strangecowboy



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    “Need word,” Rocky says in baby-talk Eridian for me. The translator dutifully repeats “need word” in English a second later.

    After fifteen minutes of bewildering back and forth between the three of us, we determine the word he needs is “declension.”

    A year into the journey to Erid, Grace faces down his most formidable academic gauntlet since astrophage: the five-part polyphonic Eridian language. It’s only fair after Rocky mastered English, human mannerisms, Grace mannerisms- without so much as one complaint. And if learning Eridian might temper some of Grace’s desperate, near-complete dependence on Rocky in the future… well. That’s his own business.

    Eridian breaks Grace’s brain, heart, and soul- and puts it back together.

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    18 Aug 2026

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    “But you said you didn’t have a word for – for forcing someone into reproduction?”

    No. Is different, but equivalent violation. Means, to force to sleep.

    Or, Dr. Ryland Grace has yet to confront the choices taken from him. Eridian norms, ironically enough, force the issue.

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    05 Aug 2026

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    "I don't know why we're wasting our time with him," says Dick. "Just tell him he's not good enough already."

    It's a hallucination, like all the rest. Objectively, Tim understands that.

    But he feels the words like an icepick in his chest all the same, and a part of him knows. This version of Dick might not be real, these words might not be real, but what he's saying is true anyway.

    "Are you fucking listening to me?" says the man in the red helmet. "The big bad bat's not coming to save you." There's a crash, and when Tim turns toward it, his desk's been overturned. His laptop is lying on the floor in a tangle of cords. If any of this were actually happening, Tim might be afraid that it was broken.

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    02 Aug 2026

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    "Did you see?" says Dick, and he lets go of Tim's shoulders to take him by the arm, tugging him toward the kitchen instead of the Batcave. "Alfred made cookies."

    "Think he's trying to lure you in," says Tim, with a huff of a laugh. "Like one of those traps they bait for raccoons."

    "Raccoons are too smart for that, baby bird," says Dick, blithely, and swipes up one of the bait-cookies anyway, biting into it with an appreciative little hum.

    Tim finds somewhere else to look — fixes his gaze on a spot on the far wall, trying hard to ignore the way the kitchen smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar. His stomach twists a little, hopeful, and he tells it firmly that these aren't for him. They're Dick's welcome-home cookies.

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    02 Aug 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 82

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    Wrecked. It’s a word that Jason often thinks when he’s thinking about himself, after, once he’s able to think at all. His body’s a wreck. His mind’s a wreck. He pictures himself as wreckage, as a ragged mess that’s been blown back to Gotham by some random tide, after the storm that was Bruce and the clown and the crowbar and the Pit blew him sky-high. He’s all holes and hollow places and rage blows through him day and night like a high wind.

    “Nice,” the replacement Robin says appreciatively, from his bloody place at Jason’s feet. “Kind of — dramatic — but I get it. It’s like a metaphor, right?”

    Jason didn’t come here to kill this kid but that was before he started eavesdropping on Jason’s thoughts and offering commentary. He actually thinks killing him might be a reasonable idea at this point.

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    31 Jul 2026