punishingangel

[punishingangel]

Detective Comics #1087 - "Bonk" (2024)

written by Dan Watters art by Francesco Francavilla

[punishingangel]

(( hey! sorry for the short leave of absence! to tell you the truth between work + enjoying something new interest-wise i've been neglecting my guys... which is insane because a REALLY GOOD NEW COMIC involving them just came out! i'll try to be back here more so i can finish my queue + write more :)

[punishingangel]

So DC vs. Vampires dropped this JPV bombshell on me last night:

... and I think I'm going to incorporate it into my worldview. Obviously he's not from New York (he was grown by Swiss-French-Germans in an underground lab in the Sahara and moved to New Jersey as a child, where he lived most of his life between moves) but I think Slade was mislabeling what is a slight NJ accent when JP speaks.

[punishingangel]

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

MIDWEST DETECTIVE.  files of black and white newspaper clippings. long beige trench coats. lace curtains in cobwebbed attics. 1950s love songs through a.m. radio static. piebald deer. ominous billboards against a flat grey horizon. leather messenger bags and cups of black coffee. headlights through blizzards. hatchets propped against stacks of hickory wood. abandoned factories. the scent of ink. blood on snow.

UNIVERSITY VAMPIRE.  white button-down shirts. the scent of ancient books in drafty tomb-like library stacks. wrought iron candelabras dripping wax. gaunt portraits of renaissance noblemen in folds of red fabric. steaming chalices of mulled wine. garlands of dried oranges. vitrolas playing classical symphonies. ravens perched on the snowy sills of arched windows. black peacoats. gold astrolabes. blood on parchment.

LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER’S GHOST. heavy grey wool sweaters. fossilized trilobites & ammonites. splintering sheets of silver ice on inky black water. st. elmo’s fire. dusty sea glass bottles. fractal patterns of frost on window panes. boxes of matches and magazine clippings. curling tentacles & faded tattoos. dissonant player piano tunes. the smell of juniper. eerie yellow-green light through heavy fogs. circles of salt. blood on water.

VILLAGE WEREWOLF.  brown cobblestone cottages capped with snow. clawmarks through sycamore bark. baskets of yarn and knitted smoky grey cloaks. ram’s skulls mounted stable walls. straw dolls & fingerless gloves. clouds of hot breath hanging in freezing air. tapestries of black-haired beasts accented with crimson embroidery. gas lanterns. chanted children’s rhymes. the scent of fir trees and rich soil. blood on wool.

— tagged by: @frostise

— tagging: if you see it, steal it!

[punishingangel]

A yellow memory? Or pink?

a memory that is colored

Jean-Paul's father had never taught him about things like "St. Valentine's Day", nor had he been taught at primary school. At his new school, however, it seemed like there was a special occasion for every month; he winced at the memory of dozens of fingers pinching him last March because he hadn't worn green. He was confused when he'd entered his usual stretch of hallway and found the walls lined with red and white lace, shiny streamers dangling from the ceiling. Heart-shaped lollipops had been taped to locker doors in all different colors. He'd had nobody to ask what this was all about, and the prospect made him a little queasy. He resigned himself to do what he usually did and listen for context clues.

Among the morning din of student chatter, he'd come up with nothing useful.

After putting away his satchel of books and shutting his locker, he was greeted with the sight of Annie from third period math, smiling shyly at the floor. He stood large and awkward next to her, out of place in his own skin and a whole head taller, saying nothing. It was clear she'd have to make the first move.

"Hi, Paul," she began. He'd always thought that she had a nice voice when she asked questions or presented a project; it was soft and clear, the perfect example of "girl."

"Hi, Annie," he replied without thinking, feeling the back of his neck start to prickle. Not many people approached him, shrinking violet that he was, and a hot ball of guilt began to spool in his stomach.

She pulled no punches.

"So, it's Valentine's day, and," Annie looked away and her smile grew. Painted nails scratched at her arm. If Jean-Paul's vision wasn't laser-focused on her, he'd have seen the two other girls to the left disrupting the flow of foot traffic, one covering her mouth to shield a laugh. "I've always thought you were really cute."

"What?"

A burst of giggles across the way. Jean-Paul could've dropped his books. She continued. "My friends and I are going to the movies after school, and they're taking their boyfriends, but..."

Jean-Paul hung on every word, frozen in place, mouth full of cotton.

"I don't have anyone to bring, and I don't want to feel left out... did you want to be my boyfriend?"

"I - uh," began the usual stammer, "Th- I...!"

He could feel his face flushing from the tip of his chin to the tops of his ears. A bright, warm pink. He squeezed his books to his chest. His father would kill him, but then again, his father never came home before 8 o'clock. As scary as it was, there was a sudden sickly pleasure blooming, come to replace the guilt. It wasn't like he'd ever... coveted her, after all. She approached him with something as innocent as their 12-year-old selves allowed. Approached him, who'd never done more than look at her before. Maybe it was a lot of looks, but...

"Well?" More giggles.

He nodded.

"Wh... when... wh- where should I meet you?"

Then, she reached out, hand brushing his shirtsleeve and giving it a small rub. He could've died then and there, wondering in his final moments whether or not his answer had damned him to the Hell that'd been described to him at home.

"In your dreams, Paul," she said, turning to join the other girls.

He stood there as she walked away, lollipop crushed to splinters in his fist.

[punishingangel]

WHICH TAROT CARD ARE YOU?

👓 — the moon

the world has not been kind to you. it has come for you with gnashing teeth, swiping claws, and you have barely escaped time and time again with your tail between your legs. but you are made of tougher stuff; far more resilient than you give yourself credit for! allow yourself this moment, yield yourself some clemency, and be prepared to face this stalking monster with a renewed sense of purpose. the moon will guide your well deserved reprieve. / NUMBER: 18 / UPRIGHT: illusion, fear, anxiety, subconscious, intuition / REVERSED: release of fear, repressed emotion, inner confusion

🪽 — the tower

where is the line between awakening and self destruction? is it thin? are you walking toward it? on it? already too far gone? there is nothing more disheartening than trying to find yourself, only to learn that you detest the person you've been looking for. can i tell you a secret? you are allowed to love yourself. required to, even. how can you go forward without it? make no mistake– it is not easy. but it is essential. you will get there, and it will be warm. / NUMBER: 16 / UPRIGHT: sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening / REVERSED: personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster

— taken from: the dash

— tagging: @arkhamlegacy (for whoever!), @blondebatt, @volucerrubidus, @sifonie, and whoever else would like to do it!

[punishingangel]

new headcanon that i’m implementing posthaste is that JP & Azrael’s blood disease they contracted prior to their death + dying and resurrecting decimated their accelerated healing. So used to it, it’s taking a while for it to sink in that their body isn’t as damage-resistant as it used to be. After they do they add a little extra padding to their costume.

[punishingangel]

"i did what i thought was best for you." - from Azrael

The Committed Starters || Accepting

Someone explain why his first thought was 'woah, Nelly!'.

Tim frowned, crossing his arms over the bronze emblem on his chest. "That so? Was the whole air deprivation thing part of that, too, or was that a newfangled discipline technique I didn't know about?"

"Honestly, man, you don't have to make excuses. I get it; you were in a really tough spot. We all do crap we don't like to think about, later. It's seriously no biggie. I won't bring it up anymore, if you won't?" He held out a hand to shake. "Y'know, unless it's funny. But that's for the bit, only."

[punishingangel]

❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜

an assortment of dialogue prompts

Azrael sat cross-legged next to Anarky, muscles rigid. If anyone else had insisted they tend his wounds, he'd have snatched his arm away before their fingers could brush his bicep. Why shouldn't he now, in the hands of someone who'd tried to kill him before? It wasn't trust, no, he'd barely spoken to them since the threat.

Perhaps it was the same as with Robin, a desire to apologize in the one way he knew how: by doing. His face was fixed firmly away from theirs, but he could feel Lonnie's focus burning holes in his skin.

Or maybe that was the needle threading through his flesh.

[punishingangel]

nurse. Lonnie gives JPV company in the hospital?

loud & deafening silence

Working at West Mercy Hospital was nice. The busted fluorescent lights on the third floor inpatient wing had become a strange, liminal comfort. The soft drone of machinery and the smell of staff room coffee were a symbol of stable mundanity; a reminder that, though a "normal" life was something Jean-Paul had given up, he could still enjoy the pleasures of living like a person. His coworkers — the type of middle-aged women and bright-eyed young men attuned to the same gossip — were a welcome change from his usual crowd, and being needed by his patients felt good. Of course, helping was his calling as a man of faith. It was something he’d nurtured for years and uniquely his. It was more important than his night work, or so he liked to think.

Sometimes.

Being a patient himself, however, was different. Always had been. Memories flashed and coalesced: the sheen of a silver syringe in the dark, piercing veins in his arm and injecting him with something that made his 10-year-old belly turn flips. Strangers shining lights in his eyes, raking their own over his vulnerable parts — his beating heart, his jugular vein, the softness of his abdomen. Poking, pushing, and prodding at someone who, half the time, felt half-corporeal. And then he was dying, numbers and figures spelling out his mortality. He could fend for himself, he could heal faster than any man. Being at the mercy of a doctor made him feel as though his body could be harmed.

It had taken him a bite to the leg to find out that whatever had caused his blood disease had chewed up the strands of DNA that helped close his wounds. It was a bad bite, oozing and fresh, with pain enough to render Azrael unconscious. He'd crawled to Brian Bryan's door leaving a shiny, crimson trail, and he had no power to fight back when he was loaded into his friend's van. At least Brian had the decency to unmask and redress them. Now, there was Jean-Paul, registered nurse, in a bed he had sprayed down just last week. A scratchy blanket covered all but his head, arms, and leg, which was elevated and wrapped tightly in gauze. He couldn't sleep.

Inaction was maddening. It was painful to remain in the same four positions, in the same room, for hours. Then, it was torturous to move. His books helped for a time but quickly lost their magic. Visits from Brian and his coworkers and Leslie were nice until they weren't. The more Jean-Paul gazed out his window, the more some part of him longed to be sweeping through the city streets. It was agony to remain here when secret sin beckoned for Azrael's blade. He focused on the same twinkling signs, honing in on the bat signal shining in the sky.

A brighter flash, bursting next to his bed, made him jump and rattle the contents of his tray table. As his vision returned and came into focus on the red-cloaked figure in its place, his mouth hung dumbly open.

“You —!”

[punishingangel]

(( JP’s birthday tomorrow! perhaps i’ll write something… perhaps not. either way!

[punishingangel]

☎

Let Tim Do Your Voicemail || Accepting

Heavenly music plays in the background.

"Hello, fellow parishioners. I'm sorry to have missed your call. I was probably praying. Please leave a message, and I will consult with the heavenly father on how best to return your call. If you're calling about computer troubles, I can't help you. Technology is the devil, after all. Good-bye."

[punishingangel]

you amuse me. — from Azrael to Astrid

miscellaneous sentence prompts

Astrid just scowls, pushing herself up off of the sparring mat. A thin rivulet of sweat runs down her forehead.

"I'm trying," she wipes at her face with her tabard, "to learn."

Azrael fights better than anyone she's met. It's only logical - HEMA is a sport, vigilantism is deadly serious - but it cuts at her a bit. She's out of her league. She's trying not to be. And she's getting better, too, even if she still can't hold her own against the Avenging Angel. She puffs out a breath.

"Let's go again."

[punishingangel]

Come on baby, can't you see? I'm gonna need a SYMPHONY! And I'm gonna need to hear you SCREAM, na-na-na-na-na!

an independent, selective, and original portrayal of dc's music meister. harmonized by ramone, 24, they/them. est. 2024.

promo template credit: calisources

[punishingangel]

SONGS I ASSOCIATE WITH MY MUSES

⚜️ — full playlist found here

Dog Doesn't Bite by Tub Ring

Terrifyer by AJJ

Stray Bullet by KMFDM

Break Shins to This by Rabbit Junk

Self Esteem by The Offspring

God is Calling Me Back Home by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard

Bigmouth Strikes Again by Placebo

We Will Commit Wolf Murder by of Montreal

Birdhouse in Your Soul by They Might Be Giants

Spillways by Ghost

Grace Kelly by Mika

Love Me More by Mitski

Dueling Duality by Cullah

The Body is a Blade by Japanese Breakfast

Suspended in Gaffa by Kate Bush

Post Party Depression by Days N Daze

— taken from: @frostise

— tagging: @arkhamlegacy, @peranarkia, @deathxcko, @twcfaces, and anyone else who'd like to do it!

[punishingangel]

(( updated to-do:

- 6 drafts

- post edit

- respond to 1 starter

- write 3-4 starters

- carrd bios

- promo post

… 👍👍👍

[punishingangel]

you ask tough questions. — from Jean-Paul

miscellaneous sentence prompts

"I'm just trying to understand," Astrid replies, pushing the end of her thumb into the pad of the other. "That's all."

She gets up to get the two of them water. The townhouse feels strange with another presence in it, and stranger still with that presence being Jean-Paul's. She still feels quite bad about their introduction, but there's no way to say 'sorry for attempting to murder you when you just got off shift' that doesn't make the situation worse. She's hoping them talking together is helping in some way.

She comes back with two glasses and takes the chipped one for herself.

"I just would have thought there'd be... more in the historical record, about the Order of St. Dumas, as it's real. Most scholars consider it about as factual as the Holy Grail."

...What if the Holy Grail is real, too? Astrid privately frowns.

"So I can't ask anyone but you or Azrael. But I know that it's probably not something you want to think about, either."

She's losing this conversation with every word.

"Um, well, here's a less tough one... Did you think about watching Lord of the Rings? I can lend you my disc set. If you have a DVD player."