#Rifts Background Story | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callsigns-haze · 5 months ago

Text

Memories Fade II

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Not so long back Rhysand lost his sister. Years after Helion and Elain can raise her memories from the past to see what truly happened to Y/n. Warning: Mentions of death and drinking

*This part is full based on Y/n's memories leading up to the main incident with Rhys's mother*

Part 1 here

Y/N strolled through the moonlit gardens of the Night Court palace, her steps light and quiet against the stone path. The sounds of laughter and music from the grand ball inside drifted out into the night, but she found solace in the peace of the garden, away from the crowd.

She reached her favorite spot, a secluded bench beneath a canopy of flowering vines, and sat down, pulling a book from her pocket. The soft glow of faelight lanterns provided just enough illumination to read by. She lost herself in the pages, the world around her fading as the story took hold.

A soft rustle of leaves brought her back to the present, and she looked up just as warm hands wrapped around her from behind. A familiar laugh bubbled up from her lips.

"Eris," she chided playfully, closing her book and turning to face him. "You always know how to sneak up on me."

Eris, with his auburn hair gleaming in the moonlight and a mischievous glint in his amber eyes, smiled down at her. "It's one of my many talents," he said, his voice a low murmur. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

Y/N shrugged, leaning back against him. "I needed some air. The ball is lovely, but it's so crowded. I prefer the quiet."

Eris's expression softened as he looked at her, though there was still a hardness in his eyes, a reminder of the challenges he faced in his own court. "I understand. Sometimes, the silence speaks louder than the noise."

She reached up, touching his cheek gently. "You seem troubled."

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the palace where the ball was in full swing. "There are always troubles, Y/N. You know that as well as I do."

She nodded, knowing better than to press him for details he couldn't share. Instead, she shifted the conversation. "Rhysand is coming back home soon," she said softly. "He’s been at the Illyrian camps with Mother, but he’ll be here any day now."

Eris's eyes flickered with interest. "And how do you feel about that?"

Y/N looked away, her heart clenching with a mix of emotions. "I'm... scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eris's brow furrowed as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "Scared? Why?"

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Things are always different when Rhys is home. He’s... changed. The time at the Illyrian camps, the training—it’s made him harder, more distant. I'm afraid of what he might have become, and how it will affect us."

Eris's expression softened, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. "Y/N, your brother loves you. No matter what changes he’s undergone, that love will remain."

She leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "I hope you're right. I’ve missed him so much, but I can’t help feeling this fear, this anxiety about what he’s been through and how it’s changed him."

Eris held her close, his hands gentle on her shoulders. "It’s natural to feel this way. But you’re strong, Y/N. You’ve been trained by the best, and you have a heart that can mend any rift. Trust in that."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "And if he’s not the same? If he’s become someone I don’t recognize?"

Eris's gaze was steady, unwavering. "Then you help him remember who he is. You remind him of the love and bond you share. You bring him back."

She sighed, feeling a small measure of comfort in his words. Despite the harsh exterior Eris often presented to the world, with her, he was always kind and caring. "Thank you, Eris. You always know what to say."

They sat together in silence for a while, the sounds of the ball fading into the background as they enjoyed the peace of the garden. Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her, even as the fear lingered at the edges of her mind. She knew that soon her family would be reunited, and that she had someone like Eris to lean on in the meantime.

----

Y/N stood beside her father in the grand throne room of the Night Court palace, her posture rigid and composed. The room was imposing, with its high ceilings and dark, intricate designs. Her father, the High Lord, sat on his throne with an air of authority and indifference, his expression unreadable. She mirrored his demeanor, suppressing the swirl of emotions within her.

Today was the day Rhysand and their mother were returning. It had been years since she had seen them properly, not since she was four years old. The memories were hazy—snippets of laughter, warmth, and love that seemed almost like dreams now. She clenched her hands at her sides, determined to remain as cold and detached as her father had taught her.

The grand doors at the far end of the throne room swung open with a creak, and Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She straightened, her face a mask of calm indifference, as her mother and Rhysand entered. Her mother looked regal and composed, while Rhysand, now a young man, carried an air of strength and authority that was almost intimidating.

Y/N's father rose from his throne, his expression impassive. "Welcome home," he said, his voice echoing through the vast room.

Y/N's mother approached first, her eyes softening as they landed on her daughter. "Y/N, you've grown so much," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Y/N forced a polite smile, her words clipped. "Thank you, It's sort of how the world works, Mother."

Rhysand stepped forward next, his gaze intense as he studied her. "Y/N," he said, his voice holding a mix of surprise and something else she couldn't quite place. "It's been a long time."

She met his eyes, her own gaze hard and unyielding. "Yes, it has." She turned slightly to her father, seeking his approval. His subtle nod gave her the confidence to continue. "I hope your time at the Illyrian camps was fruitful."

Rhysand frowned slightly, clearly taken aback by her cold tone and the response of 'fruitful'. "It was... educational," he replied, his voice cautious.

Their mother glanced between them, a shadow of worry crossing her face. "We've missed you, Y/N. We thought of you often."

Y/N nodded curtly, not allowing herself to be swayed by the emotion in her mother's eyes. "Thank you. I have been well cared for here."

Her father stepped forward, placing a hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Y/N has been training diligently," he said, his voice proud. "She is well-prepared for the responsibilities she will bear."

Rhysand's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze shifting between Y/N and their father. "I'm glad to hear that," he said slowly. "I look forward to seeing all that you've accomplished, Y/N."

Y/N inclined her head, her expression still cold. "Of course."

There was a tense silence, the weight of unspoken words and years of separation hanging heavily in the air. Y/N's heart ached with the distance she felt from her brother and mother, but she steeled herself, determined not to let her emotions show.

Their father broke the silence, his voice firm. "We have much to discuss. Let us retire to the council chamber."

As they moved to follow him, Y/N felt Rhysand's eyes on her, filled with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper. She ignored it, focusing instead on maintaining her composure. She had to be strong, had to live up to her father's expectations. There was no room for weakness.

As they walked through the grand halls of the palace, Y/N couldn't help but steal a glance at Rhysand. He had changed so much, grown into someone powerful and commanding. The brother she remembered was gone, replaced by a stranger. A pang of sadness tugged at her heart, but she pushed it aside.

She would do what was expected of her. She would be the daughter her father had trained her to be. And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to reconnect with the family she had lost.

As they entered the council chamber, the atmosphere grew even more tense. The large, ornate table in the center of the room was flanked by high-backed chairs, each one a symbol of power and authority within the Night Court. Y/N took her seat beside her father, her posture straight and formal.

Rhysand and their mother sat across from them, their expressions a mix of anticipation and unease. Y/N felt her father's presence beside her, a steadying force that helped her maintain her composure.

The High Lord cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "There is much to discuss regarding the future of our court and the roles each of you will play."

Rhysand nodded, his eyes flickering to Y/N. "I've learned much during my time at the Illyrian camps. I'm ready to take on more responsibilities."

Their father’s gaze was intense as he regarded Rhysand. "Good. Your training has been rigorous, and you will need every skill you've acquired. The Night Court requires strength and unity now more than ever."

Y/N watched the exchange, her heart pounding. She could see the determination in Rhysand’s eyes, but she also sensed a hint of uncertainty. Despite his training, he was still trying to find his place within the court and their family.

Their mother leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. "We must also remember that strength comes in many forms. Our court needs not just warriors, but also diplomats, healers, and strategists. Each of you has a role to play."

Y/N’s father nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Y/N has shown great promise in her studies and training. She has the potential to be a formidable leader."

Y/N felt a flicker of pride at her father's words, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of expectation. She glanced at Rhysand, wondering what he made of their father’s praise. Would he see her as a rival, or as an ally?

Rhysand’s gaze softened as he looked at her. "I’ve missed you, Y/N. I hope we can work together to strengthen our court."

She nodded, her voice measured. "I hope so too."

The conversation turned to matters of strategy and politics, and Y/N did her best to contribute thoughtfully. She could feel Rhysand’s eyes on her occasionally, filled with a mixture of curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

After what felt like hours, the meeting concluded, and Y/N felt a sense of relief wash over her. As they rose from the table, their mother approached her, a gentle smile on her face.

"Y/N, would you walk with me in the gardens?" she asked softly.

Y/N hesitated, glancing at her father. He gave her a slight nod, and she turned back to her mother. "Of course."

They left the council chamber and walked through the halls in silence, the tension between them palpable. As they reached the gardens, Y/N felt the cool night air brush against her skin, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside.

Her mother paused by a blooming rosebush, her eyes sad. "I know it’s been difficult, being separated for so long."

Y/N swallowed hard, her voice cold. "It was necessary. Father needed me here and you needed Rhysand."

Her mother nodded, her expression pained. "Yes, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’ve missed you, Y/N. More than words can say."

Y/N looked away, her heart aching. "I’ve missed you, Mother. But things are different now."

Her mother reached out, gently touching her arm. "They don’t have to be. We’re family, Y/N. We can find our way back to each other."

Y/N met her mother’s eyes, seeing the love and longing there. For a moment, she let her guard down, allowing herself to feel the depth of her own longing. "I want that too," she whispered.

Her mother smiled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "We will, my dear. We will."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Y/N felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead would be difficult, but perhaps, with time and effort, they could bridge the gap that had grown between them.

-----

Rhysand walked through the familiar halls of the Night Court palace, his mind racing with thoughts of the meeting and the cold reception from Y/N. The years apart had clearly created a distance, and he was determined to bridge it, but he knew it would take time and patience.

As he rounded a corner, he was startled to see Eris rushing through the halls, his expression focused and determined. Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. What is he doing here?

"Eris!" Rhysand called out, quickening his pace to catch up.

Eris turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Rhysand. "Rhysand," he said, his voice hurried. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," Rhysand replied, his tone curious. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

Eris hesitated for a moment, then answered, "I’m going to meet with your father. It’s urgent."

Rhysand frowned. "Is everything all right?"

Eris nodded, though his expression was tense. "It’s under control. Just some matters that need addressing."

Before Rhysand could press further, Eris gave a quick nod and continued down the hall, disappearing around a corner. Rhysand watched him go, a mix of curiosity and concern swirling in his mind. What business did Eris have with their father?

Shaking his head, Rhysand decided to let it go for now. He had more pressing matters to attend to, like reconnecting with his sister. As he turned to head back to his quarters, a thought nagged at him. Why was Eris here, and what was so urgent?

Meanwhile, Eris rounded another corner and found Y/N waiting in a secluded alcove, hidden from prying eyes. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows cast a silvery glow on her figure, making her look almost ethereal. His face softened as he approached her, his steps quickening. He reached out, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close, wrapping one arm around her.

"Eris," she began, her voice filled with concern, "what’s going on? You said you had news."

Eris glanced around, ensuring they were alone before pulling her closer, his grip firm but comforting. "Not here," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "Come with me."

Without another word, he started walking, keeping his arm securely around her waist. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of anxiety and curiosity swirling within her. She matched his pace, sensing the urgency in his movements.

"Eris, please," she tried again, her voice a whisper. "What’s happening?"

He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and something she couldn’t quite place. "I’ll explain everything, but not here. Trust me."

The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly as they walked, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. The distant sounds of the ball inside the palace were muffled, creating an almost eerie stillness around them. Shadows danced along the walls, flickering with the light from the torches, adding to the sense of impending change.

Y/N’s mind raced with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. She glanced back once, seeing the empty corridor behind them, before focusing ahead, where Eris led her towards an uncertain future.

As they approached a narrow staircase leading to the lower levels of the palace, Eris's grip on her waist tightened. His gaze flicked around nervously, ensuring they were not being followed. The tension in the air was palpable, making Y/N’s skin prickle with unease.

They descended the staircase, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. The air grew cooler, the light dimmer as they moved further away from the main halls. Just as they reached the bottom, Eris paused, his grip tightening for a brief moment. He looked at her, his eyes conveying a silent promise.

He looked down at her, "I’ll explain everything, but we really have to go."

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding. She could see the resolve in his eyes, and it gave her strength. With a determined push, they crossed into the dimly lit corridor beyond, the door closing behind them with a soft click, leaving the halls silent once more.

part 3

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #autumn court #eris fanfic #eris imagine #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic

189 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

WIBTA if I blocked my Zionist

“”friend”” after she gave condolences for my dog?

Content warnings: pet death, Zionism, genocide mentions

Hi. I’ll try to keep this brief and cohesive. So for some background, I (24F) gave this “friend” from middle school, let’s call her E (24F). We were best friends, but she moved away about halfway through our time in high school. She was from Israel, and not being as informed as I am now, I never thought that much of it. When she moved away, we stayed mutuals on social media, but didn’t chat much. She’d hit me up sometimes, usually after months would go by, and we’d chat a bit, but it would normally end with her disappearing again, and we both just went on with our lives.

Between 2021-2023, I ended up losing a lot of people. Falling outs, rifts, drama etc. Needless to say I don’t have many friends rn. So when she hit me up again at the beginning of 2023 and then later that summer (more consistency then usual), I was excited to reconnect with her. Then, Israel began it’s current violence and genocide in Gaza. Since the beginning of the violence, I took the time to learn more (and am still learning) about the injustices inflicted on the Palestinians by Israel for the past 75 years, and have kept up with Palestinian journalists like Motaz and Bisan on the current aggression that’s been taking place for the past 100 DAYS.

Now remember when I said E was Israeli? Yeaaa, and I brutally reminded of that. She was eating up and regurgitating the lies from Israel on her Instagram stories, blaming Hamas for everything etc. Meanwhile the rest of my feed was of horrific on the ground footage of innocent Palestinians being slaughtered simply for being Palestinian and for living on their land. I believe in the cause for a Free Palestine and an end to the Israeli occupation, and I resolved that a Zionist is not who I want to be friends with, and that I would unfollow E and cut contact.

But this is where I fucked up and am an AH - I stalled. I just restricted her and kept telling myself “I’ll get to it.” I’ll admit the nostalgia of our bond we used to have got the better of me, and I was taking my time cutting the contact cuz I was upset that I have to cut my losses with a connection AGAIN. So I stalled. And kept stalling.

Now this past weekend, my dog passed away. I posted a memorial post to my Instagram, and saw E commented her condolences. Which was nice, but I feel icky taking the sympathy from a Zionist, from someone who does not have sympathy for the lives of the innocent Palestinian men, women, and children being lost in Gaza. And most likely never will.

Since she’s restricted, I don’t think her comment is public. And I don’t want to accept it. Accepting it and responding would call all my support for the Palestinian cause into question. Hell, the fact that I stalled unfollowing her so long calls it into question already, I know that. But I also can’t ignore her forever.

So now comes the time to do what I should of done months ago. I have to unfollow her and block her. But a part of me still feels bad doing after she had sweet things to say about my late pet. I KNOW I’m already the AH for not unfollowing her already, but my query is, WIBTA to do so now after she offered her condolences, and to block her on top of that?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

243 notes · View notes

goddessofvalyria · 3 months ago

Text

Mr. & Mrs. Targaryen | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!oc

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is the CEO of the family business, the Targaryen Company and is part of the élite of the King's Landing Society. Daelia Targaryen is the rebellious daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra. They meet at a gala, unaware of how that meeting will change things forever...

TW for all the story: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Daelia Targaryen with long dyed black hair and purple eyes, kissing, sexual themes, dirty talking, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, masturbation (m and f) tits sucking/play, SMUT, sexual tension, sex, violence, guns, alcohol, drugs, angst, sad, death, murder, dark themes, Targcest (he is the uncle and she is the niece, they're Targaryen....) This is a modern Aemond in modern AU.

English is not my first language, be kind and enjoy the fic <3

Words: 2300

This is my Masterlist. You can read the next chapters and more!

Chapter 1

Next part: Chapter 2

The grand ballroom of Targaryen Tower was alive with the glittering splendor of King’s Landing’s elite. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the guests, the soft hum of conversation mingling with the notes of a live orchestra playing in the background. It was the kind of evening where power and influence were the unspoken currency, where alliances were forged with a smile and a handshake.

Aemond Targaryen, the CEO of the Targaryen Company, stood near the center of it all, exuding a quiet authority that made people wary of approaching too closely. Dressed in an elegant total black suit, he was every inch the image of power. The tailored fabric hugged his tall, lean frame perfectly, the dark color accentuating the pale silver of his hair that fell just past his shoulders. His left eye, covered by a sleek, black patch, only added to his air of mystery and danger. Whispers circulated through the room, calling him the most dangerous man present, and it wasn’t just because of his formidable reputation in business.

It had been years since Aemond had seen his niece, Daelia Targaryen. The family rift that tore through their lives during the war had left deep scars, and she had been a distant memory, a name he hadn’t spoken in a long time. His life had moved on, consumed by the relentless demands of the company and the expectations of his position. But tonight, amidst the opulence of the gala, his thoughts drifted back to the past, to a time when the Targaryen family had been whole. He quickly dismissed the thought—nostalgia had no place in his world.

Meanwhile, far from the main entrance, Daelia Targaryen stood in the shadow of the towering skyscraper that bore her family’s name. The night air was cool against her skin as she gazed up at the gleaming edifice that was Targaryen Tower, a symbol of power, of legacy, and of everything she had rebelled against her entire life. She wasn’t supposed to be here—she was supposed to be the wayward daughter, the rebellious black sheep who had turned her back on the world of privilege she was born into.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Daelia had decided to see for herself what had become of her family’s empire after the war that had divided them so cruelly. No one had expected her to show up at the gala, least of all her parents. But she was an adult now, and she could do as she pleased. So, she had slipped away from the confines of her life, escaping the watchful eyes of her household to make her way to the heart of King’s Landing.

Daelia’s arrival at the gala was anything but conventional. Dressed in a sleek, dark gown that clung to her curves and flowed gracefully as she moved, she blended seamlessly into the shadows, her every step calculated and deliberate. Her dyed black hair matched to the dark ensemble, was left loose, cascading down her naked back. There was something untamed about her, a fierce independence that set her apart from the other women in the room.

As she slipped through the entrance, Daelia couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. She knew she shouldn’t be here, but that was exactly why she had come. There was a part of her that relished the idea of defying expectations, of challenging the boundaries that had been set for her since birth. She moved through the crowded halls with the ease of someone who had grown up in such environments, though her demeanor was far from that of a polished socialite. She was a Targaryen, after all, but she was also something more—something unpredictable.

Her entrance into the grand ballroom was subtle, almost unnoticed by the throng of guests who were too busy engaging in their polite conversations and quiet power plays. But Daelia didn’t care if they noticed her or not. She wasn’t here to be seen—she was here to see.

From across the room, she spotted him—Aemond Targaryen. He was impossible to miss, his presence commanding even in a room full of influential people. Daelia felt a jolt of recognition, a mix of emotions she hadn’t expected. It had been years since she had last seen her uncle, and time had only sharpened the edge of his presence.

He looked as formidable as ever, dressed in that immaculate black suit that spoke of wealth and control. The eye patch was new, a stark reminder of the battles that had been fought, both on the battlefield and in the boardrooms. He looked like the embodiment of everything she had rebelled against, yet there was something about him that drew her in, something that made her want to know more about the man he had become.

But Daelia wasn’t here to confront him—not yet, at least. She wasn’t ready for that. For now, she was content to observe, to take in the sights and sounds of the evening, to understand the world her family inhabited with a fresh perspective.

The grand ballroom hums with tension as Daelia Targaryen descends the staircase, her every step echoing in the vast space. The sultry notes of Michael Jackson’s "Dirty Diana" fill the air, wrapping the room in a seductive rhythm that perfectly matches her confident stride. Her billion-dollar diamond necklace catches the light with each movement, throwing off glittering reflections.

She lifts the glass of champagne to her lips, the bubbles tickling her throat as she takes a slow sip, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. Every man in the room has turned to watch her, their conversations dying on their lips. The women at their sides look on with thinly veiled jealousy, but Daelia doesn’t care. She was born to be the center of attention, and tonight, she’s exactly where she belongs.

As she reaches the middle of the staircase, Aemond Targaryen finally recognizes her. His breath catches in his throat, the glass of whiskey in his hand pausing mid-air. For a moment, he can’t believe his eyes—his granddaughter, Daelia, here at the gala, after all these years. Her hair, once silver are now black but there’s no mistaking those eyes, the sharpness of her features, or the unmistakable presence she commands.

Aemond places his glass on a passing tray, his gaze locked onto her as he begins to weave through the crowd. The guests part for him instinctively, aware of the power and danger he exudes. His mind races with a thousand questions, but his expression remains calm, collected, every inch the formidable CEO he’s known to be.

Daelia reaches the final step just as Aemond arrives in front of her. For a moment, the world seems to stop, the music and the chatter of the crowd fading into the background. Aemond’s gaze is intense, his single eye studying her face as if trying to reconcile the woman before him with the girl he once knew.

"Daelia," he finally says, his voice low, almost a whisper, yet carrying the weight of years of separation and unresolved emotions. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

Daelia meets his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Aemond," she replies, deliberately using his first name rather than the title of ‘Uncle’ she once would have called him. There’s a challenge in her voice, a subtle defiance that speaks volumes about the years that have passed. "I wasn’t exactly planning on it."

Aemond’s eyes narrow slightly at her tone, but he doesn’t respond to the provocation. Instead, he reaches out his hand, an invitation she knows she can’t easily refuse. "Dance with me," he order, his voice carrying a note of command, but also something gentler, something that surprises her.

Daelia hesitates, her eyes flicking from his hand to his face, searching for any hint of the boy she once knew. The music swells around them, urging her to make a decision. Finally, she places her hand in his, the touch of his skin against hers sending a jolt of electricity through her.

As they step onto the dance floor, Aemond pulls her close, his hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her effortlessly through the dance. "You’ve changed," he murmurs, his voice so low that only she can hear.

Daelia tilts her head slightly, looking up at him with a small, enigmatic smile. "So have you."

Aemond’s grip tightens just a fraction, his eye locked onto hers. "Why are you here, Daelia?"

She meets his gaze head-on, her smile fading. "To see what became of the empire after the war. To see what you’ve done with it."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "And what do you think?"

Daelia’s lips curve into a slight smirk. "I’m still deciding."

They continue to move in perfect synchrony, the world around them a blur as they focus solely on each other. The tension between them crackles, a mix of old wounds and new challenges, neither willing to give an inch. The song shifts to a slower, more intimate rhythm, and the air grows thick with unspoken words.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "You’ve grown into a woman"

Daelia looks up at him, her eyes flashing with that familiar Targaryen fire. "And you into a man" she replies, her voice equally soft, but with an edge that makes it clear she’s not easily swayed.

Aemond studies her for a long moment, and then, without warning, he smiles—a rare, genuine smile that reaches his eye, softening his features in a way that catches her off guard. "Do your partents know that you are here alone?," he asks, his voice filled with a quiet resolve.

As the song comes to an end, Aemond stops their dance, still holding her close. "I’ve missed you," he admits, the words heavy with the weight of time lost.

Daelia’s expression softens, just a little, as she searches his face. "No, Aemond," she whispers.

As the final notes of the song fade into the background, Aemond releases Daelia from the dance, though his hand lingers on hers for a moment longer than necessary. The tension between them is palpable, a mix of unresolved past and the undeniable chemistry that now simmers between them.

Aemond glances around the room, his sharp gaze taking in the guests who are still very much focused on their private conversation. He leans in slightly, his voice low with concern. “You shouldn’t be here, Daelia. If someone recognizes you and tells your parents…”

Daelia interrupts him with a soft, almost defiant laugh. “I don’t care, Aemond. I’m not a child anymore.” Her eyes meet his with a steady gaze, the rebellious fire in them unmistakable. She knows the risks of being here, but the thrill of defying expectations, of stepping back into this world on her own terms, is worth it.

Aemond studies her for a moment, his expression shifting from concern to something more complex. She’s right—she’s not a child anymore. The girl he once knew has become a woman, and it strikes him how much she’s changed. She’s twenty-two now, while he’s only six years her senior at twenty-eight. And she’s simply…gorgeous. The way she carries herself, the confidence, the beauty—she’s more captivating than ever.

With a slight smirk, Daelia reaches into her clutch and pulls out a sleek cigarette case. She opens it and offers him one, her expression playful but with a hint of something deeper. “Care for a smoke?”

Aemond hesitates for only a second before accepting. As she places the cigarette between his lips, she asks, “So, tell me, Aemond. Why the grand gala tonight? What’s the occasion?”

He takes a moment to light the cigarette, inhaling deeply before answering. “Power,” he says simply, his voice cool and calculated. “It’s about making deals, forging alliances, and reminding everyone in this room exactly who holds the reins in King’s Landing.”

Daelia’s lips curve into a knowing smile as she flicks her lighter, the flame casting a brief glow on her face as she leans in to light his cigarette. The proximity between them is electric, the air thick with unspoken tension. “And do they know?” she asks, her tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity.

Aemond exhales a stream of smoke, his eye locked onto hers. “They will,” he replies, his voice filled with the quiet confidence of a man who is used to getting what he wants.

The night presses on, but the conversation between them feels suspended in time, charged with an intensity that neither had anticipated. The weight of their shared history mingles with the undeniable attraction that simmers beneath the surface. They finish their cigarettes, the smoke curling up into the dim lighting above, both silently weighing what comes next.

As the last of the guests begin to filter out of the ballroom, Aemond turns to her, his expression shifting from businesslike to something more personal, more intimate. “The night’s still young, Daelia. Why don’t you come up to my apartment? We can talk…or not talk.” His invitation is both casual and loaded, a challenge and a proposition all at once.

Daelia looks at him, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. The part of her that thrives on rebellion, on pushing boundaries, is eager to accept. “Lead the way, then,” she replies, her voice low and smooth, the decision made.

Aemond takes her hand again, this time with purpose, and together they leave the ballroom, the weight of their decision hanging in the air behind them. As they ascend to the top floors of Targaryen Tower, the tension between them only grows, a mixture of the familiar and the unknown, both knowing that this night will change everything.

145 notes · View notes

timberwind · 2 years ago

Photo

Yarragardee Basin, Mangala, 7995 A.D. [this image is no longer canon due to changing of the timescale on which Mangala was terraformed]

------------------------

Accompanying music: You’re On Fire by They Might Be Giants. Summer road trip music of all time, in my opinion.

Here’s a little expository write-up on the history and geography of the worlds shown here. Someday I’ll have more to show of the personal story of these two critters and their travels; until then, a more macro-level description.

------------------------

(most of this info has become outdated as modeling invalidated some original assumptions and I changed my mind on what I wanted here; future art of Mangala will reflect this)

Mangala and its sister world Kahira (visible in the background) are binary planets, orbiting one another in a manner not entirely unlike that of Pluto and Charon in the Solar System. Mangala is a relatively small world - just about twenty percent the mass of the Earth, something like if you took two copies of Mars and smushed them together; without the internal heat to drive a carbonate cycle long term, it had long been a frozen, dusty, and arid place when transhumanity first established a permanent presence in the Tahoka system almost a thousand years ago. Since those early days, terraforming using a Birchian soletta system (a huge but foil-thin Fresnel lens of mirrors, with a secondary focal lens for burning atmospheric gasses out of the regolith) has rendered it shirtsleeve habitable to baseline humans across much of the surface, although the global water inventory remains low* and the air in the “continental” uplands is stratospheric, with only the hardiest lichens establishing a foothold. Most of Mangala’s major metropolitan areas are located in the deep rift valleys and basins, where air pressure is highest.

Kahira on the other hand, a rock almost a fifth the mass of its sister world (a little under the mass of old Mercury), remains only slightly terraformed - surface conditions are persistently cold, with a thin barely-Martian atmosphere. Some of its larger rift valleys and craters have been tented over, aerated, and planted with tall low-gravity forest and grassland, a style of habitat construction dating back to the first Mars colonists almost six thousand years ago. Industrial complexes and buried cities sprawl out across the bare surface of the moon, with huge low-gravity lava tubes seeing extensive urban development.

The Yarragardee Basin, pictured above, is a graben basin in Mangala’s northern hemisphere, notable for the historic industrial city of Tirupati - here we see two road-trippers between cities on the basin’s great plain, taking a break in the long late afternoon of a sunset-day***. Having stopped for a night at a motel near Tirupati’s aerospace complex, they’re now continuing their journey to the city of Redmond-Tonasket, located in the Woronora Valles trench system about two thousand kilometers to the southwest.

* While plenty of water could have been imported from Tahoka’s cometary halo, it was decided not to do so in order to avoid inundating pre-existing cities in the valleys and deep basins. The extremely humid hothouse conditions that come after slamming dismantled ice moons through the stratosphere at over six kilometers a second were also broadly considered unacceptable.

** Smaller worlds have been terraformed in transhuman space, both by worldhouse and more open-air methods, but it’s largely the kind of thing that much more energy-rich systems do as a vanity project. Kahira may someday see blue skies, but likely not for a thousand years at least. (edit, one year later: I actually changed up some of this while simulating this system for stability. I’ll be posting more about this soon.)

*** Mangala and Kahira, being tidally locked to each other such that they always show one another the same face as they orbit their common center of mass, both have days exactly as long as their orbital periods - 403 kiloseconds, or roughly 112 hours. This is for convenience divided into month-weeks comprising four “circadian days” of 100 kiloseconds (~26 hours), with the remaining three kiloseconds added on to the last day of a month-week to keep synchronization.

#cazart

615 notes · View notes

ezdotjpg · 14 days ago

Note

I just reread all of your bonus-links comic and *gestures wordlessly* your comics are so so so inspiring. I need to gush about it a little bit.

The layouts of the pages and the panels, there is so much movement in the way they direct the eye. I'm also a huge fan the textures you use in the backgrounds, the swirls and colours!!! The panels are just SO interesting to look at, even the ones with a simple composition.

I also! really love! the details that flow in and outside of the panels, like the red lines and the fabric of the sky, the way they direct the eye is SO beautifully done. And the panel borders becoming frames and decorations,,, I'm running out of words, the pages and panels themselves become an illustration in itself.

AND THE PAGES WITH THE RIFTS!? the way these portals just tear the panels apart!! it feels so unnatural and whoahh it's so cool to see a story using the comic medium itself to it's fullest!! it's seriously so exciting to look at!

It's clear that you are putting so much thought and hard work into the story, designs, and pages. Thank you so much for creating and sharing this comic! It's seriously so inspiring!

oh my gosh wow, thank you!!!!! that seriously means so much coming from you because I’m so inspired by YOUR comics!!!!! I don’t know anything about TMNT but I keep up with here there be turtles bc your work is so fantastic!!! 🥺🥺🥺 the colors,,,,the linework,,,the paneling,,,,so good

anyway seriously thank you so much this gave me a much needed boost of energy 💕💕💕

#askdotjpg #<3

31 notes · View notes

legionofmyth · 1 year ago

Text

Rifts World Book 19: Australia - New O.C.C.s & R.C.C.s

Ready to upgrade your Rifts #RPG character? 🎲 Check out our new video exploring the badass O.C.C. and R.C.C. options in Rifts World Book 19: Australia by Palladium Books! Perfect your roleplay game with new classes straight from Down Under! 🦘 #RiftsRPG #PalladiumBooks #TTRPG

Rifts World Book 19: Australia Discover new O.C.C. and R.C.C. in Rifts World Book 19: Australia! Level up your Rifts RPG game with exciting classes from Palladium Books. Get the lowdown on the fresh O.C.C. and R.C.C. options in Rifts World Book 19: Australia! This video gives you an inside look at the new character classes, from mystic shamans to powerful warriors, enriching your Rifts RPG…

View On WordPress

1 note · View note

freakenomenon · 3 months ago

Note

since you’ve already talked extensively about ted and ellens psychodramas + how they were displayed in the game, what do you think about other characters psychodramas like gorrister and benny?

sits back.

both of their psychodramas are confusing to me, but i prefer bennys over gorristers so ill talk about that first,,

i have like an EXTREME dislike for how they completely took away his entire character in the short story, especially with the erasure of his sexuality. but even beyond that. i just. Don't understand his character??? he was big and strong and handsome and hated the weak and. then what.

id understand if there was some kind of character motive beyond being perfect and not giving a damn point blank period. like if he was trying to prove something. to strive for perfection to the point of killing others because of SOMETHING. but they don't. i don't understand the point of completely reworking this characters already established and VERY WELL IMPLEMENTED backstory for anything other than censorship.

he refused to be weak in any way, but WHY.

it's not like with ellen ( sorry i cant resist ) where she grew up in a bad neighborhood where she was treated like nothing, so she decided to MAKE herself something.

which made it hard to cope with the fact she couldn't just rise above EVERYTHING.

or like with ted where he was forced to work for his family because of their poor financial situation, but then was pulled out of that by someone who was taking advantage of him.

which caused a giant rift in his identity.

benny has just. always been a cool big strong powerful man who didnt care about others!!@ and then when AM took him down he's not anymore boo hoo.

it's watering down what made bennys transformation from man to monkey so god damn horrifying. especially with the lack of compassion. yes sure he cares about nobody but himself BUT FUCKING. WHY? THEY DONT EVEN ELABORATE ON THIS IN THE MANUAL. FUCKING WHYYYYYY.

i like toto though, very fun little guy. very interesting character. he was like the only part of the psychodrama i could really,,, resonate? with.

now. gorristers psychodrama is.

what the hell is even going on

the only thing i could really gather from it is that instead of being an activist and a cautious "looker-aheader", gorrister was a truck driving alcoholic who had a bad marriage and an abusive mother in law who blamed him for driving his wife batshit crazy because he beat her. but. other than that i don't.

understand half of it. what do you mean edna killed gorrister. what do you mean Harry cut his heart out. jesse, what the fuck are you talking about.

i don't fully understand WHY we are supposed to sympathize with gorrister when he is. SOMEWHAT responsible for the mental descent of glynis. obviously edna and harry played a huge part in this, im not ignoring that at all. but the end of the psychodrama implying that gorrister should just forgive himself and bury the past because he wasn't FULLY at fault for punting wife into the looneybin. What.

once again, i don't understand the need for a complete flip of this characters original premis unless it's for CENSORSHIP purposes. alongside that at least the puzzles and the dialogue within bennys psychodrama make SENSE. gorristers just.

DONT?

it's not that the puzzles don't have ANY logic like a good one or two of ellens. THEY JUST. ARENT SOMETHING THAT A NORMAL PERSON WOULD DO OR BE ABLE TO FIGURE OUT WITHOUT JUST CLICKING SHIT ON RANDOM TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS. wait. Wait.

Okay. i know this is supposed to be a rant about their characters but. I just wanna say that a lot of the puzzles. Are things that RELATE to the characters and their stories and backgrounds. which adds to the enjoyment. WHEN YOU REMOVE THE ENJOYMENT OF THE PUZZLES. IT KIND OF MAKES ME. NOT LIKE GORRISTER SO MUCH.

if i kept going id just end up totally rewriting the characters as a whole and that's something for another tumblr rant to soothe my ever expanding rage.

im gonna go get a cheese stick

30 notes · View notes

ananke-xiii · 1 month ago

Text

Okay, I think I can finally share this now.

In my version of "Moriah" Chuck orders Jack to kill Castiel with the promise of bringing things back to how they were before all the mess they're in now, Mary included. Jack starts panicking and crying and is clearly being played but he's in no state to rationalize things so he starts blurting out all kinds of stuff and eventually resolves to actually do it. Sam and Dean are forced to watch by Chuck and are totally incapacitated just like us, hypothetical viewers, are made to watch Jack's tragedy as it unfolds.

But Castiel is okay with that and actually plans to do the deed himself in order to avoid at least this one pain in Jack's life so he comes close to Jack and holds his face in one hand while the other is ready for the blade. He needs to tell him one last thing before the end. They're both crying but somehow Cas find the courage to recite a different type of blessing over the children, one that of course doesn't involve God and it goes something like this:

Jack, don't cry. It's okay, it's okay.

I need to tell you something, Jack and I need you to listen carefully, okay? Okay, good.

Being elected as your father has been the greatest joy and honor of my life. Hey, it's okay, shhh, it's okay, listen to me.

It was a joy so great that I got scared, Jack. I'm sorry Jack but I got so scared. I didn't know it then but it was this gnawing fear of losing it all, of losing you, that made me make... many mistakes. It was this fear that prevented me from understanding who you really are, from seeing the truth. So here it is.

Jack, you were, are and always will be such a luminous, beautiful and important presence in this world. Ah, as a matter of fact, in any world. Because you're... you. And you are... amazing.

No, no, no listen to me now, please, shhh, it's okay: You have to know that whatever happens in your life, I will be there for you. No matter what, I will be by your side. If things will go wrong, I'll be there to give you my energy. If things will go right, I'll also be there to give you even more energy.

You must never forget that you're loved, Jack. Oh, look at you: my son...my son... I love you. So much.

Cas, in an instant, is ready with his angel blade but it's in this moment that the Shadow erupts into the world to take Castiel away: no reasoning, no strategic plan, nothing. The moment of happiness is the moment of unconditional love.

Chuck's frantic because this "unconditional love" thing wasn't in his script and yells that it was not supposed to happen this way, that he gave them the possibility to access everything they ever wanted, the price was just one self-loathing, doomed-anyway angel but it still wasn't enough for them, was it?

It's also the moment where Sam, briefly freed from Chuck's powers, gets his lucidity back and decides to pull the trigger on Chuck (and himself). In the background, Jack's screaming and crying so much that the mere force of his screams is enough to resurrect the whole cemetery but Cas is not coming back to him.

Chuck is wounded by Sam (who's also hurting in return) and is forced to flee. Dean is also wounded beyond repair and is like turned to stone and almost can't breathe because he's living, again, one of the worst moments of his life as we go back to a distorted, more messed-up version of s12 finale and to the beginning of Jack's tragic story.

Jack is spiralling and he's out of control and out of himself as he starts opening woundsrifts after rifts through dimensions and worlds looking for Chuck, looking for the Empty, looking for whatever comes first at this point because he's moved by the dangerous, unpredictable and explosive bomb that is revenge spurred by love. Until Billie finds him.

#this version of the blessing over children is NOT mine. It's a loose translation + I've added some parts #but I think it's just soooooooo incredible and I wish all parents said these words to their children and mean them #tbh this is a tiny but reeeeally important part in one of my stories but. like. in my story it's not so connected to doom #so it's more hopeful but. like. as far as s14 and drama and conflict and storytelling for profit go #it think this would build more climax in Jack's story than...whatever we saw on screen. this is. ofc. just my opinion #anyway #i've finally shared this here.#like in my mind in s14 jack and cas develop a more solid relationship and in “Byzantium” Cas sacrifices himself for Jack yes but also #to keep his promise to Kelly. This is. ofc. back when Cas still has to understand the real meaning of unconditional love #so it's very importat to me. personally. that the deal with the empty finishes as it started: with Jack #no shade to the destiel of it all but #it's just very important to me to change the script on unconditional love and start where it all beings: parents and children #jack kline #castiel #jack the puer #chuck shurley #supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #myths we live by #spn s14 #moriah

24 notes · View notes

localgremlinboy · 20 days ago

Text

I finally did it: creepypasta redesign/reimagines!

As a huge longtime horror dork, I have a soft spot for creepypastas and have wanted to sorta reimagine a few in sort of a "connected horror movie universe" type of au!

Starting off our series is the infamous "smile killer" of the mid 80s, Jeffery Woods. As a child, his alienating or odd behaviors created a rift between his parents that only grew as time passed. In an undisclosed tragedy, an unknown attacker killed both of the parents in the Woods household. Both children are put into foster care but it seems like death only follows Jeff, much to his intrigue. Most regard him as a freak, a role he steadily leans into as he gets older. This eventually cumulates into a breaking point and horrific incident involving blood, violence, and face scarring burns. While his face is forever scarred, a familiar forbidden smile now feels stuck to his face; for the first time in his life, Jeff is happy. The smile killer is born.

This is a silly personal project I've been wanting to do for a while now and I'm really excited to start off with Jeff! He was the first stinky internet horror story I ever read/was exposed to and he was half the inspiration for the idea! (also my cute style does no justice, he's got more burns. I think he'll start with just chemical burns and later gets lit on fire in his life)

Please check out down below for some more sort of au/background info and ideas I have as well as my inspiration!

(BEN's sheet is next, then I plan to do EJ. I've got ideas for others if anyone has someone they'd like to see :) )

Some extra background/extra info!

Jeff becomes a prominent serial killer in the 80s, mostly breaking into homes and killing but his MO can vary. One this is consistent though; Jeff carves a smile into all of his victims pre or post mortem.

His younger brother (I'm calling him Louis rn but I don't have a sheet for him) was young when their parents died and was eventually separated from Jeff in foster care. He was raised in a comparable home but his demons continue to haunt him. After coming to the realization that Jeff is the smile killer, he begins desperately hunting his brother.

Jeff eventually crosses paths with his brother and kidnaps him for an undisclosed amount of time. It ends when Louis escapes his binds and manages to overpower Jeff. Brought to his limit by his brother's mental and physical torture, he begins to turn the tables on Jeff and starts carving a smile into his face. Before he can finish, Louis is kicked off and Jeff escapes. Both scarred and forever connected.

Jeff later finishes his smile on his own.

Later on meets and becomes partial allies with EJ and BEN

(undecided but I think the event that pushed to Jeff's snap involved Jane. either way, she's gonna be in this)

also some extra headcanons I have

My Jeff has eyelids probably (I dunno, I've never liked him not having eyelids)

Weird anomalies are unspokenly drawn to him. Jeff gets along with ghouls way better than he ever has people

Jeff only smiled as a kid when he was doing fucked up manipulative shit, it was the biggest warning sign

Also plays the knife game all the time, has fucked up his fingers doing it and didn't learn his lesson

His parents knew Jeff was off from an early age but it was a point of division for them. (I'd say his father believed these were correctable behaviors but his mother more so had that, "I know something is wrong with him" kind of feeling that no one really listened to)

Jeff is not being influenced/manipulated/used by another entity to do evil. He is a bad guy w/ his own issues and despises the idea of people writing him off as "damaged and used" (Jeff's a bad dude with a rude tude)

At a certain point, Jeff starts to have this existential terrifying doubt that he's not human anymore & has become something else

He's a fan of rock & hair metal (he'll die before he cuts his hair)

Inspirations

Charles Lee Ray & Chucky in general

80s Hair metal & rock groups/aesthetic

80s slashers

#my art #creepypasta #reimagined pastas au #< name subject to change because i don't like it much lol #jeff the killer #this was for fun/sillies

20 notes · View notes

katuschka · 2 months ago

Text

Blowing Smoke ch.1

Tom (m!OC) x Josh Kiszka x Aiden (m!OC)

4.685 words

"Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame;

Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned."

(...said P!nk...and I say that pretty much sums it up)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere. Warnings: (are spoilers): anger and conflict, jealousy, arguing, language, feelings of abandonment, fluff, smut (m/m), hand&blowjob, anal fingering, anal sex (surprise, surprise) light choking, sub!Josh

Masterlist BS masterpost Taglist

Here's also some background story, if you're interested.

And you come to me on a summer breeze Keep me warm in your love, then you softly leave And it's me you need to show How deep is your love? And you may not think I care for you When you know down inside that I really do And it's me you need to show How deep is your love?

The table was set, the candles lit, the glasses filled, but it felt different this time. It was no longer how it used to be, somehow.

Had they been honest with each other, they would have had to admit that it had felt a bit different for quite some time already. They were no longer how they used to be. No one could really blame them, after four long years and with lifestyles that turned their shared bedroom into a place that collected dust most of the time.

Both feeling increasingly lonely while apart, each tried to cope in a way that made the other one crazy. Josh found his fix in the arms of his fans, knowing all too well that it made Thomas insecure and jealous. Tom, on the other hand, tried to fight his intrusive fears by keeping himself occupied: so immersed in his work that he often missed his lover’s phone calls and kept forgetting to respond to texts. After a while he started doing that on purpose, as a form of punishment. One doesn’t have to be a genius to be able to predict that it was a vicious circle. Deep down, they knew it too, and yet they continued torturing each other.

It was not for the lack of love. Neither was falling out of it. They both loved each other deeply and passionately from the very start. They were both just too proud and stubborn and different to be able to talk openly. One always talked too much, while the other one too little. It often ended up in a fight, and everytime that happened, it became clear that they in fact loved each other rather obsessively and possessively. Hair got pulled and scratches were made. And they LOVED that. Everything that just couldn’t be said, was felt. A passionate, angry fuck always made things better for a while, and then it started anew. Blinded by passion, they completely missed the first crack. A rift appeared and it kept growing. The inability to talk about certain things was slowly turning into unwillingness that was just one step from indifference.

And so it happened that the previously treasured moments lost their lustre. Dinners, showers, movie nights or board games: all the ordinary activities they could so scarcely enjoy together that they treasured every minute. In consequence, they always turned them into extraordinary experiences. Every moment spent together used to be like their personal little christmas. Or jizzmas, as they called it. The celebration of coming together. It always ended that way, anyway. And nothing wrong with that.

The dining room was once a place of boisterous celebrations, even – or mainly – when it was just the two of them there. They filled the air with fragrant spices and shared stories and laughter and moans. Now they sat there in silence. Josh’s foot slid nervously across the scraped floor and he groaned internally. It was a memento of their insatiable hunger, as their dinners often ended with him lying on the table, the savory smell of roasted vegetables mixed with sweat and lust and coconut oil.

Josh really tried this time. After another month spent away from home, he arrived at an empty house, knowing Tom wouldn’t be back before eight. He had missed Tom’s birthday while on tour (partly because Tom just didn’t pick up his phone again…), so he wanted to do something nice, something personal, to make up for it. He cooked the dinner all by himself and even tried to prepare Tom’s favorite creme brulee…and ended up with four ramekins of creme scorchee. At least it made Tom laugh. One of the brighter moments of the evening.

It did not last long, though. Now sitting at the table, Tom was acting like a housewife after twenty years of unhappy marriage, discussing dripping taps and the necessity to buy a new carpet, because removing red wine stains from the ivory shag rug proved nearly impossible. Shag rug… Another internal groan. He was aching for a touch! Desperate, really. His eyes wandered from the glass of wine in front of him to Tom’s moving Adam’s apple. He imagined running the tip of his tongue over the sharp outline, making Tom’s breath get heavy… Nevertheless, Tom’s walls seemed so high that night that he was literally scared to make the move.

“So, the interior designer’s coming tomorrow?” he asked disinterestedly instead.

“Uh huh. 10 am.” Tom didn’t even bother to look up, too fascinated by a chunk of sweet potato to meet his lover’s eyes. “All the portfolios were pretty good, but I finally chose Simpson. I hope you don’t mind. I told him what exactly we want and he already saw the place, but he needs to get to know you. ‘To be able to meet your specific demands,’ or something like that. Shouldn’t take long.” His tone was bored and monotonous. He took another bite and huffed through his nose, making it a bit too obvious that he was just suffering through the evening and wanted it to be over. It made Josh’s heart sink.

“Could you at least pretend that you’re glad to see me again?” he sighed.

Finally! The question finally made Tom raise his head. Putting the fork down slowly, he contemplated what to say. Seeing Josh – really, just looking at him – had always been a treat. He never understood how anyone could ever call him Frodo. No, to him, Josh was Ganymede. He was his lust at first sight. That’s why he tried not to look this time. He wanted to stay angry, to somehow justify the irritability that kept ruining his days lately, even though he knew it might be just his mood playing tricks with his mind again. He just wanted to be sure, and with Josh, he never was.

Deep down he knew it wasn’t fair. And the food was good, too… which made it even worse. He hadn’t expected Josh to cook, especially not right after his arrival, and he already ate at work. Taking photos at exhibition openings had its perks.

“I’m sorry Josh, I’m just tired and…not really in the mood,” he motioned towards the candles. Noticing the furrowed brow and clenched jaw, he quickly added: “This is nice, don’t get me wrong. And delicious. I’m just not at my best, I guess. It’s not a good day…”

“Me coming home is not a good day…,” Josh mumbled looking down at his own plate. “Noted. Well, I am glad to see you. Or was. I missed you. It’s been lonely...”

“Really!?” Tom regretted the remark immediately. Not because it was unjustified. No, he absolutely felt that way. He just didn’t want to have that conversation, because above all, he really was tired.

“And what does that mean?” Here we go.

“I don’t know Josh! You looked pretty happy and definitely not lonely while smooching fans at the barricade…”

“I thought we already solved this in the past. ”

“No, we talked about it in the past. And it’s not about you being physical with them. Yeah, I got used to it. It’s about the fact that people talk and you’ve done nothing to prevent those rumors from spreading. Makes one wonder. And I’m once again just watching from the background. The only difference is that they’re mocking me now!”

“I’m TIRED of this! YOU wanted to be known. YOU wanted to stay here. People will ALWAYS talk. I watched them fawning over you when you stood in the photo pit, heard their lewd jokes, and never batted an eye. I don’t fucking care what they say.”

“Lucky you,” Tom sighed. “Well, I’m tired too. And I’m afraid I can’t stomach this right now. Good night, Josh.” To his defense, he really did sound awfully tired, because he had trouble sleeping lately. But they both did. Dark circles under Josh’s eyes told a similar story. So, standing up, Tom tried his best not to escalate this even further. He bent down and kissed the top of Josh’s head. But even though it was his usual “good-night” gesture, a simple act of tenderness on most occasions, it felt almost like a mockery this time. It left Josh feeling totally defeated as he watched his boyfriend disappear in the dim hall.

Josh stayed downstairs for some time. After he carefully picked up the pieces of a broken glass he previously smashed against the glass cabinet, he loaded the dishwasher and wiped away the spilled oil and crumbs from the kitchen countertop. He usually enjoyed these petty tasks while he was home. It gave him a sense of normalcy, it kept him grounded. He was still just a guy, afterall. Cleaning the house or taking care of his man, even when it was not appreciated, was something he needed just as much as the ocean’s roar.

He heard Tom having a shower somewhere above his head and inhaled raggedly. Normally, he would follow him there, but not today. The idea of Thomas’s lithe, wet body under the stream of steaming water made his head spin, though. Grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine, he went to the second bathroom to run himself a soothing, hot bath. His muscles were a bit stiff and tense after the long flight, so no wonder he felt irritated. Yeah, we’re tired. It’ll pass. Pleasantly tipsy, warm and surrounded with fragrant bubbles, he jerked himself off. It felt good for a minute, but the relief was short-lived.

Back in the living room, wrapped in a cozy, fluffy bathrobe, he listened to the slightly oppressive silence of the airy, dim-lit room, and the sense of doom and gloom returned. Home, sweet home.

For a while, he contemplated sleeping on the couch. It was a stupid idea, he knew that. Childish and also completely unnecessary, because he could just use the guest room. Also…why? Nothing really happened. Just go to your bed, you idiot. And yet he felt like it did. The nagging feeling that Tom didn’t want him around stuck to him like a lucid nightmare that he couldn’t escape. And what if it’s true? He felt hurt. And nothing said ‘I’m hurt and angry’ as poignantly as sleeping on the fucking couch! Right? Tom would find him there in the morning and…

And what, exactly? Josh didn’t know. It wasn’t even his way of dealing with shit. In fact, it was a very ‘Tom’ thing to do. His lover was a master sulker. Good, at least he will get the message…

After an hour spent just tossing and turning in the dark and feeling stupid, he gave up. The softness of his blanket couldn’t make up for the natural warmth of Tom’s skin. He was ready to swallow his pride and admit that he was just making himself miserable down there, because he needed his baby. And he was going to show it the best way he knew. Or at least he’d try, come what may.

So, the idiot finally went to his bed, in which another idiot was already fast asleep.

Sliding under the comforter, the familiar blend of citrus, vanilla, and leathery powder invaded his senses completely. Oh god, how he missed this! He spent several seconds just inhaling. Habit Rouge was so completely Tom! Refined, pervasive, soothingly intoxicating and sexy as hell, all in one.

Tom didn’t know that, but Josh kept a heavily perfumed scarf with him everytime he was away. He would tie it around his wrist at night and sleep like that. With one key ingredient always missing, it was a meager substitute. Still better than nothing.

After a while, he reached out, tentatively at first. He placed his hand on Tom’s chest and drew a few slow circles. Nothing crazy or bold, just a tender touch. Tom’s breathing pattern changed, but he didn’t move yet. He didn’t recoil either, letting Josh caress him gently, who consequently tried his luck by sliding his hand a bit lower while snuggling a little bit closer, brushing his lips over the edge of Tom’s jaw. Now THAT was a very ‘Josh’ thing to do. Wrapping himself around people like an octopus was his way of solving both personal AND world’s problems. If only Tom would understand.

While Tom didn’t always understand, he hardly ever said no. Tom was addicted to Josh – to his smell, to his moves, to his sounds, and to his cum – however toxic that sounds. Well, it was…

Josh knew it, and his diligence usually paid off. He enjoyed teasing him, trying his patience constantly with everything Tom was getting high on. Just like now. He moved his lips languidly up to Tom’s earlobe and exhaled slowly… and very audibly, before he started kissing the soft skin behind it, just below the hairline. It made Tom shiver slightly, as if from cold. Encouraged, Josh let his toes travel up and down Tom’s shin as a bonus.

It worked. Tom shifted and stretched like a cat, indicating that he really enjoyed what Josh was doing, curious where this was heading. Given the green light, Josh was on a mission, with his fingers steadily heading towards Tom’s groin. The fact that they were both naked made it easier. Reaching the destination, those long,delicate fingers wrapped around Tom’s balls, kneading them gently, asking for more cue. Tom moaned softly, and that was Josh’s cue to start nuzzling his neck. He was needy, very needy indeed and he wasn’t going to hide it. Begging for attention and more physical contact, he let out a soft, nasal whimper and rubbed his chest against Tom’s forearm, finally making Tom turn slowly towards him at last, his arms inviting Josh in.

“What’s the matter, sunshine boy?” Tom asked sleepily, while his hands roamed freely over Josh’s naked form. Josh didn’t say anything. Instead, he swept his parted lips over Tom’s shoulder and whimpered when Tom’s thumb forced his chin up. They were now looking at each other, their eyes just mere dark, glossy beads in the near darkness. There was just one thing to say as they lay there naked, and they both screamed it without making a sound. With one sweepy, circular motion, Tom brushed the tip of his thumb up to Josh’s lower lip before he slid the digit inside his mouth. “This? Is this what you want, hmm?” In response, Josh’s lips tightened around the thumb and he started sucking, his tongue playing with the tip tellingly.

Those lips. If Tom had to choose between Josh’s lips and food, he'd starve happily. He needed to taste them. He needed a bite. AND he was not letting Josh have the satisfaction of knowing this. Baby, let’s play mouse. “You want a kiss, baby?” Yet another question, followed by yet another moan instead of a direct answer, not that Tom minded. Josh’s desperate whimper and music to his ears.

He slowly pulled the thumb out – Josh letting go with a soft pop, playfully – and they met halfway, the tips of their tongues brushing against each other. The kiss was a bit tentative at first, with their lips barely touching, but it was still maddeningly electrifying after all those long weeks spent apart, and they both quivered in each other’s arms. They were desperate for more. Tom finally grabbed a handful of hair on the nape of Josh’s neck, and pulled him closer, devouring him and making him moan into his mouth.

He went on a journey then, just like he always did. His hand cupped Josh cheek at first, before it slid down his neck and continued to trace the outline of Josh’s body until it reached the thigh. “Speak, sunshine boy. Is this what you want?” He squeezed the underside of Josh’s thigh and pulled his leg up and over his own hip. “Fucking tell me.”

“Yes,” Josh whispered and licked Tom’s lower lip once, “this is exactly what I want,” and he licked again. “Keep moving,” he bit the lip, pulled hungrily and softly growled. That was all Tom needed. He slid his hand further down towards Josh taint, where he drew a few slow circles with the tip of his middle finger. Slowly, he pushed the tip inside. Josh tilted his head back and elicited the most delightful hiss and Tom’s bare teeth swiftly attacked his exposed throat.

And just like that, the gentle phase was over with a bang. Their bodies collided almost violently and they started swirling around each other like two vengeful snakes. Except they had hands, snatching and scratching and turning the passion and their emotional obsession into very visible and very physical future reminders.

They fought like this for a while, before Tom finally straightened up, pushed Josh on his back and bent over to retrieve a bottle of lube from the bedside table. He applied a generous amount on his fingers and returned to his previous task. “You’re going to regret this, my dearest,” he whispered lovingly before he spread Josh’s legs and thrusted the middle finger in with much more force this time.

Josh’s breath hitched and he had to take a few deep breaths before he could respond: “I doubt it, darling.”

“Oh, you really asked for it.”

Without pulling out, Tom swiftly positioned himself between Josh’s legs and once there, he sucked the whole ball sack into his mouth. Simultaneously, his hand wrapped around Josh’s hard dick and started pumping. Josh grabbed at the sheets frantically and yelped, eyes open wide, scanning the darkness above him. Tom curled his finger inside him and the whole ceiling transformed into a planetarium. Tom added a second finger and started pumping and stretching, getting him ready. It was almost overwhelming and Josh was once again very loud about it. “Slow down,” he hissed.

After one last catlike lick at the base of Josh’s cock, Tom planted a soft peck on the wrinkled skin right above and smiled against it so that Josh could feel it. “Are you glad I’m so skillful?” he crooned while still having Josh in his grasp.

“Yeah…I’m glad, Thomas! So fucking glad,” he hissed through his teeth. “..ahk me.”

“What?” Tom grinned viciously, even though Josh couldn’t see it. He could definitely hear it, though. He knew the tone, and braced himself just in time so that he didn’t scream in surprise when Tom swallowed him whole without warning.

Josh had to take a few deep breaths before he could reply: “I said FUCK ME, asshole.”

Tom chuckled around Josh’s shaft, making himself gag, and his throat contracted around Josh’s head, making him yelp again. Josh wasn’t lying. This was going to end abruptly if Tom wouldn’t stop teasing him like that.

Sensing the danger, Tom retreated and climbed up Josh’s heated body. “Tsk, asshole, you say. No, that’s what you are right now, baby. I’m gonna fuck your brains out, I hope you’re aware,” he whispered in his ear while their cocks and chests rubbed together. Josh was losing it, literally mourning the sudden lack of stimulation. If going insane felt like this, he would gladly spend the rest of his life as a raving madman.

“Fuck my heart out. Turn me inside out if you must. Just let me feel it all. Just let me…agh,” the string of words was severed abruptly as Tom’s hand wrapped around Josh’s throat.

Josh’s heart was beating wildly, his head spinning from the arousal. He was only barely aware of Tom positioning himself until the stretch made him cry out.

Tom waited several seconds, then slid inside another inch. And then again. Slowly, he could feel Josh’s muscles relax around him and pulled out, leaving just the tip in. “Ready?” Josh nodded, barely visible in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, which made Tom tighten his grip.

“Speak!”

“Yes,” Josh breathed out. “Fuck me now.”

It was Thomas’ turn to disintegrate. He pushed inside and started moving, gradually quickening his pace. Overwhelmed, he collapsed onto Josh, who wrapped his limbs around him like a spider. As their synchronized movements became more and more frantic, they turned to the side and the dynamics shifted a bit. They were in this together, chasing their high as equals.

It was quick. The deadly cocktail of emotional and sexual frustration pushed them both over the edge in no time. They managed to change positions a few times, twisting around each other in their horizontal tango. Josh came first. It started as a deep guttural moan, gradually changing to loud and high-pitched wail as he tilted his head back and let it all out. Tom followed suit a minute later, burying his face in the bare skin of Josh’s chest with a long string of sighs, one for each jerky thrust.

Once showered, soothed and still naked, they climbed back onto the bed and under the comforter, and cuddled together.

“I love you,” Josh mumbled on the verge of sleep. A second later, his breathing pattern changed.

It was usually like that. Josh would assure Tom that he loved him, Tom would stroke Josh’s hair in response and then they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Morning came with a headache and that familiar, unwelcome feeling of sour mud running in his veins. He didn’t understand how he could be hungover. Maybe he should have eaten more the previous day, maybe it was because of the chronic lack of sleep that was just starting to take its toll. Nevertheless, it felt symbolic.

He was still feeling pretty good when he just opened his eyes and recollections of the night enveloped his mind like a cozy blanket. It had been a while since Tom called him ‘sunshine boy’ the last time, back when the world had stopped for a while and human contact was scarce. Those were easier times, somehow. Easier for the two of them, anyway, because it often was just the two of them. He was standing by the lake with his eyes closed, facing the setting sun and taking in everything his senses could absorb: the smell of the water, the humming of the wind playing with leaves, the warmth of those sunrays in his cheeks. Tom took yet another picture and used that nickname for the first time.

He was no longer a boy, and he felt painfully old when he turned to his side towards his love, only to find Tom’s side of the bed already empty and cold. His stomach sank, and did a backflip. Damn the wine.

Slowly, he dragged himself out of the bed, snuggled into his navy blue satin night robe and went searching for his lover.

Downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee still lingered in the air, but that was it. No steaming (or even cold) cup waiting for Josh. Nothing. A bowl was in the sink - a clear indication that Tom had already eaten. The house was quiet, save for a low melodic hum coming from Tom’s workroom. That’s where he finally found him.

It was a cozy place. Small, but thoroughly Tom’s. The decorated walls full of photographs of interesting places and people, as well as shelves with books and scattered lens filters reminded Josh of his old dreams. A large wooden Scandinavian-style desk with a huge monitor connected to Tom’s laptop stood in the middle of it all. Tom made sure the place wouldn’t be just a ‘studio’. Heady fumes from incense sticks always permeated the air. A few years ago, Josh gave him a fancy turntable for Christmas, which helped to fill the air with old school funk or electro swing ever since, turning the place into a thoroughly bohemian den. Josh enjoyed just chilling on the small sofa in the corner, watching Tom work. Not this time. This time he went straight to him, hugging him from behind.

“Good morning, darling,” he mumbled softly, with his chin resting on the top of Tom’s head.

Instead of responding, Tom placed his own palm on Josh’s hand, stroking it lightly with his thumb, but he didn’t lean into the touch completely as he usually would. Something was off again, as if the night didn’t happen at all. Josh decided to be blunt about it.

“Tom, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Why?” Tom finally turned his head to look up at Josh, before he returned his attention back to his work.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I just need to finish editing this quickly,” he replied monotonously, eyes still on the monitor.

“Ok, I’ll leave you to it.”

Mentally deflated once again, Josh softly patted him on the shoulders and turned to leave.

“Oh, Josh…by the way...”

Josh was already by the door, but this made him stop in his tracks. He didn’t like the tone. At all! “Yeah?”

“Who is this?” Tom asked, pointing at the monitor. It was a blurry picture from a club they had visited on a day off in between shows. Everyone except Jake was there that night, including some of the crew. The picture, however, showed only Josh with his arm wrapped around another guy’s shoulder, with Josh’s mouth dangerously close to the guy’s ear. Josh groaned internally again, but this time not out of lust. Anger started swirling the contents of his already irritated stomach. He knew what was coming, and he’d had enough.

“THAT is David, my new mic tech. You would have known that if you joined us there, just like everyone else did. I had no one to hang out with, so I invited some of our fucking emplyees to join us for a drink. THIS is me just trying to TELL him something so that he would hear me, because it was fucking noisy there. So, I’m not allowed to do that now? To TALK to people?”

“Stop jumping down my throat and turning this against me! I know I couldn’t come. I was fucking working! Not everything revolves around you and your free time. AND you know very well how this looks. Definitely not like talking. And look at this.” Tom pointed at the comments below.

“Tom, but that’s not true, for fucks sake!”

“Not saying it is, but I don’t enjoy reading this and you don’t fucking care.”

To Tom’s defense, it really did not look like just talking from that angle, but that was just Josh. “Personal space” was like “algebraic derivation” to him. The term surely meant something, he just didn’t know what exactly. When he “talked” to people, every inch of his body joined the conversation, especially when he was grateful or just happy. People knew that and hardly anyone seemed to mind, because when Josh entered the room, it was as if someone let the sunshine in. It was exactly what drew Tom to him from the very moment he saw him. He was blatantly open about his fascination and to his surprise, he gained Josh’s interest immediately. His fear that it could easily happen again with someone else therefore seemed very much justified to him.

It certainly did not seem justified to Josh. “Don’t care about what? You? Yeah, just yesterday I did all my best to make sure you knew how much I don’t care about you.”

Tom watched with exasperation as Josh once again turned to a raving chihuahua, flailing his arms animatedly as he continued raising his voice. Meanwhile, his belt came undone and he was now standing before Tom in his full glory, while the satin robe swayed around him like a cape.

Sighing, Tom stopped biting his thumbnail just for a moment to check his watch. It was already almost ten.

“Sadly, we don’t have time for this.”

“Uh huh! We never have time for this… says the man who always brings it up!”

“I’m serious. This will have to wait.” Before Ton continued, he stood up from his chair and pointed at Josh's disheveled state, specifically his uncovered dick. “You should get dressed, because they’ll be here soon.” With that, he walked past Josh and out the door.

“Who?” Josh, called after him, confused.

“Aiden.”

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names @gretasfallingsky @clownstarr @lipstickittty @gvfmarge @emojakekiszka @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @wetkleenex-gvf @i-love-gvf @musicislove3389 @gvfstuddedmajesty

#josh kiszka smut #josh gvf #josh kiszka #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van smut #greta van fleet #greta van fic #jake gvf fanfic #gvf fanfiction #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiszka x oc #gvf smut #gvf #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka fluff #Spotify

25 notes · View notes

graysoncritic · 7 months ago

Text

A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (PART 1)

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

Dick and Babs’ relationship also comes at the cost of something crucial: the citizens of Bludhaven.

Because Dick is often either with Babs or interacting with his other superhero connections, he does not engage with the people he is meant to protect. As a result, we as readers do not get to know the people of Bludhaven, much less grow to care for them. Bludhaven is barren. The only ones Dick interacts with are Babs, Titans, and occasionally Melinda. He is Bludhaven's protector but he has built no relationships with the people in his city.

When Dick’s apartment building blew up, Wally quite removed Dick from Bludhaven, robbing him of the opportunity to interact with his neighbors, with Clancy, or even his enemies. Having the Titans in Bludhaven further exacerbates this problem by creating a distance between Dick and the others in the city. Dick may be in Bludhaven, but he is not interacting with the people of Bludhaven. He literally lives in a tower removed from the rest of the population. Dick does not have a job of his own, we do not get to see him working for the Alfred Pennyworth Foundation, and because now he gets to be Nightwing more often, he is robbed of even more opportunities to experience a normal daily life in Bludhaven. By having Dick move into the Titan's tower, interact primarily with Babs and the Titans, and work solely as Nightwing, Taylor created a rift between Dick, his city, and its people.

As another Dick Grayson Fan put it in a discussion (From here on referred to as Dick Grayson Fan C):

“The problem [with the current iteration of Dick and Barbara’s relationship] has been there for years but what really brings it out in Taylor’s run - apart from DickBabs being attached at the hip - is that his Bludhaven is just very gentrified. It’s a reflection of the DickBabs relationship. And because Taylor can’t write more than one shallow plot, it’s the same for the Titans.”

Taylor’s Bludhaven is incredibly sanitized. It gestures at discussions of social justice without portraying them, it creates a simplistic black-and-white morality system that does not require the reader to be uncomfortable with the difficult realities of our world. The way Dick Grayson Fan C united both the Dick and Barbara romance and the portrayal of Bludhaven under the term “gentrification” perfectly captures how the relationship undermines the themes the story claims to care about.

Taylor’s Bludhaven has always been sanitized, but when the Titans show up, they displace Bludhaven citizens (literally moving into their neighborhoods, and figuratively by taking up the space Bludhaven citizens should have in a Nightwing story). Their relationship to Dick gentrifies the city and the story, making it so everything appears “nicer” and so Dick does not have to interact with the messier, more uncomfortable aspects of Bludhaven. He only gets to engage with those who are pristine, who share the exact same worldview as him, those affluent and privileged enough to dedicate their lives to superhero-ing without having to worry about being rent, paying bills, caring for their family, the stresses of a job, and any other problems.

For a world that is supposedly diverse, Dick only gets to have meaningful interactions with those whose heroic background and opinions on issues completely align with his own.

The Alfred Pennyworth Foundation would have been the perfect vehicle through which Bludhaven could have been fleshed out and Dick could have contributed to the care of his city while not being a vigilante. Yet, because Taylor tends to avoid conflict and makes it so everything must come easy to Dick, we are robbed of opportunities for Dick to grow, for the city to be fleshed out, and for the themes Taylor claims to care about to be fully explored.

Think about it: What reason do the people of Bludhaven have to believe that Gotham-native and newly billionaire Dick would keep his promise to create a shelter for their homeless youth population? Why should they believe that he is different from the other politicians or so-called philanthropists that took advantage of the system and of Bludhaven’s people in order to line their own pockets? And even if Dick was genuine in his efforts, why should they believe Dick would succeed when Blockbuster has the entire city under his thumb?

Dick never has to work to gain the trust of the citizens of Bludhaven. Because we are robbed of this conflict — that of Dick wanting people to trust him and people being reluctant to do so due to their past experiences — we are also robbed of a story that shows rather than tells the problems Dick tries to solve while also creating rich interactions between our protagonist and the people of his city. A conflict in which Dick has to prove himself to be trustworthy would have also given us the opportunity to meet and care for actual Bludhaven citizens, seeing them as individuals with diverse backgrounds, values, and personalities rather than a blank faceless mass.

Not only would a conflict in these early stages of Haven’s creation serve to develop Dick’s character, flesh out Bludhaven as a city with its own unique personality and problems, and create a side cast filled with individuals, but it would also work towards the main themes of the story. By denying us of said conflict, Taylor in turn makes his story weaker while undermining the thesis of his work.

On a bureaucratic front, Dick also faces no challenges. He never has to work to get his foundation started. After his announcement, we do not get to see him taking any of the practical steps required to run a nonprofit foundation and getting started on such a project. Furthermore, any bureaucratic challenges he should have faced given how the source of Bludhaven’s troubles are one of corruption, are easily waved away by Bea who later takes credit for this smooth ride, robbing Dick of agency and of his own accomplishments. Though Dick refused to acknowledge her work even as he received recognition for helping Bludhaven #113.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Byrne, Stephen, illustrator. The Crew of the Crossed Part Three. Nightwing: Rebirth. 107, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp. 06)

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t consider that to be much of a problem. After all, the reason why Detective Comics and Batman comics do not focus on Bruce’s philanthropy is because that is not the focus of those stories (Though I once more feel the urge to note that Cataclysm and No Man’s Land managed to incorporate such elements into the main plot while still keeping the focus on the gang wars, superhero work, and detective investigation). But Taylor made The Alfred Foundation and Haven a centerpiece of the beginning of his run. In his attempts to address the popular online discourse about Bruce’s money being a solution to Gotham’s problem, Taylor made the idea that Bludhaven needed Dick Grayson’s philanthropic efforts to be their safety net a main theme of his story. For that reason, this plot element should have been a major focus, which means it should have been a main source of conflict in ways that showed just how Blockbuster’s cruelty affected the disposition of Bludhaven’s citizens.

The absence of conflict and tension in the story point that is so pivotal to Taylor’s run demonstrates not only Taylor's underwhelming abilities as a writer, but also how he approaches writing not with a focus on storytelling, but rather with a focus on online discourse. Scholar Steve Braxi highlights this as one of the main problems in Taylor’s writing when examining both Nightwing and Superman: Son of Kal-El in the essay On Superman, Shootings, and Realities of Superheroes. There, Braxi dismantles criticisms against the “socio-political” responsibilities of fictional superheroes by arguing such critiques to be in bad-faith for demanding “political solutions from fictional realities.” According to him, in these arguments, “Superman and Batman are not treated here as ideas readers want to believe in, but rather people that need to prove their worth to us. They need to take on real issues in their fictional world in order for their fictional solutions to speak to our real world. This equivalency between their world and ours has a dissonant effect on me because I think it misunderstands the entry point of fiction in the first place.” (Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

Taylor’s decision to make Dick a billionaire who uses his money for the social benefit of others is a response to popular online discourse about whether Bruce Wayne should use his money to help Gotham in ways other than Batman. While I already pointed out that such arguments ignore the fact that Bruce does, canonically, use his wealth to the benefit of others, Braxi points out that “the argument that Superman ignores real social issues or that Batman is worse than the crime he fights does not assume the best intentions of the characters, creators or nature of fiction. They engage with these stories from a perspective that is intentionally distant from the unique reality of the story being told.” (Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

Braxi rightfully argues that attempts to respond to shallow criticism leads to shallow storytelling. It is only because these are popular online arguments that Taylor makes them important plot points in his story. And yet, despite their supposed importance, the Alfred Pennyworth Foundation and Haven are not properly incorporated into the story because Taylor does not take into consideration what these elements say about his characters, his themes, and how they can shape the plot on a deeper level. As such, the lack of meaningful conflict can be seen as a symptom of this thoughtlessly performative desire to play into trendy discourse. Character complexity, narrative depth, and thematic cohesion are all sacrificed to please an ever changing social media algorithm and debates that are forgotten and disregarded in a matter of days.

Even the Alfred Pennyworth Foundation’s name is, quite frankly, evidence of such online fan pandering at the cost of characterization and narrative. Alfred is beloved by many, and while we do not have time to discuss DC’s attempts to sanitize his character after his death (While I adore Alfred, he had many flaws that affected the manner in which he raised Bruce and Dick. These flaws, however, have been ignored or erased by current comics that prefer to portray Alfred as a benevolent father figure who never made any mistakes. While I believe Bruce and Dick would glorify Alfred in such a manner, that does not mean the narrative has to agree with their biased perspectives),

the reality is that though Alfred may mean a lot to Dick Grayson fans, he means nothing to the people of Bludhaven. From my personal point of view, Alfred was also not the type of person who would have liked to have a statue in his honor in a city he never visited. From an in-universe perspective, naming a nonprofit meant to help the people of Bludhaven after a man who did not even live in their city and then erecting a statue in his honor makes no narrative sense. But Taylor does it because the statue means something to the audience, regardless of how that would play in-universe.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. The Battle for Bludhaven’s Heart. Nightwing: Rebirth. 92, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 12)

Furthermore, by not having Dick interact with the people of his city, Taylor contradicts his supposed characterization of Dick as a “good guy.” This is yet another instance of telling and not showing, and it is most obvious when looking at Heartless.

Though Taylor tried to build up Heartless as this intimidating villain, he put little effort into matching said intimidation with the appropriate amount of urgency. Dick does not treat Heartless as an actual threat. This, as mentioned previously, transforms Dick into a self-absorbed man who does not understand (or does not care) about dangers being posed to the people of his city.

From both a narrative and a character standpoint, the fact that the children of Heartless’ victims mirror Dick’s own experience makes this disconnect even more frustrating.

Dick lost his parents. He knows what it feels like to see their dead, bloody bodies on the floor when you’re but a small child. Dick also knows how finding justice can help with closure, and how not finding justice can haunt you for the rest of your life. Knowing that Heartless made countless kids into orphans should be a crucial motivation for Dick to fall into that intense and obsessive pursuit that characterizes his crime fighting. Dick should be working on this case constantly, for he knows what those kids are going through. Dick appointed himself their protector, yet he does nothing for them. He does not guide them through their grief the way Bruce did for him, he does not find justice for their parents the way Batman and Robin did when they captured Zucco, he does not offer them closure or an outlet for their anger and their pain. The story does not show Dick to be a hero, but rather, it makes him into an incredibly selfish, lazy person who is only interested in the optics of heroism, and not the, often thankless and unacknowledged, work it takes to actually help people.

The contrast between how Dick is Nightwing: The Untouchable and Taylor’s run could not be greater. The former carried every death on his shoulders, determined to push through bullet wounds in order to prevent more killings. The latter behaves as if Heartless did not exist unless he is on screen.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Two: Relentless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 36, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. Page 20)

(Wolfman, Marv, writer. Igle, Jamal, illustrator. Bride and Groom: Part One: The Courtship. Nightwing no. 129, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2007. pp. 11)

That is because Wolfman understood that the best way to show Dick’s compassion was to have him interact with those whose lives were made better by his presence. As readers, we were able to experience first-hand the difference Dick makes on an individual and personal level. This is more than just having Nightwing appear in a pencil case; this shows Dick actively interacting with the people of his city, forming genuine connections with them, and putting in the work to make their lives better because he cares.

(Wolfman, Marv, writer. Luque, Paco Diaz, illustrator. Bride and Groom: Part Four. Nightwing no. 132, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2007. pp. 24)

Please understand that I am not saying that Heartless should be present in every single issue, from the moment he was introduced to the moment he is finally caught. But just because he is not physically there, it does not mean that the story should not be exploring the effect his actions have on his victims' loved ones. Readers should see the terror that grips Bludhaven as a serial killer is on the loose. How do people, especially the homeless youth Dick vowed to protect, react when they don't feel safe? Heartless doesn't need to be physically there, but his presence and its effect should still be felt. That's what happened with Blockbuster in Nightwing (1996) – he may not have been there all the time, but his grip on Bludhaven, on the corrupt systems, on Dick's life, was still always present.

By depicting Heartless’ effect on Bludhaven would not only add urgency and stakes to the plot, it would give faces to his victims while giving Dick the opportunity to bond with the people of Bludhaven. Perhaps as Heartless’ orphans come together in their grief and anger, and once they realize that the corrupt BCPD isn’t going to bring justice to their parents, they decide to take matters into their own hands. Then Nightwing could step up and prevent them from going too far. He could teach them productive ways to channel their anger, give them shelter and an empathetic ear, and he would vow to do right by them when no one else did before. This would show Nightwing’s love for Bludhaven and it would bring the themes of inequality and social justice that Taylor claims to want to explore into the narrative in a more emotionally effective manner, for the homeless youth would have names, faces, and their own voices.

There doesn’t even need to be many children. In fact, there could be just one — Elliot, from #79.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part Two. Nightwing: Rebirth. 79, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 11)

By making Elliot the face of Heartless’ true evil, the face of the victims of Bludhaven’s corrupt system, of people’s lack of compassion, Taylor would show the reader everything Dick wants to fix in Bludhaven and why it needs fixing. Elliot would humanize these abstract concepts so that the reader is emotionally invested in Dick’s success. The stakes are suddenly personal. Furthermore, it would prevent the city from feeling so barren while giving Dick people to care for outside of his already established connections. Just as Bruce did with him, Dick could see much of himself in Elliot, and that would lead him to want to help Elliot in a similar way Bruce helped him all those years ago. This also would have contributed to making the hug in #100 more effective, as it would be creating mirrors and parallels between Bruce and Dick’s relationship, and Dick’s relationship to Elliot.

(Loeb, Jeph, writer. Sale, Tim, illustrator. Orphans. Batman: Dark Victory. 09, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2000. pp 05)

The fact that it took over thirty issues for Taylor to finally, finally, draw a connection between Bruce, Dick, and Heartless victims in #111 is, frankly, lazy and thoughtless.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Basri, Sami, illustrator. Nightwing. Nightwing:Rebirth. 111, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2024. pp 05-06)

In his 2022 video titled The Secret Ingredient That Makes Raimi's SPIDER-MAN So Great (Season Premiere), video-essayist and film critic Patrick H Willems discusses how vital of a role the ordinary citizen characters played in the Sam Sami Spider-Man trilogy. He describes how “they make the New York of these movies feel like a real, thriving city populated by a vibrant community of characters. Because if we’re going to care about Spider-Man caring about the people of New York, we have to actually get to know the people of New York.” (Willems, Patrick H. “The Secret Ingredient That Makes Raimi's SPIDER-MAN So Great (Season Premiere)” Youtube, uploaded by Patrick (H) Willems, 20 September 2022 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFpQBOopf84)

Similarly, giving Bludhaven citizens, giving Heartless’ victims agency and individuality would have elevated the story and made Dick into a more empathetic and endearing hero. We would have cared about the people of Bludhaven because we would have gotten to know them through their interactions with Dick.

But to accomplish that, Taylor would have to actually care about who Dick Grayson is and who the people of Bludhaven are; he would need to actually care about the story he is trying to tell as a whole, rather than simply writing for moments that will merely appear progressive when removed from their context and presented on social media.

To be perfectly fair to Taylor and Redondo, they are hardly the only ones to miss an opportunity when it comes to Bludhaven. Even Dixon and Grayson, the first two who were given the chance to breathe life into this city, were satisfied to treat Nightwing’s abode as merely “Gotham lite.” In fact, much could be said about DC’s handling of Bludhaven, its lack of investment in the city, the ways in which it tried to erase it from its history, and what parallels can be made with how many in DC view Dick Grayson. What sets Taylor and Redondo’s mishandling apart from all others was that, instead of depicting Bludhaven as a generic corrupt city, they opted instead for a gentrified, picturesque liberal urban utopia. As Taylor’s Nightwing perfectly said when confronting Blockbuster, Roland Desmond is the one big identifiable bad guy who is shown to be the source of all of Bludhaven’s problems.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Leaping into the Light Part Six. Nightwing: Rebirth. 83, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp. 08)

Like Gotham, Bludhaven is broken in a myriad of ways. While many of their problems come from those on top, both cities also face mundane evils that rise from not just suffering, but apathy. There are many stories about Gotham that explore the dark and the light side of humanity, acknowledging that both of them can be found in us. It was a small evil that killed Thomas and Martha, but it is a grander, structural evil that prevents justice from being served and hinders Gotham from prospering. It was also a grander, structural evil and corruption that put Joe Chill in a position where he held a family at gunpoint and murdered a mother and father in front of their young child.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Eaglesham, Dale, illustrator. Fear of Flames Part One: Fanning the Flames. Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight. 116, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1999. pp. 07)

Bludhaven is often characterized as Gotham’s little sister. In fact, it was the fact that the city reminded Dick so much of a Gotham without a Batman or a Gordon that Dick decided to take on the challenge of caring for Bludhaven. He saw a city in need, knew he could do something to help it, and so he did.

(Dixon, Chuck, writer. McDaniel, Scott, illustrator The Freebooters. Nightwing. 03, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1996. pp. 23)

Just Batman struggles in No Man’s Land when there is no system to uphold, the beginning of Dixon’s run is characterized by Dick struggling with the lack of allies or of a network in which he could trust. As Tim pointed out to him in Nightwing #06, Dick was all on his own.

(Dixon, Chuck, writer. McDaniel, Scott, illustrator The Visitor. Nightwing. 06, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1996. pp. 12)

Tim Seeley also emphasized this isolation in his run, though in this scenario, Dick purposefully sought out this separation in hopes that being in Bludhaven would help him discover who he is.

(Seeley, Tim, writer. To, Marcus, illustrator Bludhaven: Part One. Nightwing: Rebirth. 10, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2016. pp. 08)

As both runs progress, Dick slowly builds his own network of alliances. In Dixon’s run, which seems to be the one that, given Blockbuster’s presence, most inspired Taylor, Dick learns how the city operates and crafts a strategy that balances tackling emergencies, disrupting the system, and slowly untangling the messy rot beneath without causing unforeseen negative consequences.While Dixon’s run is filled with problematic elements in its own right (especially when it comes to the portrayal of women and even some aspects of Dick’s characterization), this section will be focusing on how the narrative provides opportunities for Dick to interact with the ordinary people of Bludhaven. (Taylor drawing inspiration from Dixon’s run can be observed not only on the similarities between the plot points [though he retreads mainly Grayson’s run rather than Dixon’s], but also by Taylor’s own admission. In February 2024, when Dixon posted a homophobic tweet about Jon Kent and Dick Grayson, Taylor expressed his disappointment over Dixon’s attitude and cited how Dixon’s run was an inspiration to him.)

Clancy becomes a bridge between Dick and his neighbors, who represent different facets of Bludhaven.

(Dixon, Chuck, writer. McDaniel, Scott, illustrator. False Starts. Nightwing. 21, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1998. pp. 13)

Through his work as a bartender he gains insight into cold cases, learns more about the Bludhaven City Police Department.

(Dixon, Chuck, writer. McDaniel, Scott The Forgotten Dead. Nightwing. 24, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1998. pp. 24)

He befriends his partner Amy Rohrbach, and with her, he learns about the small alliance of clean cops that are trying to overthrow the current dirty officials.

(Dixon, Chuck, writer. McCarthy, Trevor, illustrator. The Threshold. Nightwing. 60, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2001. pp 08)

Similarly, Grayson's run shows us the complicated politics of the city’s underworld, presenting the reader with a myriad of characters. While Dick certainly encounters greedy mobsters interested only in using violence as a means to gain wealth

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Hester, Phil Cold Turkey. Nightwing. 109, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2005. pp. 11 - 12)

Dick also interacts with those who ended up caught up in such a dark world through no fault of their own. When Dick, acting as Crutches, beats up a mobster, he discovers his innocent girlfriend and the girlfriend’s child were in the house. While Dick, as our hero, did not allow any harm to come to them, the trauma they went through is not ignored by the narrative.

In fact, not only is it acknowledged, but when Angie Malazavos comes to the police with information on the mob — something that could only happen thanks to Dick and Amy successfully removing a majority of dirty cops from position of power — we see that trauma repeated as the police raids the house of the mobster who began the attack.

Memorably, this leads to Sophia Tevis, the fifteen year old daughter of said mobster, to not only become an orphan, but embody that uncomfortable synthesis of crime and innocence after she witnesses her entire family — a family who loved and doted on her — being killed by the police

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Chiang, Cliff, illustrator. Signed, Sophia. Nightwing. 111, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2005. pp. 5 - 7)

As he takes her under his wing, Dick and the reader are forced to confront the unclear position people like Sophia occupy in a world that attempts to create clear divides based upon not only actions and motivations, but relations.

By contrast, Taylor’s Bludhaven is too… Nice. Like his characters, it lacks any substance or personality, being a shallow and bland setting without true flaws or appeal. By blaming Blockbuster and his cronies for all that is wrong in Bludhaven, Taylor cheats himself of the opportunity to give Bludhaven flavor. He creates a world where either you are a rich man taking advantage of others or you are a helpless victim who has a good heart and will always be selfless.

This simplistic morality and the surface-level portrayal of Bludhaven as a city not only proves that Taylor gives the city he is writing about no true thought, but it also shows how Taylor’s supposed interest in progressive messages and socially-conscious themes is an incredibly shallow one. After all, if Taylor truly wanted to explore themes of class inequality and systematic injustice, then such a simplistic moral approach works against the innate human messiness and structural complexities inherent in these themes. It is not the themes or its messages, therefore, that interest Taylor, but rather the prestige that comes from being viewed as someone writing about these issues.

This once more shows that Taylor does not care about the story he is telling, the characters in his care, the themes he brings up, and the city whose legacy is in his power to shape. He is not approaching his run from the perspective of a writer, but rather, of a person who chases clout on social media.

As Braxis pointed out in his article, engaging with these themes is difficult. Engaging with it well — truly entering the conversation about real world political, social, and economic problems — is even more so, especially when you also have to tell a satisfying story that does come across as preaching. More than that, though, a story that so directly confronts these issues must, in order to be effective, force the reader to come to terms with their own culpability in a system that is far larger than the individual. It must force us to be uncomfortable and have us ask ourselves how we can bring on change, even in some small way. If such stories are not willing to have the reader be truly emotionally uncomfortable, then they are simply appropriating the pain and suffering of others for a bit of socially progressive coat of paint.

Taylor does not want his readers to be uncomfortable. He does not wish to upset them. He does not wish them to worry or even feel the slightest bit of tension by having Dick be wrong or someone say something mean. He refuses to portray all the many ways evil can manifest in society, all of the petty cruelties everyday people inflict on each other, the apathy of those who are comfortable, the way many must force themselves into individualistic selfishness in order to survive or in order to protect those they love. Taylor doesn’t allow for the pettiness in his world, where, in #87, even a random passerby must happily offer up his bike to Nightwing without questions or expectations.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Get Grayson. Nightwing: Rebirth. 87, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 08)

Taylor’s depiction of Bludhaven betrays a very juvenile idea of what good and evil means, a very simplistic idea of how the world works, and very easy solutions to fixing difficult problems, with all of the woes being “fixed” when good guys like Dick, Babs, and Melinda are in power. If you are not one of the main characters, then you are either a corrupt criminal using their money to take advantage of people, or you are a poor helpless victim. There’s no in between, no space for the mundane evils of the world or the average heroics of average people.

As Braxis pointed out when discussing the superficiality of Taylor’s social critique: Son of Kal-El and Nightwing demonstrate a pattern in Tom Taylor’s writing where social issues are used as plot devices, but there is a performative contradiction this ends up creating. Jon and Dick are exposed to social issues as a gateway to criticize their mentors. However, their lack of understanding about the issues they’re exposed to means their own criticisms can be thrown back at them.

(Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

Please note that I'm not saying that exploring class inequality and systematic injustice aren’t interesting lenses through which one can explore Bludhaven. However, by making Bludhaven such a friendly yet passive city, Taylor stumbles onto a trap of his own making. He uses no metaphors, no allegories, no symbolism, no fantasy or science fiction elements to create distance between the narrative and the real world, allowing more freedom with how these topics could be discussed. Taylor decided to tackle, as Braxis characterized, “shallow criticism, a criticism in bad faith” by directly engaging with these real world problems, and as such, he took on work that was not only far beyond his capabilities as a mediocre writer, but work that he clearly has no interest in undertaking.

To have to read about this Bludhaven after we had Humphries and Chang’s depiction feels even more like a knife to the heart of every Dick Grayson fan.

Humphries’ The Untouchable, Bludhaven’s corruption and evil is beyond “generic” police corruption. It is specific. It is unique. Bludhaven has a history. It has personality. Humphries’ run touches on themes of corruption both through the fantastical use of the Judge, and by the very specific scenario of Bludhaven’s unique economic problems. This Bludhaven’s economy is so deeply tied to a rotten, corrupt system that everyone ends up being both victim and perpetrator. The system harms all of them, but without it, they cannot survive.

The casinos were corrupt, stealing money from schools, lining its owners pockets, controlling the mayor through bribery and blackmail. But Bludhaven is also dependent on the casinos. Its economy is entirely dependent on them to the point that even those who do not work directly with the casino still need them to thrive. This creates a fascinating and complicated scenario where weeding out the corruption that led to so much suffering will not solve anyone’s problem. In fact, as the story demonstrates, it can even make it worse.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Two: Relentless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 36, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 21)

For a more concrete example of how Humphries and Chang were able to flesh out Bludhaven in five issues so much more than Taylor and Redondo did throughout all these years, I want to compare Humphries’ handling of the Justice Tree with Taylor’s handling of the Octopus statue in the beginning of his run.

Humphries’ Justice Tree not only creates a concrete and identifiable landmark within the city, not only is it connected to Bludhaven’s history, The Untouchable’s main antagonist, and Dick’s personal relationship with the city, but it is also tied to the themes of the plot.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator The Untouchable: Chapter One: Hunter. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 35, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 12)

In The Untouchable, the Justice Tree is rich with symbolism. First planted in Bludhaven by The Judge while he was still human, symbolizes, well, justice. As the Judge’s return and his machinations reveal the rot that had been seeping into Bludhaven, the tree begins to wither, its centuries old existence threatened. As the tree’s fate is at risk, so is Bludhaven’s.

The narrative goes back to the Just Tree just at the right beats, emphasizing the thematic core of its story. It also contributes to the plot by becoming a ticking clock. It’s threat countdowns to the big climax of the story, when Nightwing and the Judge will battle for Bludhaven’s soul. It is notable that while the Justice Tree was first planted by the Judge, it is Dick’s efforts that manage to save it, so even though both men are fighting for what they believe to be right, everything about narrative indicates that Dick is the one who ultimately has what it takes to save Bludhaven from corruption.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Seven: Final Judgment. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 41, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018 pp. 22)

That being said, another big theme of this story is forgiveness and kindness, two principles that are essential to Nightwing. Dick emphasizes that no one should be judged by their actions when they are at their worst, so long as they decide to move forward and do good.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Seven: Final Judgment. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 41, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 21)

And yet, Dick is unable to extend this same kindness to himself. While he is able to forgive everyone around him for giving into the Judge’s temptations, he is unable to forgive himself for being unable to stop the Judge sooner.

These themes are embodied in the Justice Tree, which is threatened when the Judge is at large, and then is given a chance of salvation when he is captured by Dick and he is able to convince Bruce to invest in the efforts to keep the tree alive. The story concludes with Dick being given a piece of it to plant wherever he chooses (and he chooses close to his home, to Nightwing’s headquarter, the perfect marriage between Dick Grayson and Nightwing).

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Seven: Final Judgment. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 41, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 23)

And that is not even to mention the way the art manages to convey so much. The tree that symbolizes justice is surrounded by the corrupt casinos. Nature is surrounded by artificial neon lights, circling in it, caging it so that it cannot branch out, cannot expand, cannot grow. The more natural, soothing colors of the tree contrasted against the bright neon colors of Bludhaven. The sharp lines of the tree vs the blurriness of the city. All of it visually conveys the main conflicts of the story that work together with its themes.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Two: Relentless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 36, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 22)

By contrast, Taylor’s depiction of the Octopus Statue feels… Lacking. When looking at it with Babs, Dick ruminates on the history of Bludhaven and how it symbolizes Bludhaven’s resilience. He connects it to the city’s history and to how the people of Bludhaven can overcome even the most difficult challenges. In doing so, Dick also asserts his mission statement — he wants to be the safety net for these resilient people, he wants to be their protector, he wants to prop them up, to give them someone to rely on so they won’t feel abandoned.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Taylor, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part Two. Nightwing: Rebirth. 79, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 07)

And yet, how many times do we come back to this one location that, in the beginning of Taylor’s run, was tied so strongly to Dick’s mission? How many times does Dick come to look at the statue? Dick is not given any crisis of faith because of the lack of conflict in the story, and yet, scenes in which he ponders whether he is going about his mission the right way while looking at this statue would have effectively shown the themes of the story and Dick’s inner struggles all while fleshing out Bludhaven.

Instead, Taylor readily abandons the statue just as soon as it is introduced. We don’t return to it, we don’t even use it as a set piece that can ground Bludhaven and make it feel like an actual place. It doesn’t make an appearance in any covers, nor in establishing shots. In fact, even its thematic symbolism is forgotten when Alfred’s statue is built. Such a decision is especially infuriating when one considers the fact that not only would Alfred hate having a statue in his honor, but that Alfred means absolutely nothing to the people of Bludhaven. He means something to the reader, but not the citizens of the city that Dick is meant to protect. In this, we see how once more Taylor’s online mindset interferes with his storytelling, replacing a set piece that was tied to the in-universe history of the city he was writing with fanservice.

(CONTINUE IN PART 2)

#nightwing #dick grayson #bludhaven #anti tom taylor

45 notes · View notes