It’s All Over But The Crying ☢️

Happy New Year, From GAZA 🌨️ ❄️

Hello 👋, My name is Momen Al Madhoun / I am a digital artist / a devoted husband / a father of two children " Ezzdeen & Amir " I live in Gaza City in the heart of the Genocide, working tirelessly to amplify my voice to the world through my artwork. I walk long distances to access electricity and internet, creating under harsh conditions to ensure my voice reaches the Tumblr community through my art. I hope you support me to continue surviving and ensure the safety of my family. Thank you for your time. Stay safe 🙏

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Someone on here said “I love the way you draw Andrew” and that was enough for me to draw for the full 48 hours after HDHAH

Thank you so much to that person for the compliment and the motivation RAH <3

I’m going to clean up the linework some more but was way too excited to share, I’m kinda proud of this one

(Edit: I cleaned it up a little >:D TOP LEFT SPIDEY GAVE ME ISSUES FR 🫡)

Some sad speculation to ruin your day. What if he finds them, but he's out of chems and out of time?

like lookin' in a funhouse mirror

good movie

Atomic Queen // Radiation King

me watching the hallucination episode: "hell yea!! the hallucination episode!"

"always a dance with you"

sometimes you're forced to confront the fact that your father will always die for you and you have a very public mental breakdown about it

Tim stared at the projector, biting his lip nervously as he watched an alternate version of Diana and Hal hold down a howling, begging alternate version of Dick as their Bruce vanished through the door, infected blood dripping onto the bomb strapped to his side.

"How many?" his version of Dick asks quietly beside him, the kind of quiet that reminded Tim of the hiss just before a kettle really started screaming.

"Well, it's hard to say, I cannibalized the tech off Evil-Alternate-Superman-42 and it's good but not good enough to scan the entire multiverse so any data is collects isn't really-"

"How many, Tim."

"-conclusive..."He sighs, but doesn't keep fighting. "....98%."

Dick's eyes widen behind his mask. Tim keeps going, pushing it all out as a single blow.

"Counting all the times Bruce dies 98% of the time it's for one of us."

Because it really wasn't just the first Robin, Tim had had an illuminating 36 minutes watching a version of Bruce slip the only intact gas mask over his Tim's unconscious face, whisper that he loved him, and then asphyxiate. Tim is... Tim is just not going to think about it, is what Tim is going to do.

Unfortunately that doesn't actually help. Which he supposes is fair because they did just watch 22 different Bruce's sacrifice themselves for 22 different Richard Grayson's- they had both silently chosen not to talk about the couple of times it had been Richard Wayne.

He vaguely remembers a universe where Bruce was a cat, maybe that would cheer- aaaaaaand Dick was turning on his heel and sprinting down the watchtowers hallways.

Tim thinks of giving Bruce a warning, thinks of a whispered I love you to an unconscious body that would never hear it, and keeps his silence.

.

His eldest, for all his theatrics and love of drama, isn't one to interrupt a meeting for no reason, so when Dick storms into one Bruce is ready for a catastrophe, a natural disaster, one of the family to be in critical condition. What he gets instead is this.

They all startle when the doors open and Dick's steps, usually so quiet, slam against the floor.

"Nightwing is there something-"

"Dude, we're in a meeting-"

"Are you-"

Bruce says nothing, watching the furious set of his son's shoulders as he rounds the table, eyes locked on Bruce's like a raptor diving for it's target. Dick's always been a creature of focus once he has a goal, has always used that focus to ignore his own agony. So he stands, setting his shoulders, becomes the stubborn wall he's known as.

"Everyone out," he barks, to immediate protest.

"Excuse you?" Hal raises his eyebrows, "for one you don't dismiss us and for another-"

"Tell me you wouldn't die for me."

Everyone swerves to look at Dick, jaws dropping.

"Well of course he wouldn't," Ollie chuckles after a moment of stunned silence, so quick to diffuse the tension with a joke, something Dick usually goes along with, "he'd have to love anything other than-"

"Shut the fuck up," Dick snarls, voice as guttural as when he plays Batman, furious in a way he never is with the other heroes. The tension ratchets further, and Bruce is grateful when Superman ushers everyone out, shooting worried looks at the both of them.

"What is this about?" Bruce stalls. He can guess. Tim's been making noise about the multi-verse watches since that alternate Nightwing had let him keep the broken extra one that he'd had on him, refusing to explain why the one of his own wrist didn't quite fit him, just like he'd refused to explain his utter, consuming hatred of his world's Superman. It wouldn't surprise him if it had begun to eat at Dick, if he'd felt compelled to go looking. He's just surprised Dick didn't already know that Bruce would die for him, would chose his son's life over his own every time, without thought, without question, without regret.