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@fukuro-blackwood
I love my job, but reblogging employment jelly for someone else I love.
i like a jason that genuinely was a textbook perfect child before he died, and he started going back to that goody-two-shoes way of life after reconciling with the bats. it’s just kinda in his nature; he likes the attention and the fact that bruce lets him get away with so much because ‘he’s such a good kid’, and he likes knowing he’s better than his siblings.
the rest of the batkids are absolutely disgusted by this dynamic, by the way. all the adults around them think jason is a fucking angel, and it drives them insane because the second bruce and alfred turn their backs, jason is a complete asshole of a brother. and there’s nothing they can do about it because in everybody elses eyes this man practically shits gold.
*at breakfast*
Jason: oh hey, Alfred, sit down; i’ll do the dishes. you just enjoy the food.
Alfred, smiling: why thank you, Master Jason. i believe i’ll take you up on that, the sunroom is lovely and sunny right now.
Jason: you just relax and enjoy it then :)
Jason, the second Alfred leaves to sit down with his food: *shoves Tim off his stool and steals his food* this is mine now, you go do the dishes.
Tim: ?!?!?!?!
~
*Damian and Jason at the league*
Ra’s, begrudgingly pleased: you have certainly surpassed my expectations, Todd. i have to say, my daughter made a good choice bringing you into our ranks.
Talia: you truly are worthy of being an Al Ghul heir.
Jason: :D
Damian, face flat: you know he didn’t even do the mission you assigned him, right? he hired a mercenary and went to Legoland.
Jason: *kicks him in the shin* HA! as if! man, little kids say the darnedest things… i thought i taught you better than that Damian!
Ra’s: yes… Damian, perhaps we should up your training until you learn not to spread lies in an attempt to tear your brother down. you could learn from him, you know.
Damian, loudly: i am going to kill myself.
~
Jason, walking through the manor: *accidentially knocks over an antique ceramic decoration, smashing it*
Jason:
Jason: *locks eyes with Dick from across the hall*
Dick: don’t-
Jason: BRUCE, DICK BROKE YOUR THING-
Dick: god DAMMIT JASON-
~
Bruce: *giving a mission brief on the batcomputer*
Jason: *shoots Tim with a slingshot*
Tim: *yelps*
Bruce, turning around: what’s happening?
Tim: Jason’s-!
Jason, slingshot hidden behind his back: oh, what? i what, Tim? because it seems like all i can fucking do is disappoint this family nowadays, i don’t even know why i fucking came home when none of you seem to like me being around,
Tim: YOU LITERALLY-
Bruce, snapping: ok that’s enough. Tim, don’t be rude to Jason, he hasn’t done anything wrong. if you can’t get a hold of yourself then you’ll just have to be benched for the night, understood?
Tim: ARE YOU- SERIOUSLY?!?!?
Bruce: yes. not another complaint. *turns back to the batcomputer*
Jason, grinning: *brings out his slingshot*
Tim, dead inside: i miss being an only child.
like, Jason’s a good brother, and he’ll have his siblings’ backs in anything. but he’s also the prodigal son that everybody mourned and it’s the biggest get out of jail free card in existence and he 100% abuses it at any and all opportunity.
scenarios Alfred Pennyworth has to be a witness to as a resident of Wayne Manor that the batkids have absolutely no shame in front of whatsoever part 24 (masterpost here)
*Alfred setting dinner down for the kids*
Damian: thank you, Pennyworth. so will Father not be joining us?
Alfred: you father is working late at Wayne Enterprises tonight i’m afraid, he’s asked that Master Dick step in for him as Batman in the likely case that he not make it home in time for patrol.
Dick: if he’s not here then can we play Bat-Quotes?
Duke, instantly: YES. yes, yes, a thousand times yes,
Tim: also agreed, if B isn’t here then we have to.
*all the kids look to Jason expectantly*
Jason: …i shouldn’t have come up with that game.
Alfred, mild: oh dear, this isn’t a dangerous game, i hope? my dishware won’t be in danger?
Dick, snickering: no no, don’t worry Alfie. the game’s only dangerous to Jason.
Damian, smug: yes, meanwhile for us it is, in fact, a completely consequenceless endeavour.
Jason: …i really should not have come up with that game.
the batkids, chanting at Jason: Bat-Quotes, Bat-Quotes, Bat-Quotes, Bat-Quotes-
Jason: i- *wheeze* OK- ALRIGHT, we can play a round or two, oh my god, i hope you’re happy,
*cheering and clapping*
Alfred: *warily raises an eyebrow*
Jason, bringing out his phone and sighing theatrically: alright, alright, everybody welcome back to Bat-Quotes; a horrible game that puts my social life in danger on a regular basis. i hate that i came up with it, and i hate that you all like it, but here we are.
Alfred: and what is the nature of this game, if i may ask?
Dick, gleefully: Jason keeps a list of quotes that people associated with our bat-lives have said. he reads them out, we have to guess who it was that said it, and if we- *wheeze* if we get one right—*laughing* Jason tell him what happens if we get one right,
Jason, looking very begrudging: well, as you know, the Red Hood has become a big enough and regular enough ally of the Justice League that i’ve been added to the main JL group chat. so if- *wheeze* *regretfully* if somebody correctly labels the person who says a quote, then i have to say that quote as myself in the official Justice League group chat, with no explanation, and no matter the reaction i can never explain it.
Steph, grinning maniacally: to further explain to you the genius consequences of this game, Alfie, let me tell you the last time we played Bat-Quotes; where Duke got the best slam-dunk i have ever seen on the quote of- *laughs* what was it, Jason?
Jason, looking at his phone: uh- so last time we had the quote ‘i think i would fuck a plant if i had the free time, it’s just that i’ve always had an unnatural fear of stinging nettles stinging the inside of my ass somehow, so i think that i’d be a little bit paranoid about it at first.’
Dick: *wheezes, smacking the table-top*
Tim, also crying: GOD i forgot,
Jason: yeah—Duke came in with the guess of Harley Quinn, which was correct, so i had to- *wheeze* with no context,
Cass, shark-like: and you had a reaction, right?
Jason: yeah, so because of that i had Uncle Clark call me, because he thought that i was speaking in some kind of code to let them know i was in danger. and i had to fucking be like. ‘no i was just sharing my thoughts on the matter’ and he didn’t speak to me directly for like a week.
Duke: *cackles* BEST ACHIEVEMENT OF MY LIFE,
Jason: yeah- you’ll also all be happy to know that Bruce DM’ed me after that to say the simple sentence of ‘do you fucking know how hard i advocated for you to be on this team?’
Dick: *almost falls off his chair* *struggling to breathe* i love this game so much.
Jason, dryly: yeah i’m sure it’s real fuckin’ fun for you guys.
Alfred:
Alfred: dear lord.
Jason: yeah exactly Alfie, Dear Fucking Lord.
Steph: hush up and play the game with us, coward.
Jason: *sighs* alright, let me- let me pick one.
*waiting*
Jason: alright- fuck. alright. here we go. and- AND LET ME BE CLEAR. you cannot each give your own separate answer, that’s fucking unfair, you can’t have six whole chances of getting it right. you have to choose one.
Damian: just say the quote.
Jason: *sigh* ok, number one. ‘if i tell you that i don’t currently remember which colours you mix to make purple, are you gonna make fun of me?’
Alfred: *squints*
the rest of the batkids: *intense focus*
Steph: oh, see that’s a hard one.
Duke: my instinctual reaction is one of the rogues. they spout a lot of shit when they’re beaten half into the ground, you know? all delirious n’ shit?
Dick: Riddler…? maybe…?
Cass: sounds like somebody drugged.
Damian: Cain is right, if it’s a rogue then it’s more likely to be Scarecrow high on his own gas.
Tim: no, no, i don’t think it’s a rogue. i wanna say… Steph?
Steph: excuse me?!?! i did not-
Tim, defensive: YOU SAY A LOT OF WEIRD SHIT WHILE DRUNK! we have to be logical about this; Jason objectively spends more time laughing at things we say while hammered than he does sticking around after fights to listen to rogues rambling. and your favourite colour is purple!
*consideration*
Dick: ‘s got a point. this is about being right, Steph. we have to put pride aside.
Cass: agreed.
Steph: i would not say that shit!
Duke: i dunno, one time i watched you google how to boil an egg.
Steph:
Steph, begrudging: fine, whatever.
Jason: final answer?
Tim: Steph.
Jason: ok, well in that case that’s one of the biggest flops i’ve ever seen, because Tim that was you,
Steph: HA.
Tim: ?! WHAT?
Jason, smugly: you, about seven months back, high on cold medicine, when you were bed bound. and- and you actually said it to Steph, so that’s a double failure really.
Tim: FUCK.
Dick: please tell me you have more, that can’t be it.
Jason: i’ll give- ok, i’ll give you two more chances, and then i’m banning this game for the next month at LEAST for my own safety.
Cass: deal, give.
Jason: ok, ready? this one’s one of my favourites, actually.
Jason: ‘is it just me, or are Nightwing and Batman kinda gay for each other’.
Duke: *instant wheeze*
Steph and Tim: *loud cackles*
Dick, offended: HELLO?!?!
Jason, proudly: come on, what do you think?
Dick: WHAT THE FUCK, THAT’S MY DAD.
Damian, snickering: no, no, this is good. it narrows it down, it proves that the answer is somebody who doesn’t know our identities. it has to be a rogue.
Duke: i dunno if he’d repeat answers so soon but it does sound like something Harley would say, not gonna lie.
Steph, still laughing: you guys are talking like all of us wouldn’t yell this shit from the rooftops just to piss Dick off. i’d pin this on Babs taking the mick over comms.
Tim: no, Damian- *wheeze* Damian has a point. if it were Barbara over comms then she would have said Dick and Bruce, not Nightwing and Batman. i feel like this was said out in public, around other people.
Dick: surely i would remember if one of you had said it.
Tim: i dunno. i’m kinda worried it’s me again.
Damian: *wheeze* it’s all- it’s all just Drake.
Steph: is there a chance it could have been- like, the titans or something? this sounds like a joke Gar would make.
Tim: oh, maybe, that’s genius,
Duke: i don’t know the titans well enough to make that kind of call, so i’ll go with whatever you guys say.
Dick: …*intense squinting at the table*
Cass: what do you think?
Dick: …i’m just trying to remember- Selina’s made a few jokes about her third-wheeling us before, and i’m trying to remember if this could have been her.
Tim: i feel like Steph is right, i think it’s more likely to be a titan.
Damian: honestly, the most likely scenario is that it was Jason. is that an option?
*the kids all turn to stare at Jason*
Jason, shrugging: you can use your one guess for me if you want.
Steph, instantly: oh- fuck off, you can’t do that. you have to at least tell us if it’s possible that you’re the original quoter.
Jason, laughing: alright, alright—none of them are me.
Dick: then- ok yeah, i’m with Duke, you guys take this one. i don’t know.
Tim: ok, we’ll say Beast Boy then.
*a beat*
Jason: *incorrect buzzer sound*
Tim: DAMMIT.
Jason: that one was actually Antonio, one of my main subordinates in the alley.
Duke: FUCK OFF-
Steph: THAT’S SO CHEATING!
Jason: *cackles evily*
Dick: -SO unfair, how the fuck are we supposed to know the names of your men?!!
Jason: no no, this is fair, and for the record i would have accepted ‘a Red Hood goon’ as a correct answer, i’m not a monster. y’all are thinkin’ about people you know; gotta think about people i know.
Tim: -shut up and give us the final one.
Jason: ok touchy! well this one—this one i think is the worst one for me to put in the chat, so. i’m not really happy about this.
Cass: give it to us.
Jason: …’i saw a bird fly into the wing-mirror of the Batmobile, and ever since i’ve just been feeling kind of depressed. is anyone available for a hug?’
Dick: *noise of awe*
Tim: …shit i really want him to say this to the Justice League.
Duke: guys we need to lock in. we need to get this one. who would say this that spends time around the Batmobile?
Steph: and who would actively ask for physical comfort?
Cass: Dick likes hugs.
Dick, intensely thinking: ….it does kinda sound like me…
Tim: do you remember ever watching a bird fly into the window?!
Dick: no that’s what- i’m trying to think, i can’t remember!
Duke: Dami, do we think it could have been you?
Damian, flat: is that a genuine question.
Duke: no- i know, i know it doesn’t sound like you, but the bird thing tracks. and like- we’ve all been high on pain meds during various points in our lives. we get clingy, it happens!
Damian, shaking his head: if it was me i don’t remember it.
Tim: i don’t think Damian would ask for anybody to hug him. when he gets high he beelines for B, Dick and Jay. he’s specific about it. this is somebody who just likes physical comfort point blank.
Dick, considering: can i suggest… Bruce?
Steph: there is no fucking way we wouldn’t remember that. we’d have the recording. i keep going back to Dick, i feel like it’s him,
Dick: same but i also think i’d remember watching a bird hit the window-!
Damian, leaning back in his seat, tonguing his cheek: hmm.
Cass: Damian, you have an idea?
Damian, hesitant: hm.
Jason: i want a final answer.
*silence*
Damian: can i…?
*a beat*
Damian: Jon Kent…?
Tim: ooo,
*silence, all attention on Jason*
*waiting*
Alfred: *takes a sip of wine*
Jason, with feeling: ffffuck.
Damian: SERIOUSLY?
Jason, again: FUCK.
*instant uproar, batkids celebrating*
Jason: WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME-
Damian: THERE’S NO WAY,
Steph: I’M SO HAPPY,
Jason: I DON’T WANNA- YOU GUYS DON’T UNDERSTAND-
Dick: DUDE- JASON- WONDER WOMAN IS IN THAT CHAT,
Duke: *falls off his chair*
Jason: I DON’T WANNA DO IT-!
Damian, deadly serious: you have to- i won fair and square, you have to.
Jason: *glances at his phone, pensive*
Tim: *wheezes* that’s such a bad one-!
Jason, dramatically throwing himself down in his seat: I DON’T WANNA DO IT.
Steph: *evil cackling*
Cass: i’ll do it for you if you want-
Jason, snatching his phone away from her: don’t you dare- THIS IS THE WORST FUCKING GAME WE HAVE EVER COME UP WITH!
Damian: you have to do it.
Jason, wailing: i KNOW,
Dick: *wheezes* this is the best day of my life,
Duke, incredibly happy: dude- you know Bruce is gonna see that in the chat, right? he’s gonna be so worried.
Dick, wheezing: and you can never explain-!
Jason, grumpy: god fucking- *angrily typing at phone*
Steph: Dick you’re in the chat too, right? check he actually does it.
Dick, pulling out his phone: he has- *wheeze* word for word, it’s there.
Jason: i’m so mad- Damian you weren’t even there when he said it.
Tim, wiping tears from his eyes: when the fuck did he say it?!
Jason, annoyed: he said it on the Watchtower while Clark was working really late and he was over-tired, and me, him, Kon, and Roy somehow ended up in the rec room with him watching fucking Marley and Me at three in the morning, and i guess he got sad!
Dick: oh my- aw, oh my god, he got a hug, right?
Jason: yeah actually- Kon opened up his arms and Jon walked right past him and into mine, and Roy laughed so hard he had to leave the room.
Steph: god that was- Damian that was SUCH a god-tier move.
Damian, dryly: my best friend, ladies and gentlemen.
Dick: *wheezes again*
Jason: i’m putting my phone on mute, fuck you guys. worst game ever.
Steph, wetly: best game ever.
~forty minutes later, as the kids clean up the kitchen from dinner~
Jason, walking back in from the bathroom: i hope you’re all happy, because i just got a text from Uncle Clark that says ‘i want you to know i’m always here for you if you need a shoulder to lean on’.
Dick: *wheezes, falls into Cass, who has to hold him up* oh my god, Uncle Clark is my favourite person on this fuckin’ planet,
Jason, holding up a finger, reading from his phone: wait for it, because the Flash has responded to me in the actual chat, and he has said, ‘i’m so sorry you’re feeling like that Hood, i know what it’s like.’ to which Diana put, ‘depression is a battle that we all struggle with at some point, it’s brave of you both to speak up.’ and then Barry put, ‘i mean yeah, but i meant i knew what it felt like to run into the Batmobile wing-mirror at full speed’.
the batkids: *burst out laughing*
Jason, bowing begrudgingly: you’re welcome, you all better be fucking satisfied.
Damian, hanging onto Tim for balance: victory tastes so sweet-!
Alfred, from the other end of the kitchen, face flat: i hope you all know that i will be the one that Master Bruce comes to for advice when he thinks his son is depressed.
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 85 (masterpost here)
*wrapper crunching* *straw slurping*
Dick, absently: moon's pretty tonight.
Damian: *grunt of affirmation*
Bruce: don't get too comfortable; we have two hours until the shipment drops, this is just a temporary break.
Dick: *dramatic groan*
Jason: -can you just for once live in the fucking moment? we have burritos. we're all here together. shut the fuck up.
Bruce, bemused: i'm just warning you against getting too bloated before the mission, chum. i don't want you to get an upset stomach.
Damian: he's calling you fat, by the way.
Dick: *snort*
Bruce: i'm not- i'm not calling you-
Jason: you are though, you're fully calling me fat,
Bruce, resigned: Hood,
Tim, suddenly: -you know what i realised earlier?
*a beat*
Dick, laughing slightly: alright, Tim's just- Tim's just in his own world,
Bruce: don't be mean, and we're still on patrol here. no names. what did you realise?
Tim: i was just thinking about how Jason and Dick are the only two of us that had to find out that Bruce was Batman.
Bruce, sighing heavily: names,
Damian, dry: Father there is nobody within fifty feet of us.
Jason, ignoring him: whaddaya mean?
Tim: like. i figured it out myself and knew before i ever became Robin. Damian's known from birth because it wasn't ever a secret in the league; of the official Wayne kids, you two are the only ones that had to actually be told and 'find out'. Dick, you were told after you were taken in, right?
Dick: *humming* actually, he tried to keep it from me at first.
Tim: he did?
Jason: oh that's right. 'cause you were taken in by Bruce Wayne; i was taken in by Batman. you found out Bruce was Batman, i had to find out that Batman was Bruce.
Bruce: was there really much of a difference? and Nightwing, you found out literal days after i brought you home.
Dick: yeah but not because you told me.
Damian: how did you find out?
Dick, dismissive: oh i just watched him walk into his clock and disappear and decided to follow him. he was not that great at hiding. i'm pretty sure he forgot i was in the building.
Bruce: i did not forget you were in the building—you were my ward, Dick, i knew you would have to know about the Batcave eventually.
Tim: how did you react? were you freaked out?
Dick: honestly it was so long ago i barely remember not knowing, my memories are all fuzzy and mixed up. B, do you remember?
*shifting*
Bruce, considering: you were pretty excitable; especially once you realised i was looking into your parents’ murder. i'd been getting worried about you beforehand, because you were starting to act out quite a bit, and Alfred said you didn't seem to have any outlets to let out your anger, so it seemed like a positive opportunity to let you run around a bit.
Dick: yeah, i remember laughing a lot...
Bruce: kind of 'maniacally'.
Jason: *snorts*
Dick: that tracks.
Bruce, humming in interest: to be honest, i think between the two of you, Jaylad had the best reaction.
Jason, confused: i did?
Bruce, bemused: do you not remember what you said?
Jason: no?
Tim: this is something that B found funny? ok see now i'm interested.
Damian: i actually don't know much about how you were acquired by Father.
Jason, snorting: 'acquired'.
Dick, gleeful: fuckin' great story. all round favourite, by far. good memories.
Jason,dryly: you hated me back then.
Dick: times change, littlewing.
Tim: how did the whole reveal thing happen, then?
Bruce: well i took him home pretty much instantly after meeting him, because it was clear that he didn’t have anywhere else to stay, and i guess i… saw a little bit of myself in him.
Tim: aw,
Jason: eugh.
Dick, brightly: s’ a fun way to say you picked up a strange young boy off the street and dragged him to your weird creepy mansion.
Bruce, exasperated: why must you put a perverted spin on everything i do?
Dick: because it’s how i show my love~
Jason: *snickers*
Damian: surely part of the responsibility lies with Jason, for being confronted by an ominous strange man who offered to take him home, and deciding to just go with it.
Jason: oi- don’t you victim blame.
Damian: well why the hell did you agree?? you didn’t know him.
Jason: i dunno. i figured there were three options, one: he’s genuine and i’m about to live out Annie as the main character, two: he thought i was a child hooker and young-Jason was bouta get paid,
Bruce: jesus.
Jason: or three: he’s a child murderer, upon which- listen i was a bit of a delusional child. like, i thought i could steal Batman’s tires. i fully thought if he tried to kill me that i could just kick him in the nuts and then dart off with a great new story to tell people.
Dick, in wonder: you just did not have any sense of self preservation,
Jason: i had self preservation—i was just tired and he caught me on a bad day, so i didn’t give a shit.
Bruce, cutting in: well- whatever the reason, it was one of the best decisions i ever made, so i’m happy it turned out well.
Jason, amused: mhm, mhm, go on.
Bruce: well to get back on topic; i brought you back to the Batcave and we discussed you spending a few nights to see how you felt, and Alfred came down so i could discuss with him how to go about fostering you and you got to meet him, and then after he left you asked me ‘if that was my carer and if Batman was really just a mentally disabled man that kept dressing up and escaping home’.
Dick: *gleeful cackles*
Jason: alright that does- *wheeze* that does ring a bell,
Tim, casual: you are such an asshole, man.
Jason, very happy: i know.
Bruce: after that i had to explain what was above the Batcave, which obviously revealed my identity,
Jason: i was kinda- i mean, i don’t remember specifics, but i was quite calm about it all, wasn’t i? i don’t remember freaking out.
Bruce: you were, but to be fair you’d already gotten in a car with a stranger and let me take you to the cave under my house, so i think if you suddenly then regained the ability to have appropriate reactions to things, that would be concerning.
Jason: …point.
Bruce: do you remember what you said to me after i explained my identity?
Jason: no?
Bruce: …*amused sigh* you calmly listened while i explained, reacted with nothing, and then you just started echoing what i’d told you.
Jason: right…?
Bruce: you told me, ‘so Batman is Bruce Wayne.’ and i said yes,
Dick: mhm,
Bruce: and then you said, ‘and Nightwing is Dick Grayson’,
Jason: yeah.
Bruce: and then you cocked out a hip, pointed up at the entrance to the manor, and you said ‘and i’m guessing Alfred Pennyworth is the Riddler, because ‘he just has a British accent’ my ass, that old bitch was talking in code.’
Tim: *starts laughing*
Jason: …DID I?!?!
Dick: *wheeze* you- you don’t remember?
Jason: NO?!
Bruce, fond: i remember. i told Alfred after you went to bed that night. i told him that was the moment i knew you were gonna be my kid.
Tim: *wheeze* you know- you know Alfred always told me that Jason was the most difficult when he first came to the manor, and i always thought that was weird because everybody else says Dick was way worse. but now- *wheeze*
Damian: -now it makes sense. you made him an enemy after your first interaction.
Jason: I DON’T REMEMBER SAYING THIS?!?! -i mean- *snort* i’ll take credit, that’s fucking funny, but still. did i have that much trouble with his accent!?!
Bruce: i don’t think it was that you couldn’t understand him; Alfred just has a very traditional and olden-style British accent, and you apparently had been friends with a couple modern-British kids that lived in the alley, because you always used to argue with me after Alfred left the room that ‘they didn’t sound like that’.
*a beat*
Bruce: it really used to bug you for some reason.
Dick, cackling: NO I- NO I REMEMBER- I DO REMEMBER- fuck, Jay, do you not remember one of your conspiracy theories back then was that Alfred wasn’t actually British?! you thought he was fucking lying.
Jason: …holy shit i actually do.
Tim: *wheezes* oh my god,
Bruce: you accepted it eventually, but it took you a while to get there with him.
Dick, eager: i don’t wanna- i don’t wanna hear shit from people about me being difficult when i first got taken in; Jason showed up and instantly started fighting with the sixty year old about how his fucking voice sounds,
Jason, laughing incredulously: i mean- i mean it is a very stereotypical old-english accent?!?! i didn’t think those existed anymore.
Damian: and yet your favourite book genre is old english classics?
Bruce: i think that was what got him to drop it, actually. there was an evening where Alfred read a Jane Austen book out loud to him, and afterwards he came into my bedroom to shake me awake and tell me ‘ok i get it now’.
Dick: *loud wheeze*
Tim, struggling not to laugh: -because the matter was just that important, that he had to wake you- *cackles*
Jason, amused: listen- listen this was clearly a point of great stress for young Jason,
Damian: you weren’t stressed about being taken home by a strange man in a bat costume but the guy’s butler’s accent being too theatrical—that freaked you out?
Jason: i- *wheeze*
Bruce: you were a very fun child to have around, Jaylad. i’ll give you that.
Dick: does Alfred agree with that sentiment?
*a beat*
Bruce: he loves you now, that’s all that matters.
Tim and Dick: *lose it*
Damian: i remember when i first came to Gotham, how awe-struck i was by the power of Batman and his Robins; how badly i wished to live up to the mantle and make everybody believe in me and honour me as a part of the team,
Tim: *prompting hum*
Damian: …and then i met you all.
Tim:
Tim: and now?
Damian: i feel like there’s better things to do with life.
Tim, easily: yeah, going behind the scenes really takes that respect away, doesn’t it?
Damian: so you know what i mean?
Tim: oh yeah. when i first became Robin i adored Bruce and the concept of being Robin. thought it was magical. thought it was gonna be the best time of my life.
Damian: and then?
Tim: and then Bruce started getting on my fucking nerves.
ao3 asking if i want to see mature content. do i want to see birds in the sky. do i want to feel the wind in my hair and the grass under my feet
my bonnies
GET. AI. OUT. OF. FANDOM. Stop making headcanons with it, stop making fanfic with it, stop making fanart with it. If I see one more "asking chatgpt *blank* about *character/characters in a fandom* I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Use your own fucking brain, stop asking AI to do everything. You could even ask other real people what they think. Just. Stop. Using. AI. In. Creative. Spaces.
“Aren’t you worried ai could replace you someday” oh like ai could replicate the level of mental illness I achieve over this fictional man
The other day I was surfing the internet and I found this specialized painting colour wheel, it shows how real paint colours relate to each other.
Outside: the purest/brightest colours.
Inside: naturally muted or earthy colors, like browns and ochres.
The Center: dark neutral tones used for mixing shadows.
The Lines: the lines connect colors that are opposites, if you mix them you neutralize the tone creating clean grays or browns instead of muddy puddles.
I want to share this with you because I think it is really illustrative!
Reference: “Quiller Wheel” by Stephen Quiller
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”
“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”
“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”
___
…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.
“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”
___
…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.
“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”
They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.
“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”
“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”
___
…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”
“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”
“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”
“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”
“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.
The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”
The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.
___
A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.
They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.
___
…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.
The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”
The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”
But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.
“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.
“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”
“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.”
___
…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”
“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”
___
“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”
“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”
___
…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”
___
…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”
___
…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”
___
“I love you,” said the scorpion.
The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”
“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”
The frog swam on, the both of them silent.
___
“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”
“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”
The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”
“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.”
“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?”
“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”
“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”
“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”
___
“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”
“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.
The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”
“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river.
“To be honest,” said the desert rain frog. “I’m the wrong kind of frog for that.”
“Oh,” said the scorpion.
“I was hoping to find someone to carry me across, myself.” It admitted.
“Oh,” The scorpion said. “Well, we can wait together.”
And they sat, and spoke, and when a turtle happened to pass along, they both ventured together, and the scorpion was too busy sharing words to ever think of stinging.
—
“Actually,” said the scorpion, as it climbed onto the frog’s back, “My sting is harmless.”
“Oh really?” Said the frog, as it began to swim.
“Yes,” the scorpion waved the small stinger about. “The poison is useless to anything larger than a beetle. I can’t threaten you with it at all, you see, so you don’t really need to worry about it at all.”
The frog, now freed from the fear of death, began preparing to dive.
“Although,” the scorpion continued as it felt the frog slow down, “do not think me entirely defenceless.”
“Why not?” Said the frog. “All you have is your claws. And they aren’t sharp enough to pierce my skin.”
“No, they are not,” agreed the scorpion, getting a good hold of the frog’s shoulders. “But they are strong. They need to be, to hold my prey so my weak venom has time to work.”
“But they will not kill me.”
“No. But there are other ways to hurt.” The scorpion tightened its grip, letting the teeth of its claws sink into the skin.
“You will drown me, of course, but my claws will remain locked. My drowned corpse will hang over your shoulders, right here, claws buried in you. And everyone who sees you will see it. And they will see my frail little body, and my weak little stinger. And you will drown me, yes, but for the rest of your life everyone will know that you took the life of a creature that was no danger to you for no greater sin than that you did not want to grant them passage. You will never escape the weight of me on your back, waiting to be carried to the afterlife you delivered me to.”
The frog was silent, for a while, before it continued to swim. “I think I would have preferred you with a stinger that worked.”
The scorpion relaxed its grip. “And I would have preferred to not have to use it.”
—
“Do you know how many times we’ve done this?” Asked the frog, eyes flicking back to its passenger. “I can’t remember how long it’s been.”
“A million lives.” Purred the scorpion, claws nestled up to the frog’s neck. “A million lives now, with this one. And it never matters until we’re here.”
“I’m glad it’s us.” Said the frog, letting the tide sweep it away. “I’m glad even after a million lives, we always find each other.”
The scorpion clung tight, even as the water seeped into its carapace. “I’d never die with anyone else, my love.”
Hopelessly entangled, they faded into oblivion.
—
A chicken stood at the edge of a road, watching the cars go by.
“Is this all there is?” It asked.
“I don’t know.” Said the fox across from it, brushing some grass from it’s foot.
“But it might be nice to find out.”
—
-but no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river did a great catfish rise up, mouth so wide they could not escape.
“Oh, foolish frog and foolish bug.” It said, voice full of pity as it swallowed them both. “Your eyes glued to the most obvious threat, did you never think there were greater things to fear in a river as deep and wide as this?”
And the catfish swam off, to find more frogs to devour.
—
“Sorry?” The scorpion paused, confused. “Sting you? Why on earth would I do that?
“Well,” said the frog. “It’s in your nature to, isn’t it?”
“No, not at all!” The scorpion said, voice tinged with insult. “We don’t run around stabbing everything we see. That’s a good way to start a fight you can’t win. A stinger is just for catching food and fending off predators, really. It’s no more my nature to sting everything as it is your nature to drown everything. And you don’t do that, do you!”
The frog scowled, petulant at the tone. “Well, the scorpion I usually see here almost always stings me…”
“That seems like you’re projecting problems with one scorpion onto every scorpion you meet.” Said the scorpion. “I’m not really sure I trust you to take me across the river, frankly. Do you know if there’s another frog who could help?”
The frog grumbled, and slipped into the water.
—
The chicken stood on the banks of the river with it’s children. A fox sat on the other bank, with a bag of corn.
“Hoy, chicken.” Shouted the fox. “Do you ever think you might be stuck in a rut?”
“What’s it to you?” The chicken said, flapping a wing in annoyance. “My life is my own business, fox.”
The fox shrugged, pawing at the corn. “I just feel like I can’t get out of this cycle,” it said with a sigh. “Like my life is stuck on rails.”
—
“On rails?” The scorpion asked. “What do you mean?”
“My whole life is just this river-”
—
“This road-”
—
“This boat-”
—
“And it feels like it doesn’t change. It feels like I’m always just here. In the river, with you.”
—
“Is it such a bad place to be?” Asked the fox.
“With me?”
—
“How long do you think the river has been here?” Asked the scorpion.
The frog thought about that until the poison had seeped into its bones.
“As long as us,” it whispered, as its lungs gave out. “As long as we’ve needed it.”
—
“You’re not swimming right.” Said the scorpion, pinching the frog’s arm.
“You need to kick round with the back legs, push with the front, like this-” gently, it pushed the frog’s limbs into the correct position.
“Oh, thank you.” Said the frog. “I’m no good at this. I’ve never been a frog before.”
“You’re doing brilliantly, my dear.” The scorpion said, trying to reassure. “I would have taught you earlier if I could have.”
“And I would have taught you to walk.” The frog laughed, kicking much stronger now. “If only I’d known you didn’t know! I saw you stumbling over the sands there.”
“I’ve never had so many legs!” The scorpion wailed. “How do you manage them all? And the eyes!”
They were not making it across the river very fast.
“I don’t mind only having two eyes.” The frog admitted. “I could get used to it.”
Despite the tutoring, the frog was getting exhausted, weak muscles failing in strong currents.
The scorpion tried to kick at the water, but its frail carapace only dredged in the currents, dragging them both down further.
“Oh, we’re no good at it this way around.” The scorpion said with a shake of its tail, claws clinging so strongly to the frog’s gossamer skin that it ripped open, spilling the entrails like ruby ribbons into the depths.
The frog laughed, choking on the water it didn’t know how to breathe. “I can’t swim, and you won’t sting! Oh, how our natures fail us still!”
And the river claimed them both once more.
—
“Do you remember a time before the riverbank?” Asked the fox.
“Do you remember anything after it?” The Chicken countered, head stuck in the bag of corn as it ate its fill. “Is there anything but the pursuit of what we will never grasp?”
“Maybe we will grasp it,” the fox’s voice was tinged with hope, tail tucked tightly around its legs. “Maybe one day, we will be more than our natures, and we will not have to cross the river again.”
“I like the thrill of it.” Said the chicken. “I’d miss the thrill of it.”
The fox sighed, and lowered its head down to the chicken, already doomed to bite. “But still, wouldn’t it be nice?”
—
But alas, the rains had been heavy, and the river bank had become swollen and wide.
The frog kicked for what felt like an eternity, the scorpion holding steady on its back.
Eventually it could swim no longer, and its legs seized up, as it gasped for air.
“I’m sorry, my love-” the frog wheezed. “I don’t think I can make it-”
“It’s okay.” The scorpion’s voice was soft with sadness, knowing now that it was doomed to die. “I didn’t know it would be so hard. I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
“It’s not your fault,” said the frog, as the currents began to sweep them both downstream. “I wanted to help, I- I really thought I could get you there, I, we were so close -”
“We really were, weren’t we?” The scorpion’s hold on the frog was loosening, as its head swam from lack of oxygen. “We almost made it, we really did…”
The frog wailed in grief as the scorpion’s body was torn away, swallowed by the churning rapids.
—
A scorpion walked across an old riverbed. The smooth pebbles had long laid bare, the river dried up thousands of years ago.
It paused in the middle, overcome with a strange pain in its chest, and decided to turn back.
It felt wrong to cross this river alone.
—
“Where do you think the cars go?” Asked the fox.
The chicken watched a car drive by, seeing the shadowy shapes move within. “I try not to think about it. I want to be happy with my lot in life.”
—
-and no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river when the scorpion tapped its stinger against the frog’s back to get its attention.
“Hey,” said the scorpion. “I’m not really in that much of a rush, and it’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we just go up the river instead? I’ve always wanted to try standing on a lilypad.”
“Sure, if you’d like.” Said the frog. “I don’t have any plans for the day.
And while the river remained uncrossed, neither of them were unhappy about this.
—
“When did you know you loved me?” Asked the turtle, as the scorpion clung onto its back, hiding from the deep currents of the river.
The scorpion winced as a wave shook them. “Oh, from the start.” it said, shaking water from its tail. “Or near enough. I’d never met a frog before. And even though you didn’t know me, you laid your life on the line for me. For hope that the impossible was possible.”
The turtle considered that, thinking back across its many lives.
“I don’t think I knew I loved you until recently.” The turtle admitted, lifting its head from the water so its voice could be soft. “It took time, I think, to know. But that said, why else would I come back, time and time again to the same spot of the same river?”
“You have a world of rivers you could be in, my love.” The scorpion agreed. “And yet I always wait for you here. And you always come.”
“I’ve never been as vulnerable as I’ve been with you.” Even as the water licked up its shell, the turtle continued to swim. “I’d never trust my life to anyone else.”
“Here’s to us,” said the scorpion, raising its stinger. “And the river.”
“Here’s to us.” Said the turtle, raising a flipper to sting. “I hope we always find each other.”
—
“Well here we are,” said the frog to the scorpion. “The other side.”
“Here we are.” The scorpion agreed, slowly climbing off its back. “Thank you, for all of this.”
“Thank you for choosing me.” Said the frog. “Thank you for chaining my lives together. For helping me remember the infinity of Us.”
The scorpion didn’t answer, simply looking up, letting the sun warm its carapace.
“I’ve never really left the river.” The frog took another step onto the bank. “It’s… nice.”
The scorpion turned. For a moment, the frog felt the surge of adrenaline as it felt a pinch on its skin, only to find the scorpion had clasped its claw around their hand. “Come with me.” It pleaded, voice soft with urgency. “Come with me, and don’t say no. I won’t leave this river without you. We can see the other side together.”
Those claws could slice, but they were only firm. The river was only the river. But from the banks the frog could see a jungle of lush green, vibrant with life beyond its knowledge. It laughed. “I’ve always wondered what it was like out there.”
—
And the river was silent, with no moral questions to burden it.
That’s because i only added this bit this morning. I think its pretty good
I think it’s beautiful. thank you for making this
Natural Black Hair Tutorial! Usually Black hair is excluded in the hair tutorials which I have seen so I have gone through it in depth because it’s really not enough to tell someone simply, “Black hair is really curly, draw it really curly.”
The next part of Black Hair In Depth will feature styles and ideas for designing characters and I will release it around February. If you would like to see certain styles, please shoot me a message!
I dunno, stop apologizing for your art. This includes not posting enough, too much, changing style, inconsistent style, repetition, subject. Its your art its your expression. Have fun.
The meme version of Edward Cullen as a man who is obsessed with snails and moss is infinitely more interesting than the version of him in the actual twilight books.
If Edward Cullen was a man who was obsessed with the small intricacies of the forests of Washington state and enjoyed foraging and taking pictures of snails he would actually be the most unique and interesting vampire character in modern literature but instead he’s an overprotective bitch whose main personality trait is that he hates himself.
Bella would also be way more interesting if she was watching this guy swerve the car over to the side of the road to take a picture of some cool moss and chewing on poisonous herbs like gum because his vampirism makes him immune and going “oh I can’t not fuck him”
Where can I see that? Or is it just you hallucinating Edward's?
im so glad this is my most popular post so i have the pleasure of seeing his face every time i open my activity page
Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.
“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”
The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.
“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”
“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”
The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”
Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”
“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”
Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.
“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”
The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.
A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.
“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”
“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”
“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.
And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.
Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.
“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”
“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”
“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.
“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”
“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”
And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.
Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.
“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.
“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”
Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.
“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”
“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.
“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”
Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.
“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.
“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.
“What?” the god asked.
Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”
Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to be empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.
The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.
He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.
So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.
“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.
The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.
“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.
“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”
“No,” Arepo smiled.
“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”
“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.
“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.
“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”
The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”
“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”