragon had caught him as he pulled the princess from its grasp. It was a deep wound, and that part of his armor would need replacing, but these were minor issues compared to his purpose. He had to keep the king’s daughter safe.

The princess awoke and sat straight up, gasping in fear. Her dark hair fell loosely around her face, and her blue eyes were wild with terror. She clasped her hands to her chest as the rapid intakes of air shook her lithe frame.

The knight moved toward her, not daring to touch her or get too close. “Your Highness? Are you alright?”

The princess blinked in confusion, taking in her surroundings as he knelt at her side. She turned her frightened eyes on the knight, and her demeanor relaxed as she recognized his light brown hair, his gray eyes, the kingdom’s emblem on his dented armor. He gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yes, thank you.” Having recovered her wits, the princess began to smooth her hair back into place as the knight walked over to their belongings. “Where are we, sir knight?”

“A cave, my lady. We are safe for now.” He picked up a skein of water from his gear, and handed it to her as he returned to her side. She drank from the container, gulping down some of the lukewarm liquid before handing the skein back to him.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Your Highness.”

The princess looked down and saw the missing portion of the knight’s armor, and her eyes came to rest on his wound. She reached towards his arm to touch it. He flinched, trying to keep the movement slight.

“Your arm….”

“It is nothing, my lady.”

The princess looked again. She could see the congealed blood painted on the edges of the claw marks. It had to be painful. It was also dangerous to leave such wounds unattended.

She paused and carefully considered her words. “Will you let me tend to your wounds?”

The knight shook his head. “No, Your Highness, it is not your place.”

“Those gashes look deep, sir knight. And are likely at risk for infection. Please allow me to clean them, at least. I would prefer to dress them as well.”

“My lady-” He choked back the rest of his sentence as he met the princess’s eyes. She would brook no further argument.

The knight sighed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

She took up part of her gown’s overskirt and ripped three ribbons of purple cloth from the edge, two of them shorter than the other. When he started to protest she stated, “It is only a gown. Nothing that cannot be replaced.”

The princess stood up and retrieved her herbalist’s satchel and a second water skein from their gear. She soaked one of the shorter cloths in the water, then returned to the knight’s side. She knelt down and began to clean his wounds.

The knight did his best not to flinch from her careful ministrations, but as she grew closer to treating the gashes themselves, he found himself wincing audibly. “I am sorry, sir knight,” she said with kindness in her voice.

When she was satisfied that the wounds were as clean as she could manage in such surroundings, the princess stopped and began to fashion a poultice from the herbs in the satchel.

The knight watched her as she worked. He had heard that the princess was a skilled healer, but he had never seen her in action. As her deft hands worked with the herbs and other supplies, he realized that he was watching a master of the craft.

The princess finished the poultice and turned back to the knight. Without a word she pressed the poultice gingerly to the wound, then wrapped the longer strip of cloth around his arm. In a few minutes the poultice and bandage were in place.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

The princess raised her head, her eyes looking into his. “It is I who should thank you, sir knight. You saved me from the dragon.”

“My lady, you are the daughter of my king. It is my duty, and my honor, to protect you.”

She gave him a warm smile, and his heart twinged. “A duty you performed admirably today. I shall not forget your service.” Then she lay back down on the bedroll, and in a few moments was asleep again. The knight listened carefully to her breathing, waiting for any signs of distress or pain. But there were none.

He crept back over to his post at the mouth of the cave. He knew the dragon was still out there, lying in wait.

A sharp intake of breath from the princess caught the knight’s attention. He turned and watched her as she slept. When her body relaxed, he turned back to his vigil. As he did, pain ripped through his arm again. Sharp, brief, but intense nonetheless.

He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes on the rainy night. He had to keep watch. He had to keep her safe.

– – – – – –

Henry awoke with a start. Natalie was leaning over him, her warm eyes concerned. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

He blinked once or twice. They were at home, in their own bed. The darkness outside the window and the clock on the nightstand told him it was early morning. He looked at Natalie and saw her dark hair, her blue eyes, and her favorite lavender nightgown; the sleeveless one he loved so much. She wore it more often now.

“Yeah… yeah. Was I talking in my sleep or something?”

“No, it was more that you were groaning, like you were in pain.” She touched his forehead and her brow crinkled. “You’re a little warm.” She reached over to the nightstand and picked up a glass of water. He took a few small sips as she held the glass for him.

Henry gave his wife a weak smile. “Thank you, darling.”

Natalie returned the smile as she smoothed his light brown hair. “In sickness and in health, remember?”

Of course she’d say that. They both took their vows seriously, and she liked to remind him that they were in this together. Especially when his own strength had started failing.

He hated being this sick. He hated the idea that he might succumb to it and leave her without a protector. Not that Natalie needed one, but he’d always felt like her knight in shining armor. Except she had a different idea of what a knight should look like.

“Dented, not shining.”

“What?”

“Dented armor has seen battle. I want a knight that knows what he’s fighting for.”

They had laughed, and he’d tipped her face up to his and kissed her.

Natalie left the room and returned with a cool wet cloth, placing it gently on Henry’s head. She ran her fingers through his hair, looking into his tired gray eyes with all the love she could express. She kissed his temple, and whispered soft words of encouragement into his ear. He relaxed and gave her as much of a smile as he could manage. This current fight was taking a lot out of him.

As Henry started to drift off to sleep again, he felt Natalie snuggle up next to him, carefully tucking herself under his arm and with her head against his side. She didn’t dare put her head on his chest anymore. He was too weak. What he wouldn’t give to wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight. But now his princess was taking up the sword and shield for him. At least for a while.

“I love you, my knight,” she whispered.

“I love you too, princess.”

A quiet roll of thunder sounded in the night. A rainstorm would help them both sleep, Henry thought. He looked towards the window, watching the storm paint the glass with a fresh coat of water. He drifted off to the sounds of Natalie’s peaceful breathing and the gentle patter of raindrops.

[anistarrose]

to me, the most fascinating (and utterly unintentional) feature of TAZ Balance's narrative structure is the way that on the first listen, Tres Horny Boys are the audience surrogates because they, much like us, have no idea what the fuck is going on, but on all subsequent relistens, then Lucretia, and sometimes Barry, and arguably especially Lup in the umbrella become the new audience stand-ins, because just like us, they are, in fact, painfully aware of what the fuck is going on :)

[gildedbearediting]

International Read to Me Day

It’s March 19th which means that it’s International Read to Me Day. A day that I certainly enjoy now. A few years back, I wouldn’t have been able to say such a thing. I would’ve laughed and said that I’d rather read the story, the book, whatever the material was myself. I would’ve been hard-pressed for knowing a narrator, voice actor, and the likes that I passionately gravitated towards. With…

[rmbunnie]

It's most likely just Starlin trying to get to Jason dying faster because he did not like Robin, but the whole "Jason's spiraling because of his grief for his parents" thing they were trying to spin was honestly really weird, not supported by the rest of the run INCLUDING the parts Starlin wrote, and kinda reads like an unreliable narrator situation because all of the information supporting it is given through Bruce's narration, him speculating on Jason's thoughts and actions.

The plot thread of Jason's grief for his family affecting his behavior shows up like TWO issues after Jason first becomes Robin back when Collins was writing, and gets sorted out after one conversation where Jason gets to confront Bruce about hiding his father's death from him for 6 months. After that Jason is behaving normally until they encounter three predators in a row, and each time Bruce insists that they can't do anything because of The Rules and assorted red tape/diplomatic immunity plotlines. (The sister of a woman who got dismembered actually tricked the violent-misogynist killer who dismembered her sister (and then got his serial killings dismissed through a technicality) into attacking her, and ends up killing him in self-defense, and then Jason's like "seems fair" and Bruce is like "no. it's NOT. we need to follow laws and not take justice into our own hands. which like wtf Bruce! you are a vigilante who just used a custom tank to fight an evil televangelist! who then got ripped to shreds by his followers while you watched!)

Bruce kinda just decides with Alfred that it must be grief upsetting him and not the dozens of brutally killed women and their predatory killers who the law inexplicably protected, (all written by Starlin, so retconning it for DitF like five issues later would be an odd move) but the only text claiming that's why Jason was upset is from Bruce's POV and through Alfred's dialogue. Jason himself doesn't display any signs of grief in the story itself, or even act or speak in a way that alludes to Catherine and Willis beyond looking at a picture of them and smiling fondly while he sorts through their possessions. He kinda just happens upon the box with his mother's info by chance, and is like ok i guess we're doing mom searches now. He was only going for a walk through his old neighborhood, not actively searching out info on his family. When Jason is deciding whether or not to run off without telling Bruce, he considers telling him and then goes "no, all he cares about is being Batman, he wouldn't even understand why I want to see my mom." Which, I mean, "Bruce wouldn't get it" is a REALLY odd angle if the sole motivator for spiraling, then getting benched* and running away to search out his bio-mom, was because he was mourning his dead parents, a thing he notably has in common with Bruce. That statement only really makes sense if he's thinking about a different thing that was greatly upsetting to him that Bruce brushed past, like maybe a combo of hiding the murder of his dad for half a year and allowing several cases involving sexual violence to freely develop body counts in the name of the law.

Lots of people have written about how Jason's stay in the manor might have seemed dependent on being Robin with how he was kinda just scooped up, but (if we're including Detective Comics in our characterization,) Bruce had offered to let him resign from Robin and just live with him (a little late, but still. It's worth noting Batman proper shows Jason afraid and uncomfortable at the thought of Dick taking Robin back, which lends more merit to the housing-dependent-on-Robin-misunderstanding interpretation, but canon is pick and choose anyways.) The lack of trust involved in his choice to search out his mom kinda reads like it was bred by more than that alone, and Bruce's prioritization of the law over the protection of the people it ignores is notably upsetting to him in the prior issues. tbh I really do believe the outcomes of those cases could have informed Jason's stance that Bruce's method of justice is ineffective right alongside his own murder and his experiences in Lost Days.

It would make sense for Bruce to not consider his own actions while he's thinking through things that would upset Jason, because from his point of view the things there that were bothering Jason were the criminals alone, not the way that the methods with which they were approaching their crimes continually led to the perpetrators evading actual justice. During the point in DitF where he's thinking through motivations for Jason's running away because something isn't adding up for HIM, the idea doesn't so much as cross his mind. It would also add another layer to Jason's sulkiness upon Bruce's arrival if he held the belief that Bruce is ignoring the consequences his brand of justice has on victims (and the way it's affecting him to helplessly watch it play out), starts to hope that Bruce actually can understand his thought processes/relate to him when he shows up, only to be told to his face that Bruce is prioritizing his style of justice over Jason again. With the way everything that led Jason to his bio-mom was comically circumstantial and the context of the previous issues, it's kind of the ONLY way Death in the Family makes sense to me. Tldr: I feel like the grief claimed as reasoning for Jason's actions leading up to his death is mainly speculation from Bruce and Alfred and the more textually-supported reason for his erratic behavior and lack of trust in Bruce is the lack of intervention in several sensitive cases that led them to worsen unobstructed and eventually permitted them to escalate into casualties in 2 out of 3 cases.

*Also, side note, but the idea that Jason got benched for the Filipe situation, while perfectly reasonable, is not quite spot on. The Filipe situation escalated into the fight in the junkyard where his dad is crushed by a car and Bruce is all "everything you do has consequences" which is kinda big words for a guy whose lack of action indirectly lead to a girls death earlier in the storyline, but true. Jason actally gets benched because he jumps directly into gunfire while fighting the third set of predators and Bruce starts to worry he's getting a little suicidal with it. He baits a guy into shooting at him on purpose again trying to protect mom prospect number 1 later on in DitF, so Bruce might have had a point with that one.

[chekovpavelandreievich]

the thing about el higgins is that terry pratchett would have loved her.

I’ve never encountered a character or a series that I could call a spiritual successor to tiffany aching but el is perhaps the closest possible thing. the way that tiffany’s righteous anger is her magic, born from a sense of deeply rooted love and identity with her home and blossoms into a tempered, powerful ability to see what is in front of her. the way el rages against the systems of oppression she can see and how she follows that rage to the very core and from that core she dismantle those systems. how in both doing the right thing is a choice, always a choice, and one that requires choosing again and again and again. “this far and no further.” “you’re already dead but stay anyway.”