#Wayne Spike Large

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE RAREST RAINY IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE -- UK REAL PUNK STYLE FOR ALL ETERNITY.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a behind-the-scenes and/or never before seen shot of Roy "Rainy" Wainwright, bassist/co-founder of English hardcore punk band DISCHARGE, during a soundcheck at the Bungalow in Glasgow, Scotland, from the band's first UK tour in early 1980. 📸: Wayne "Spike" Large.

Dis nightmare still @!¢*#$%& continues!!

Source: www.picuki.com/media/3418429277356521411.

[frownyalfred]

do you think bruce has ever gotten drunk before? i don't mean brucie flirting about at the gala either i mean well and truly intoxicated lol. like the type where you wake up and have the worst headache known to man

Thank you for reminding me about one of my long lost headcanons. Which is that yes, Bruce has gotten that drunk (stealing liquor from the pantry as a child, normal stuff) but the only time he woke up and truly prayed for an end was during training with Ra’s Al Ghul when, as a reward, he and the other trainees were given a night off and a mysterious local liquor (something grain derived) spiked with something. and their “night off” became a test the next day, where they had to meditate and work through the after effects, flushing the toxins from their bodies while still completing their regular duties. it was all a lesson — learning that being poisoned can happen when you least expect it; that alcohol is a poison; and that sometimes you will have to work through it no matter how awful you feel. and so poor, pitiful hungover Bruce learned how to do what he does with ease as Brucie Wayne later — work through anything, whether it’s drugs, poison, fear toxin, alcohol, and be largely unaffected.

[dynamic-power]

This wasn't going to be more than a little one-off. But due to popular demand, here's a part two. 😄

Back to the Past part 2

CW: Brief panic attack

Part 1

"I... uh. What?"

Eddie, because Steve is certain now that this is, in fact, Eddie Munson, frowns a little. "Memories," he says, firmly but not unkindly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh." Steve's brain is racing, but not with anything particularly helpful.

He and Robin are going to the high school again to help with relief efforts. There's a strange guy named Argyle staying in Steve's guest room. He's taking Dustin to meet Wayne Munson soon. They have been given permission to recover whatever they can from the Munson trailer. Dustin wants to help because Eddie is-

Eddie is-

Eddie is sitting right in front of him, watching him with those big, dark eyes. He's being so patient, waiting for Steve to finish whatever processing he needs to do, but honestly, the only thing that truly catches Steve off-guard is the fact that Eddie is-

"You're alive."

Eddie's frown deepens for a moment before he seems to understand what Steve is saying. Once he does, though, he grins, wide and happy and contagious, just like Steve remembers.

"Yeah, Stevie, I'm alive."

"You're old."

Eddie collapses back against his pillow and bursts into laughter. Deep, belly-shaking laughter that has Steve biting back a smile.

When he catches his breath again, Eddie looks up at him with shining eyes. "Of course the two things you focus on are our wedding photos and my age."

"You aren't freaking out."

"Neither are you," Eddie counters, and he's right.

Strangely enough, Steve isn't panicking. Actually, in the last few moments with Eddie and the comfort of warm blankets and his warmer laughter, Steve's breathing had evened out again.

"What's going on? You don't seem surprised."

Eddie sighs and lifts his arms, crossing them behind his head. He shifts, putting a little more distance between their bodies. Steve wonders if he's done that on purpose.

Then Eddie's feet wiggle under the covers, trying not to kick the sleeping cat as he shuffles the heavy comforter down his body. Steve's eyes immediately drift down as his torso, and the scars, come into view.

They're horrific; slashes and starbursts and a whole chunk missing from his side just below his ribcage -

And suddenly Steve is there, in the Upside Down. His hands are covered in blood, Eddie's blood, and he can't breathe without tasting the stench of death and decay on the back of his tongue and his heart rate spikes as he darkness starts to tunnel his vision.

But Eddie, alive and smiling and laughing Eddie, is there, gripping his arm firmly and talking to him.

"Stevie, focus on me. Come on, love, I know you can do it. Focus on my voice and breathe with me." A large hand falls onto his chest, warm against his naked skin, and he does what Eddie tells him.

He focuses on Eddie's voice and his toucb and breathes with him until the darkness fades and he finds himself in an unfamiliar bedroom again.

"Good job, Steve. Now, can you count with me?"

Counting. Steve can do that. He knows he can, and he does until his breathing calms again. He's sweaty, and the cool air of the bedroom stings his skin. One of them has tossed away the covers, and the cat has disappeared, and he's sitting half naked in bed with Eddie Munson. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the lingering panic and adrenaline only let him cry, and so he does, leaning against the familiar stranger beside him.

-----

Part 3

Tag list-

@clumsiluni @l0st-strawberry @aol19 @newtstabber

Lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list 💜

[writerbugg]

Good Luck

Chapter # 2 Welcome to the Mansion

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

I made this a bit ago so have mercy :,)

Wattpad

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (You are Here), Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

The only thing I like about rich people is their money. - Nancy Astor

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

"Welcome back Master Bruce. Oh? I see you brought a guest with you."

Bruce and Y/n arrived at the mansion, the air around them a little lighter with Alfred there. Y/n takes a quick look around, admiring the large building.

"Alfred, can you call Richard and tell him I need to see him tonight?" Bruce asks as he guides Y/n into the mansion. "I need to introduce them to our guests."

She follows Bruce, shooting Alfred a smile on her way in, and Alfred returns the smile with one of his own.

──●◎●──

Bruce takes Y/n over to the dining hall, where food was already prepared and set on the table. The food looked heavenly from the medium rare steak to the soft fluffy mashed potatoes.

There were already two boys sitting at the table, enjoying the meal prepared. A shorter boy with tan skin and black spiked hair who looked to be around Jon's age (17-18), and a taller boy with a paler complexion and flatter hair, looked like a young college student (20-21).

Damien and Tim.

Tim glances up, hearing familiar footsteps of his father, but does a double take when he sees Y/n walking alongside him.

"Bruce, why's Y/n here? Don't tell me you convinced Clark to allow her to become a Robin." Bruce looked over at Tim with a stern face, not finding what Tim said funny.

"No. She's here because she mysteriously lost her memories this morning." Both boys give Bruce looks of disbelief. "Clark believes that this memory loss is targeted." Bruce finished.

Tim looks at Y/n, curious. "Wait, you actually don't remember us?"

She shakes her head, "No, sorry." A silence hangs over everyone while Bruce and Y/n both take their seat.

The food was good, but the mood in the room ruined it. It was tense, and Y/n could feel eyes boring into her, what kind of relationship did she have with the Wayne family? Clark didn't seem to be fond of them, but they seemed to know her.

Did something happen between Clark and Bruce recently?

"Y/n," Bruce interrupts Y/n's internal thoughts. "Most of the rooms here are taken, so for the next month you'll be staying in Jason's old room."

...are you fucking serious.

──●◎●──

After a quick tour, Bruce had split off, allowing Y/n to continue by herself. She had wandered over the library and decided that some light reading would be a welcomed distraction.

Looking at a few shelves, Y/n spots ' The Great Gatsby ', a classic from where she comes from. Y/n gets on her toes, trying to reach it, but fails. Gods, she already misses being adult height.

"Need help kid?"

Y/n swirls around, looking to see who was talking to her. A much taller man with a brown leather jacket and black hair with a splotch of white in it stood behind her, his green eyes were piercing, so vibrant and... alive.

"Oh," Y/n muttered to herself. This must be Jason. He smiled and lowered himself to her level (The audacity) and smiled at Y/n.

"Something wrong Y/n? You look like you've spotted a ghost."

──●◎●──

Bruce runs his hands through his hair as he stares at the computer. He should have known this would happen.

Picking up a file, he looks through the blueprints inside of it. He doesn't have a lot of time, Clark was going to get suspicious soon, and if this is interrupted then they will lose everything.

"Please, forgive me Y/n. I swear I only do this to protect you."

──●◎●──

Chapter 3

[cjsmalley]

Wished Away 7:

Happy Thanksgiving (Early, I Know, Shut up):

“Father, Mother, and Uncle Tucker wish to invite you to our Thanksgiving meal,” Damian said.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked, “we’re a lot.”

Even without Damian, Bruce had many children and cooking for all of them was sometimes a tall order.

Damian smiled, “We are aware. You are not the only family we are inviting. Every child Father, Mother, and Uncle Tucker has taken in we have invited along with their remaining family if they have any. Even the non-Americans have been invited.”

“We’d be delighted to come,” Alfred said for his family, “should we bring anything?”

“You may,” Damian agreed, “however, the chefs and cooks of the Palace will be preparing the main meal. It will be mostly meatless. Seitan mostly, in observance with mine and Mother’s dietary needs and our beliefs. It will also be made in-line with kosher regulations.”

“Cookies,” Jason said, looking at Alfred, “we can make vegan cookies.”

“Very well, Master Jason,” Alfred nodded, already planning for such a large batch, or several batches.

Damian grinned.

Thanksgiving Day arrived and the portal opened.

They filed through and were greeted by Sam, the younger Sam on her hip, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Sammy just waved shyly, gaining fond chuckles.

They all echoed the sentiment and were led through the palace to one of the ballrooms, “Not even the large dining room is big enough to hold our horde,” she said with humor.

“Oh?”

“Everyone invited came,” Sam explained before visibly remembering, “Oh, and any red wine you see? Not red wine; we have a vampire in attendance. He eats human food but not really.”

“Of course,” Bruce nodded; only Dick was of age to drink, of his children, but neither one really drank. Still, it was good to know.

“’m assuming the vamp’s friendly?” Jason voiced.

“Friendly as in doesn’t eat humans anymore, yeah,” Sam nodded, “but, well, Spike’s Spike. You’ll understand once you meet him. Don’t go after his humans and he’s nice enough.”

“Fair enough,” Stephanie nodded.

“Also in attendance are a Vampire Slayer, several witches and wizards, two magic superheroes…basically everyone you met at Damian’s birthday party’s here. I know Spike wasn’t there; he had to babysit the Hellmouth that day, so he’s really the only new face. Him and his daughter, Hope.”

“Vampires can have—”

“She’s adopted, from a separate dimension. Danny brought her to the Hellmouth group to hide her. She’s being raised by Buffy and Spike.”

“Oh.”

They finally made it to the ballroom; the doors were wide open; servants rushed forward to relieve the Waynes of the platters of cookies they carried before they entered the room.

Most of the room was divided down the middle by a cartoonishly long dining table, bench seating on either side of it. Settings were already in place.

In one corner was a padded and gated off area where Anakin and the baby that could only be Hope played. Well, played as only young babies could, which wasn’t much.

Dotted around the room were small clusters of regular chairs and beanbag chairs, some of which were already occupied, surrounding small tables with pitchers of water and juices and, yes, blood.

Spike the vampire was easy to pick out from the masses because he had a glass of what looked like red wine in hand. Nobody else did.

The Waynes spread out, first finding Damian to say hello, then mingling and visiting with the friends made at the birthday party.

Bruce made his way towards the vampire.

“’Lo,” Spike greeted lowly over his drink, Buffy at his side.

“Hello, Buffy,” Bruce said before smiling with a closed mouth, “and you must be Spike. Bruce Wayne.”

“Not an ape, mate,” Spike snorted, “won’t attack if you smile at me. Sit down, take a load off. Hear you’re Batman. The real deal one.”

“I am,” Bruce took a seat, reaching to fill a cup with orange juice, “where did you hear it from?”

“Dawn was excited; her little brother’s bio-dad is Batman,” Buffy explained, rolling her eyes fondly, “one of my friends, Xander, is a big comic book nerd.”

“Ah. I assume there won’t be any problems?”

“Not from us,” Spike agreed, nudging Buffy with a smirk, “my girl here’s a superhero too. Won’t be any trouble from our lot. Right, Slayer?”

“Yep. No problems from us. If Danny and Sam are good with you being…you know, you then we’re good,” Buffy nodded, “just as long as you don’t put Dawnie or Hope in a suit.”

“I don’t want them out there,” Bruce grumbled, “but if I didn’t help them, they’d all be dead by now.”

“We get it, honestly,” Buffy assured, “Dawn’s given us enough gray hair,” she grinned mischievously at Spike, “she’s even given Billy Idol here some.”

“Slayer, you know that pissant stole—”

Bruce laughed.

Everyone mingled and chatted for a few hours before the meal began; servant after servant carried food and drinks to the main table as everyone found seats on the benches.

Spike and Danny placed the babies into highchairs.

By the time everything and everyone was ready, the table was fairly groaning with the meal.

Danny gained everyone’s attention, standing and grinning, “Welcome to Thanksgiving Dinner at the Palace. Thank you all for coming, even our non-Americans for putting up with our silly traditions.”

The non-Americans laughed fondly, nodding; even Alfred cracked a smile.

“For those who’re probably wondering,” he continued, “our essential living staff celebrated at lunch and most will have the day off tomorrow. Everyone else had the day off today. Now, normally we’d go around and say what we’re thankful for but we’d be here forever if we did that tonight. So, while we eat let’s just think about what we’re thankful for and enjoy the food and the company. Oh, and just so you know, everything’s kosher and most of the ‘meat’ is actually Seitan. Real meat is on the green platters. But before we begin, let’s give a round of thanks to the kitchen staff for making the food!”

Everyone applauded.

“Now, tuck in!”

They all did so with gusto; the meal was magnificent and it was clear the Palace staff had put their all into it.

Most of the Seitan was shaped into meat product appearances, looking indistinguishable from the real turkeys and hams. And it tasted almost like the real things too.

The meal lasted well into the night and everyone went home stuffed and with leftovers.

[writingwhatiwanttoread]

Help! I've Landed in a FanFiction (Chapter 2)

Pairing: fem!OC x Justice League

Genre: OC insert, Soulmate AU, Isekai, Reverse Harem

Characters: OC, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, John Constantine, and other DC characters as the story progresses

Warnings: all warnings not tagged, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, general violence and dark, 18+ themes, read at your own risk

Summary: Katie Smith wakes up in a new world, one out of comic books and ridiculously cheesy tropes. All she wants to do is find her way back home, but no one is helping her. Worst of all, they claim to be her soulmates. Surely it's all dream. How can she make herself wake up?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (This One)

Chapter 2: Is it Called Kidnapping When You're Not a Kid?

The alarm screamed in a very annoying way, and Katie wanted to cover her ears but she was still tied to the damn chair. Luthor (sure, whatever, she didn't have a better thing to call the made-up villain in her obviously confused mind) dragged her chair to the middle of the room, practically tipping her over. He grabbed some duct tape off his desk, and wrapped it around her head three times. She could almost taste the glue and it muffled her so much that she barely heard the groan as she felt it stuck to the back of her hair. It would be a pain to get off. (Why was she even considering it? She just needed to wake up. Warm bath and then maybe not sleeping again for like, two weeks.)

She felt cold metal pressed against her head and realized, a little delayed, that it was a gun. Isn't that an idea? She saw a movie once where a character killed themselves in a dream and returned to the real world. She tilted her head against the barrel, a little bit, considering. She couldn't see Luthor's face, but as he pressed in harder, she wondered what he thought.

The room was thick was anticipation. He had stopped his monologuing and the only thing Katie could hear besides her heavy breathing was the persistent wailing of the alarm.

About ten minutes later, the large office doors flew open. Several bodies rushed in, Katie taken by the bright colors. She really was the best at imagination, she thought, a little smugly. When she was younger, she had wanted to be a writer, and before Matt firmly shot down that idea ("Pretty much a waste of your time, babe, isn't it?"), she always thought she could come up with a pretty good story. Maybe when all this was over, she could figure out how to write it all down.

The room was chaotic until it wasn't. Whether this was because they saw the gun to her head or were just being cautious of the man behind her, everyone stopped suddenly. Two tall figures (most likely male?) stood in front of the rest of the group. One was wearing a black suit with a blue bird and the other wearing a red helmet. Behind them was a young man in a red and black suit, and a smaller boy? wearing what she finally recognized as a Robin(?) suit. All of them had their faces covered in some sort of mask. There were three others behind them---a young man wearing a leather jacket with spikes, a smaller figure in red and white with goggles, and a young woman with blonde hair and a W on her costume. Katie's eyes were wide as she took in the cosplayers in front of her. She figured if Lex was a villain, maybe these guys were heroes and had no idea why her brain made them up. She knew only a few characters from comics---Batman, Superman, and Lex Luthor. Wonder Woman was a comic book character, right? The Joker? Spider Man. Um...Captain America? And some guy with a burlap sack on his head that Matt always said was his favorite. Who else? Maybe Archie and Jughead would show up soon.

"Lex." The man in blue said sternly.

"Ah, Nightwing. Forgive me for my disappointment, but this invitation was not for you or the rest of the...freaks with you." Katie watched as the boy in the jacket flinched slightly. His face didn't change though---all of them were staring with a mix of stoicism and anger.

"Well," the Nightguy said pleasantly, dangerously, "we received it anyway. I'm afraid those you did mean it for are out of contact right now." His eyes flicked to Katie and back to Luthor.

The man with a red helmet rested his hand on the gun attached to his hip. His voice came out gravelly and deep, almost machine like. "What do you want, Luthor?"

Katie felt the gun press against her temple harder. No one moved an inch but she felt several pairs of eyes land on her. She looked back curiously.

There was a gasp behind Helmet Head and Nightguy, coming from the Red and Black dude. He whispered something Katie couldn't hear.

Nightguy and Red Helmet stiffened a bit. Katie could hear the sneer in her captor's voice. "As you can see," he trailed his fingers down her chest slowly, stopping at the top of her bra, "this isn't a conversation for you."

Red and Black guy stepped forward, sounding bored for some reason. "It looks like this isn't a conversation for you, either, Lex. The League is off world right now. Don't you think this would mean a while lot more if you played this game with them?" He twirled the large staff in his hand. (Gandalf! That was a comic book character, right? Katie patted herself on the back for knowing something.) He then turned his back to them, which Katie thought was kind of stupid. "Not our circus, not our monkeys, right, guys? We've got bigger things to worry about." The room was still for a moment, until the man in the red helmet shrugged. "Sure, Red. What do you say, Big Bird?"

The Nightguy nodded sharply, never taking his eyes off Katie. "If you say so. We'll pass on your message, Lex." He twirled his finger in the air, some sort of nonverbal wrap it up and turned around and just fucking walked out. Every single one of them.

Katie, who was getting frustrated with the duct tape wrapped around her face, must have managed to show enough confusion in her eyes that even the bald villain seemed to pity her. He put away his gun and scoffed, ripping the tape from her face and around her hair without any warning. She yelped and tears sprung to her eyes. Several strands were tugged out with the violent ungagging and she couldn't help but whine. Luthor laughed meanly. "Smarter than they look. I don't fully believe it, but I'll find out if they were lying soon, I gather. Go to sleep, darling. We'll try again later." The last thing she felt was a prick in her neck.

----

Katie woke up in a different room than her first cell, and definitely not in Luthor's office. It was about the size of a walk-in closet and carpeted. The door was locked, but there was a small pallet with a thin blanket and a bucket in the corner. A plate with a peanut butter sandwich and a small cup with water was on a side table. She took a couple of bites and downed the water and then sat on the pallet. She had been dressed in a pair of sweatpants and large black shirt, and she was determined not to think about who changed her.

She redid her ponytail and cleaned her glasses with her shirt, and then scooted back against the wall. Slowly, she started thumping her head against it, wondering how hard she'd need to hit it to wake up. Just before she could bang it harder, the handle on the locked door jiggled. Katie made herself smaller on the pallet, scooting further into the corner of the room. She was not ready for another round, even if it was all in her head.

The door opened slowly. But instead of Luthor, it was the small one she saw earlier, with goggles.

"AwesomeIknewyouwouldbehereItoldRedRobinthatIwouldfindyoufirstIcan'tbelieveitareyouok?" The words rushed out and Katie had a hard time keeping up. The kid looked at her, bouncing up and down from foot to foot.

"Um. Yes?" She hadn't caught the question, really, but hoped it was the right answer. Judging by his smile, it was.

"GreatI'mgoingtopickyouupnowandwearegoingtogetoutofherebeforetheplacegoesboomSuperboydecidedhe'ddothehonorsthistimetakethatLex!"

And before Katie could decode any of that, the guy grabbed her hand, tossed her on his back (despite how much bigger she was than him) and flew? ran? teleported? away. Katie actually didn't know what was happening because one moment she was in the weird closet and the next she was on top of a skyscraper watching a building across from her blow up. Her stomach lurched and she threw up.

"Impulse, did you even warn her?" Katie wiped her mouth with the bottom of her shirt and looked up. The young man in red and black was shaking his head in exasperation, while the other young man in the leather jacket was flying (!) next to him. Red stepped forward, his hand extended.

"Sorry about that, we had to work fast. I'm Red Robin. What's..." But Katie didn't hear the next thing because at that moment the tattoo on her chest flared in pain and she sunk to the ground. All she heard before she fainted were the shouts of surprise around her.

[thatthirdtriplet]

Relationships:

Tim Drake & Jason Todd Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Characters:

Tim Drake Jason Todd Dick Grayson Bruce Wayne Barbara Gordon Alfred Pennyworth

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort emotional Hurt/Comfort fluff and Angst post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Dick Grayson is a Good Brother Tim Drake Has Abandonment Issues touch-Starved torture nightmares references to Drugs cuddling & Snuggling Tim Drake Needs a Hug Tim Drake Gets a Hug canon Divergence - Jason Todd's Attack on Titans Towers self-Esteem Issues stalking Lazarus Pit (DCU) Tim Drake is Robin Jason Todd is Red Hood Dick Grayson is Nightwing Bruce wayne loves his kids but he's got issues and doesn't always make good choices self-Worth Issues swearing Jason Todd is a good brother brotherly Bonding obsessive Behaviour past Suicidal Behaviour past Suicidal Thoughts anxiety panic Attacks traumatic flashbacks platonic sharing a bed platonic Cuddling Non-Consensual Drug Use Implied/Referenced Drug Use Enemy to Caretaker Lazarus Pit Madness (DCU)

Summary:

“Jason has just calmed down from the spike of anger when Tim comes back into the main room after changing out of his school uniform. Jason looks up and freezes.”

There’s a purpling bruise on Tim’s neck. The shape of the bruise is undeniably that of a hand, a large one. The bruise looks a few days old, but it is more than dark enough for Jason to know Tim must have been covering it with makeup. But now the makeup is wiped away to reveal angry purple and blue with a halo of red around the edges. On his neck, his delicate, fragile neck, someone put their hands on his baby brother’s neck—"

#

Almost a year after Hood attacked Robin at Titans Tower and four months since he agreed to stop killing, Jason struggles to cope with the horrific violence he inflicted on Tim now that he has the Pit under control. Well. Mostly under control.

Featuring Robin!Tim as a touch-starved bean with no self-worth and Nightwing!Dick as the only Bat with an emotional braincell.

[largesleeves]

Thoughts on Absolute Batman #1

Non-comprehensive but still kinda thorough analysis w/ pics :3

Definitely spoilers for issue one of Absolute Batman

Gotham

I think one of the cool themes of Batman is he is closely connected to the city. Batman always has a pulse on the city but this Batman IS the pulse. Alfred describes how he has worked in every facet of the city. Water treatment, sanitation, policy, power and in the comic he is construction. This Batman is more connected to Gotham than ever. He is the nervous system.

I don’t have deep knowledge of Batman but I know a huge part of him is his connection to Gotham and I love how we see even more of this city, characterizing it even more.

Bruce

As mentioned in the Gotham section, I think this Batman is one of the most connected to the city—at least that I’ve seen. Bruce has literal hands on experience with Gotham. He is a multifaceted, skilled worker. He has worked in power, water, sanitation, interned in city hall and construction.

This Wayne has a lot of similarities between Peter Park’s traditional origin story. Some large ones of note are:

1. Both have a dead father figure (uncle/dad) from gunshot

2. Super smart, middle class

3. Captain Stacy / Governor Gordon die(Gordon’s dead right?) saving people

I do think there are a good amount of similarities but more different than similar. It’s very interesting.

I have no proof but I would t be surprised if his mom dies in this first or second arc. Also he is ripped 🥵

Batman

I am very excited to see how the Batman Bruce dynamic is. I don’t think this first issue is enough to tell but I’m curious what it’s like. Almost everything Bruce does is for Batman, for the city.

Batman is very well portrayed as a unit. Borderline force of nature. This is one of my favorite things about Batman but they do it a bit different. Batman does a lot of stuff with paranoia fear but this Batman is brutal, animalistic fear. Other Batman have a larger focus on stealth but this Batman took on a hoard, head on.

The bat tech this Batman has is obviously very interesting too. The batarangs coming off his ears is really funny but awesome. He’s got bull horns now to charge into someone lmao.

The possible cape is my stand out element, even above the axe. The cape being the way it is, controllable and stiff is soooo cool. He has increased reach, cocoon shield, spikes, gliding omg it’s crazy. I think that it was alluded that the bridge technology young Bruce made became the Batman cape. It’s a foldable, structurally secure thing. The axe is very cool and I think defines this Batman’s brutality compared to others. Batman has been brutal but I think it’s mostly blunt/bashing damage. Absolute Batman slices. He easily draws blood. He still technically doesn’t kill, just cripples whoever he deems fit but this is a “I didn’t kill them, they just didn’t get to the hospital within 15 minutes”.

As the series goes on I might make a post about what a cop this Batman is…

Black Mask

A friend I trust, who is a mega Batman fan, was hesitant about Black Mask but now he all onboard after the beginning. I’m mostly unfamiliar with Black Mask but love the art so much. (Mf bowl head 💀)

Misc.

I love seeing operative Alfred. I think the Bat and Alfred dynamic is already great and will develop in a way similar to Daredevil and the Punisher maybe. Sorta kinda allies.

These panels are really cool to me. I love how the cape communicates motion. Batman just LEAPS outta there.

Ok thanks for reading all the way(this means I love you now)

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 11)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 next: Part 12 | ao3

forcing myself to do a smaller chapter this time. Now if some of ya are still interested in this silly au, we’re back with Eddie!

When the haze finally departs from his mind, the first thing Eddie registers is Ronnie James Dio keening softly in his ears about dying young. Then he blinks his burning eyes open, an unfamiliar ceiling appearing from above through the static in his vision. 

He just stares at the ceiling, watching the spores float around in the air. Then he feels the rest of his body starting to wake up and demands movement. As Eddie slowly turns his head, the staticy vision fades in and out. He blinks again, this time figuring out his new surroundings.

He’s in a different house, laying back on a couch. This room doesn’t look like anywhere at the trailer’s or the Byers residence. There’s still a ton of vines sprawled on the walls and furniture. And there’s Will sitting at a small table next to him.

Eddie observes him for a moment. The kid is muttering quietly to himself, sketching something on paper. Their backpacks and spears are carefully placed next to the chair’s feet. There’s one stuffed handbag Eddie doesn’t remember carrying with them, but that’ll be saved for a later conversation.

Eddie opens his mouth, only to shut it when a headache suddenly spikes through his temple. He waits for it to pass, realizing how parched and ashy his mouth is. Against any better judgement, he tries to speak again. 

“Whatcha doing, Little Byers?” His voice sounds rough, just barely scraping itself out of his mouth.

Will stops murmuring, freezing in his chair. He slowly turns, his eyes looking too large for his head with the dark shadows underneath them. It takes another moment before Eddie registers the rest of Will’s appearance. With slightly sunken cheeks, cracked lips, and matted hair, he looks like a flu victim. If he listens closely, Eddie can hear Will’s lungs quietly rattling from every breath. 

Something twists in Eddie’s stomach. It’s close to nausea but he forces himself to just breathe even in the toxic air. But then he’s hyper aware of his own lungs, wheezing out air through his lips with the same rattling effort as Will’s. Another cough is tickling at the bottom of his throat. The goosebumps are still agitating his skin from the ever-cold temperatures.

They’ve been in this hell realm for days and only now did the state of their health just come to Eddie’s mind.  

Before Eddie curses himself further, Will flies out of his chair. His arms wrap tight around Eddie’s neck, almost choking him out. But Eddie stays conscious, hugging Will as tightly as he can. 

Will doesn’t say anything at all, which brings Eddie’s anxiety up. But Will is smiling at him with watery eyes when he pulls away without breaking their hold, “Are you okay?”

Eddie thinks about the vivid echoes of Wayne’s truck blazing out of the trailer park. How his useless wailing for his uncle had just made Eddie sink into whatever place in his brain that makes everything quiet and separated from his body like a marionette its strings cut off the limbs. He gives Will a small smile of his own, “I’m okay now.”

But then Will frowns, though not unkindly, “You weren’t.” 

“Little Byers-”

“You weren’t okay, Eddie.” Will’s lip is wobbling, biting into the skin hard enough that it starts bleeding. “You can’t just say you’re fine when you’re not. You can just tell me that you felt awful!”

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face. He’s both feeling angry and exhausted, the latter winning its favor. He wants to tear his throat out and let every bleeding piece show he’s feeling more than just awful. He wants to go home from this fucking nightmare and hug Wayne again. 

Walk Away’s guitar intro starts playing. Eddie tries to get the headphones off him but Will helps him with it, pausing the album. Not even Black Sabbath can scab over his new emotional pit of misery.  

Eddie doesn’t look at Will or at the ceiling or the room. Just at that black space whenever he squeezes his eyes shut. 

There’s a sniffle from Will before his weight climbs on top of Eddie. It takes a second for Eddie to catch his breath from the new pressure, but by instinct, he’s already hugging Will again.

For a while, Eddie thinks he’s really fine until Will quietly says with puffs of warm air on his bare neck, “You’re allowed to have a bad day. I promise I’m not mad at you for it.” 

If Eddie’s tightening hold and his poor attempts to choke down another sob bothers Will, he doesn’t say it. He only shuffles his position so he’s slightly curled on his side, small hands clutching onto Eddie’s.

God, Eddie doesn’t deserve this kid. 

But the last time he said something like that, it had been about Wayne and look where he is now.

Eddie dry swallows the taste of dirt-tinted salt water, starting another round of silence. Then it breaks by Will’s muffled statement, “I kinda want to punch your uncle’s knees.”  

Eddie emits a tormenting sound out of his mouth, “What?”  

Will has the audacity to shrug. “He left you. Grownups are tall so I can just punch his knees.”

Eddie stares up at the ceiling for a different reason. “Jesus H- Okay, I appreciate your willingness, but Uncle Wayne already has a knee problem. So, don’t like, hurt him.”

“Oh.” Will is quiet for another moment. Then, “I’ll hit his elbow.” 

This time, Eddie can’t hold back the laughter. It’s a wheezy sound that almost breaks his chest. But it’s the first time since he first woke up that he feels a small warmth in his chest. Could just because Will’s on top of him, trying to regenerate their body heat, but whatever. 

It’s really nice not to be alone. Even though Eddie painfully yearns for Wayne’s return.

Eventually, their giggles die down and the basement is hushed. Eddie attempts to stretch his legs out at last, but his left ankle feels weirdly sore. He tries to move it yet it stays stuck in place. With something wrapped around it.

Eddie jerks up, forcing Will off him. He immediately catches sight of one of the vines on the other end of the couch, already traveling as high as his calf.

He throws himself off, screeching as if it’ll scare the vine away. It doesn’t. His vicious kicks prompting it to squeeze tighter and tug firmly. How could’ve Eddie missed it getting him? Had it been limp on the couch until he somehow jostled it? 

Will appears at his feet, a hand outstretched to the vine. Eddie opens his mouth to yell at him to get away, remembering the last time Will tried to stab an hellish organism. But instead of a spear, Will has a Zippo lighter that he flicks open. A small flame manifests and instantly makes contact with the vine. 

It might as well have been a flamethrower because the vine makes a tiny squeeee noise and withdraws from Eddie’s ankle. He’s more quick in scooting away from the couch, taking Will with him by the collar.

They held each other with heavy breaths, staring at the vine. It’s slithering slowly on the ground but soon goes motionless. Eddie looks around the basement and at the dozens of vines on the walls, some of them barely crossing the ground. Then he remembers what Will had said about the vines being a hivemind.

Eddie takes a careful breath, gulping dry air and ashy saliva, “What say, Little Byers, exactly are we?”

Will’s probably shaking more than Eddie in his arms, but he keeps his voice strong, “M-Mike’s house. My best friend’s.” Eddie can see his hand flexing to a paler color, still holding the Zippo lighter. That he will also need to ask about later.

“Agree for a quick retract?”

Will gives a short nod and that’s all Eddie needs.

They’re quick and careful in grabbing the bags and spears, both of them eying the Eddie-Snatch Vine. It stays still but Eddie swears it twitches. There’s a few vines littering the basement stairs that Will easily jumps over. But Eddie sticks to the tiptoes, mainly because his ankle feels like it’s burning. Like something’s been imprinted onto it and he’ll roll the cuff up to find a Mind Flayer seal or whatnot.

He does his best to ignore that.

Once they’re out of the basement, the two make a run towards the front door just as it closes on the Other Side and a woman speaks.

“Nancy, just where on- oh!”

“We’re just going to be in my room, Mom.” So this is Nancy Wheeler. She sounds sullen as her voice carries up the quiet stairs, “Please leave us alone.”

“Oh, alright… But is there any reason why you’re also here, Jonathan?”

Will whirls around just at the base of the stairs. He makes a startled sound like air has been sucked into his mouth. Whatever Jonathan Byers says is too quiet for Eddie’s ears but his answer seems to satisfy Mrs. Wheeler. Their voices almost immediately fade away.

Will stares up like the stairs were the Stairway to Heaven itself. When he drags his eyes away towards Eddie, he knows exactly what they’re going to do.

This is unfair! A part of Eddie’s mind yells at him. Why did Will’s brother have to be here but not Wayne? 

Eddie mentally shuts his question down and silently answers Will’s.

As they diligently trudge up the stairs, Eddie catches Mrs. Wheeler’s muttered complaints about the lights going weird.

-

@unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @hbyrde36 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @penny00dreadful @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringorinthopher @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95

[ilovecupcakesandtea]

Chapter one Chapter five My master list

Title: Chapter four

Word Count: 1347

Archive Warnings: Smut in future chapters. Slight angst. Alcohol misuse.

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham

Character(s): Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Benny, Uncle Wayne & The Party

Tags: Smut. Angst. Steddie. Buckingham. Steve Harrington. Eddie Munson. Robin Buckley. Chrissy Cunningham. Band AU. TW Alcohol use.

Summary (optional): Two different styles of music, two boys that really don't like each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Beta Reader: Thank you so much to my beautiful beta readers @slippy-slip @ladydarklord & @dontwasteyourchances

Art link and credit: Art is by the wonderfully talented @pink-luna-moth (as is the banner)

Fic link and credit: Ao3 Link

AN: First off thank you to Alex for the art and being just amazing to work alongside. Thank you to Slip for dragging me back from the edge so many times over this. I really am so excited to have this out here!!

I wrote this for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang event and had a lot of fun doing so!!

Divider links: reblog and music notes

Four months of weekly band practice and separate weekly writing sessions, and The Spitfires were getting ready for their first gig. Eddie had been able to get them a gig at The Hideout, a Tuesday night when nothing else was on, but it was something. 

The practice they had before they packed up and went to The Hideout was filled with nervous energy and tension. Steve and Eddie did nothing but snip at each other in between songs and sometimes even during songs. Both Robin and Chrissy were glad when it came time to split them up, pack up, and head off to the venue. 

Tuesday night at The Hideout was a quiet one, almost no one else was there, just a handful of drunks and a handful of teenagers not old enough to drink but just hanging out. They got set up and then went to mingle with people in the bar. 

“I haven’t seen you here before, handsome. What’s the name?” a girl asked Steve as she stood beside him at the bar.

“First time here beautiful, can I get you a drink and you can tell me what brings a lady such as yourself to this bar? I’m Steve Harrington” Steve replied smoothly, placing a hand on the small of her back and turning back to the bar. 

“If you’re done being a slut Harrington, we’ve got a set to play” Eddie interrupted the pair an hour later, finding them making out in a corner. 

“The fuck is your problem? Just having a great time here with the lovely Melanie” Steve responded, sitting back and away from the girl. 

“It’s Stephanie” The girl scowled at him.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Anyway Munson, what do you want? I know the time. I’ll be there in a moment.” Steve shrugged. 

“We’ve got to be on stage in 10 minutes, you need to get ready” Eddie fumed, walking away. 

“I’d better go, sweetheart,” Steve sighed, “see you after the set?” he asked.

“Sure, get the impression you’ll be a good fuck” She replied, shrugging and moving away to join her friends again.

The girls had already got changed, lots of giggling and them taking much longer than needed told Eddie that they hadn’t been fully on task the whole time. They emerged with red cheeks, messy hair, and slightly marked-up necks but both looking amazing. Robin wore a pair of dark jeans and a The Clash t-shirt with large rips down the side that had been ‘repaired’ with safety pins and a pair of Doc Martin boots. A spiked faux leather bracelet, a choker, safety pin earrings, and a flash of neon eyeshadow finished the look off. Chrissy had a short black skirt coupled with dark purple fishnets and an Iron Maiden t-shirt she’d cut and tied at the sides with a pair of New Rock boots on. Dainty rings on all bar one of her fingers and huge winged eyeliner, sharp enough to cut paper, and dangly pentagram earrings completed her look. Eddie was in the middle of changing his trousers and shirt when the door opened and he heard a strangled noise from behind him. 

“Everything ok?” he asked, turning to the source of the noise, Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s ok.” The other man replied, clearing his throat and walking over to his own bag to get changed. 

Less than 5 minutes later, without another word being said but with a whole load of tension in the room, both boys were ready to go on stage. Eddie was wearing a very tight pair of jeans with a baggy mesh top on, chunky rings adorning his fingers, and a big pair of black and silver New Rocks boots. Steve was wearing just a pair of cargo pants that seemed perfectly tailored to his ass and thighs and black studded belt and a pair of heavy work boots.

Standing at the edge of the stage they all took a big deep breath and collected their thoughts. It may only be a small crowd but if they wanted to go somewhere with this they had to start somewhere. They knew they needed to impress the crowd but also Benny. Playing here week after week would really help them go far as a band.

“Now I know we don’t normally have a band on a Tuesday night but this is a treat for you all. Playing their very first gig right here at The Hideout, give it up for The Spitfires.” Benny said before stepping down from the stage as the band stepped up. 

“Good evening beautiful people! We’re The Spitfires and every song you hear tonight is one we wrote, so enjoy” Eddie shouted into the mic before Steve counted them into the first song.

Song after song the set went on, the whole band beaming as they sang and played each one. Each of them was as energetic as they could be. Eddie, Robin, and Chrissy running all around the stage singing into each other's mics and with each other a lot of the time. 

“We’ve been The Spitfires and you’ve been amazing. Catch us at the bar in a few minutes if you want to chat, but that's the end of the set” Eddie panted into the mic 60 minutes later. Before setting his guitar down and reaching for a bottle of water that Benny had set for them at the side of the stage.

The crowd cheered and clapped for them as they all sat instruments down and walked off the stage.  

“That was amazing!” Chrissy squealed, throwing herself at Eddie. 

“Yeah well done everyone, totally killed it out there” Eddie beamed at them all. 

“Get a shirt back on dingus, let's go get a drink!” Robin declared, tweaking one of Steve's nipples and walking off towards the bar, Chrissy and Eddie quickly following her. 

“Eddie, babe, care to get out of here?” A man asked as he walked up to the group, a little while later, completely ignoring the rest of the band sitting there. 

“Hey Jason” Eddie smiled at the stranger, Jason apparently, and very obviously checked him out “Yeah absolutely,” he answered the blonde in front of him. “See you guys tomorrow for writing?” He questioned the band before walking off and joining Jason on the way out the door. 

“Did he just ditch us to get laid?” Steve suddenly blurted, leaning his head to the side so he could see around Stephanie who had been on his lap for the past 15 minutes.

“Erm yes I believe that’s what just happened, didn’t think you’d notice though, what with being too busy with Janie and all,” Chrissy responded, an icey tone evident in her voice.

“It's Stephanie,” The girl mumbled. 

“Whatever Chris,” Steve huffed. “Shall we get out of here babe?” Steve whispered to the girl on his lap.

“Want to tell me what that was last night” Robin questioned Steve as soon as she sat in the passenger seat. 

“What was what?” He replied frowning at her as he started to drive towards Chrissy’s. 

“You being all over that girl, in front of everyone, and then getting your knickers in a twist over Eddie leaving with that guy, very obviously to have sex by the way, in case you missed that.” 

“Oh, that” Steve sniffed, suddenly very interested in the road, “It was nothing, just he left abruptly is all and she approached me, what else was I meant to do when a babe wants to fuck?” 

“Steve, you either need to do something about your feelings or you need to move on. Using someone to try and make him jealous isn’t fair” She smiled sadly at him. 

“EDWARD MUNSON” Chrissy shouted at him as soon as he entered the garage.

“I know ok, I should have said no.” He sighed. 

“Going home with Jason was not the answer last night, at all. He’s bad news. Just because Steve had some chick all over him does not mean you get to self-destruct, ok” Chrissy whispered into his neck as she hugged him.

[xzerosparrowx]

Here is a section of the Steddie Vampire AU fic I am writing for the Steddie Bingo challenge. I am particularly proud of this one, even if it hurt - on a personal level - to write Uncle Wayne in such a vulnerable position. CW: Uncle Wayne is in the middle stages of dementia.

-

Friday comes quickly, with work and jam sessions filling up his time during the week. Now, on his day off, Eddie finishes stacking the little cups of Honey Joys into a container, smiling widely at the little mounds of golden cereal goodness. He puts the container beside him on the passenger seat when he gets into the van and drives out of Chicago, Slayer playing heavy and rough through his speakers.

Very little has changed about the trailer park that Eddie moved out of when he was eighteen: the playground a little worse for wear, the grass dying underneath the sun, and the residents getting older. The little wooden steps to the front of Wayne’s trailer creak underneath his feet, the metal door clanging loudly when he knocks. Eddie can’t hide the grin that spreads across his face when he sees the kind, smiling face of Maria Reyes greet him. Maria is short, barely reaching his shoulders, with salt-and-pepper hair cut into a bob. Her green United Allied Health shirt is ironed and fitting snugly against her large frame.

“Bambi!” Maria beams, giving him a tight hug and kiss on the cheek when he steps inside. “Wayne, look—Eddie’s here!”

The trailer, like the park it resides in, is worsening with age, water stains browning the pale yellow walls and the threadbare couch still clinging to its usefulness. Sitting in his brown recliner is Wayne, his thin frame swallowed by clothes that used to fit him. It is a shock to the system every Friday when Eddie visits, his uncle looking older with each passing week.

“Hello, my boy,” Wayne grins when he turns in his recliner to peer up at Eddie.

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie grins, sitting down on the coffee table to sit across from his uncle. “I made your favorite. Remember when you used to make these for me?” He opens the container and hands a Honey Joy to Wayne.

“You would always eat ten of these— even when I told you to slow down,” Wayne smiles. “And then you’d get sick, and I’d have to hear you complain for hours.” Wayne laughs, and Eddie wants to cry, warmth spreading across his chest at hearing his uncle reminisce, remember, and laugh. The moment ends when Eddie watches Wayne’s hands fumble with the cupcake wrapper. 

It’s a simple task, one that Wayne would have been able to do in his sleep, but now it’s a monumental challenge and Eddie’s stomach twists at the sight of it. Wayne’s mouth slowly pulling into a thin line the more he struggles, his hands trembling with the effort. He knows that Wayne is trying to hang on to something, to feel capable, but every moment seems like a reminder of the man he used to be- someone who would teach Eddie to play the guitar or fix a broken-down car. Eddie still clings to those memories of Wayne, a sliver of hope that his uncle will suddenly remember birthdays and himself. The hope slowly fades as Wayne continues to struggle with the wrapper, the Honey Joy crumbling in his clumsy fingers, and is replaced by a dark cloud of frustration that rolls in. It’s not just the wrapper. It’s the years slipping away from Wayne, and Eddie can feel himself losing his uncle, bit by bit.

“I can do it!” Wayne snaps, voice sharp and defensive, like he’s trying to prove something to himself, to Eddie, even as he continues to struggle with it.

Maria finally intervenes and Eddie feels a hot spike of resentment, jealousy and guilt as he watches her gently peel the wrapper away, movements smooth and practiced. Maria knows Wayne better than Eddie does now, she knows how to care for him, to make the right choices and Eddie… Eddie is just a reminder of what’s fading. 

“Whatcha been watchin’, old man?” Eddie sits on the couch next to the recliner, at least he can do this, the routine. 

Wayne, who had been staring at the Honey Joy. Now looks up at Eddie, then at the TV. “The Young and the Restless. Katherine just drove Philip and herself off a cliff when she found out he went to the—” Wayne trails off, his dark brows furrowing in confusion.

“Philip went to the Dominican Republic to get a divorce, right? Now he and Jill are getting married before he dies,” Eddie prompts gently, knowing this season well, having watched these episodes countless times with Wayne.

“Yeah, Philip’s a real shitbag,” Wayne nods, settling into his recliner and crunching into the dessert. Eddie chuckles at that, surprised by the moments of clarity that seem to come and go.

They make it through two more episodes.

“You watch any games lately, Wayne?” Eddie asks, draining his can of coke and setting it down on the coffee table.

“Alan?” Wayne squints at Eddie, his mouth pulled into a scowl. “I ain't lettin’ you borrow any money!”

It is a slap in the face hearing that name come from his uncle's mouth, the quick sting of hurt stabbing his chest at the very idea of Eddie reminding Wayne of his brother, Eddie’s deadbeat Dad. He had done a lot to not be like his father; stopped selling drugs when he finally got the job at the record store, learnt quickly to never resolve his anger with violence. Hearing Wayne call him Alan sends a hot flush of anger through him, Wayne would know better, Wayne would know that Eddie is nothing like Alan.  

“No, Wayne—” Eddie sighs, forcing his voice to remain calm, raking trembling fingers over his face.

“You got a kid now. You can’t be coming over here asking for money, Al,” Wayne lectures, shaking his head disapprovingly. Eddie sits on the coffee table, looking into his uncle's eyes.

No recognition.

“Wayne,” Eddie chokes out, blinking back tears. “It’s me, Eddie, your nephew.” Eddie had hoped for a moment of clarity, for the fog of confusion to clear away so his uncle can at least remember who the fuck Eddie is, instead he is met with the cold cruelty of Wayne recoiling, looking down at the remote in his hands like a child throwing a tantrum.

“I remember who you are!” Wayne snaps. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid!”

“I’m— I’m not, Wayne,” Eddie says, trying to swallow down the anger simmering inside him, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

“Get out! Get out!” Wayne explodes, and Eddie doesn’t see it—Wayne’s hand swinging out, the remote still in his grasp.

“Wayne!” Eddie hears Maria gasp as he picks himself up from the floor, the right side of his face throbbing and hot. He almost forgot what it was like to be hit, had gotten punched by a couple of years ago by some drunk at a bar, but this was different. Wayne had never hit Eddie before, his uncle would rather die than be like his brother. 

“He wants to send me to a home!” Wayne cries and Eddie has the sudden urge to shout, to yell at Wayne to “get his shit together!” Eddie desperately tries to blink back the tears, to be strong for Wayne, but it’s no use when he can still feel the hot smack of Wayne’s fist across his face. 

“He wants to send me away! I don’t want to go, I want to stay here!” Wayne begs and Eddie’s waning control snaps, like a string that is stretched too taught. The trailer is too small, too hot, and the faint smell of detergent and talcum powder now feels overwhelming, suffocating him.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” Eddie screams as he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

It is calmer outside, quiet as Eddie stares at the forest just behind the trailer. He rememberes when he used to play for hours among the trees, pretending to be Aragorn or Legolas fighting back Orcs. Sticks were swords and staffs; rocks were the remnants of ancient ruins. Wayne would always call him back at six for dinner, his uncle chuckling softly when he pulled leaves and webs out of Eddie’s rat’s nest of hair. Guilt clings to his shoulders, Eddie knows better than to shout at his uncle, knows it’s not Wayne’s fault. His hands tremble as he grabs for a cigarette in his pocket, wiping away tears as they stream down his cheeks. He wants to stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying!  But they come anyway, hot and relentless.

“Bambi?” He turns at Maria's soft voice, understanding and sadness setting into her crow’s feet and smile lines.

Eddie wipes at his tears, composing himself a fraction. “How’s his health insurance holding up? Would it still be able to pay for you?”

“Everything is fine, Bambi,” she reassures, smiling gently at him.

“His— he’s deteriorating—” Eddie sniffs. “Pretty quickly. That disease is no fucking joke.” 

Maria nods, he can see her fighting back tears of her own, “it’s hard. Sometimes he’s a gentleman, funny and sweet. But other times, when it’s bad, he can be a-” she hesitates.

“A bastard? An asshole,” Eddie offers gently, smiling briefly when Maria chuckles softly before her face deepens into sadness and guilt. 

“Is he ok?” He asks after a few moments pass.

“He’s calmed down a bit, resting in bed now.”

“Good, I should go,” Eddie nods, puffing out a plume of smoke from his nose.

“Come back inside to say goodbye, he’ll appreciate it, even if he doesn’t remember.”

Eddie just wants to run, to get in his van and drive away as fast as possible, but Uncle Wayne deserves better; deserves better than that shitty trailer, deserves better than dementia, deserves to have Eddie be a good kid and say goodbye. He stamps out the cigarette with his sneaker and follows Maria back inside the trailer. The TV is off, and the container of Honey Joys is sitting on the kitchen table. He steps quietly toward what used to be his room, opening the door quietly to see Wayne lying on his side, warm sunlight casting over the bed. Eddie will never get used to seeing his uncle look so small and fragile, the man who used to let six-year-old Eddie hang off his bicep is gone, replaced by someone else.

Eddie kneels in front of Wayne, his uncle’s eyes red and wet from crying. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Wayne sobs quietly, his large hands tightly gripping onto Eddie’s.

His uncle- the man that used to make him pancakes every holiday, the man that stayed when everyone else left - is still in there, somewhere. 

“It’s ok, Wayne,” Eddie tries to smile, the right side of his face still sore and tender.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE ART OF THE UK PUNK PORTRAIT -- WITNESS THE PASSAGE OF TIME THROUGH PUNK EYES.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a classic punk portrait of Tanya Rich (then age 19, I believe), c. 1979, former manager of DISCHARGE and one-time girlfriend of Roy "Rainy" Wainwright -- a portrait series 45 years apart! 📸: Wayne "Spike" Large.

"In 1979, I took a portrait of @tanyarichvo Following a formal photoshoot last week in Birmingham, we wanted to collaborate on the recreation of one of my all time favourite portraits. The original image has been used many times over the years and is one of my most successful images. Not only did we both want to re-capture that look on Tanya’s face in a contemporary style, but I thought it would be cool to use my exact same vintage Olympus 50mm f1.4 lens that took the original film negative all those years ago. It’s an iconic lens with a soft film like quality to it. With the help of modern technology, old lenses can be mounted onto new digital cameras to give that smooth cinematic look. With the expert help of @aliciakingvo to compare my original image to what I was seeing in the viewfinder, we managed to get the photo! I am delighted with the result."

-- WAYNE "Spike" Large (Leicester, UK punk scenester, now professional photographer)

Sources: www.picuki.com/media/3384441386461034239 (Picuki 2x).

[yikes-em]

Blush Sands

For @astrangersummer week 1: nail polish

steddie | 1154 words | gen/no warnings | post s4 everyone lives

Read also on ao3

Below cut formatted for ao3

When Steve had asked Eddie about his fingernails, nothing could have prepared him for what it would set off. Eddie’s eyes lit up in the middle of Family Video and he gripped harder onto Steve’s hand that had pulled his painted nails into the light in the first place.

The explanation had come with Max at his trailer a few nights ago, her mom long asleep after a grueling work day had apologetically canceled on their ‘girls night’. So she’d slipped from her window with a few bottles of polish and knocked on his screen door. Eddie, at first a little aback at being her first choice and then fully clocked when she mentioned seeing Eddie doing his eyeliner in his van before scrambling off to see a concert in Indy, agreed. If Max was going to walk around with yellow fingernails they’d be the cleanest damn paint job ever.

So now here’s Steve, sitting in the middle of another ‘girls night’ at Eddie’s trailer. Said host is in the kitchen stirring Shirley Temples for Max and El with one hand and a large pot of mac n’ cheese with the other. Robin, having drank half and promptly forgotten her own very spiked Shirley, is crouched in front of El on the couch and painting little purple squiggles over pale blue. Max is leaning out of Wayne’s recliner with her fingers dug into Robin’s hair, deftly trying to tuck it into little braids. Her nails are yet to be done but she’s chosen the color. Bright pink this time.

Steve has three bottles in his hand. A deep maroon that reminds him of his car, a fleshy yet shiny pink tone, and a teal blue the color his pool was growing up in the summer. He’s staring so hard at them that he doesn’t have time to prepare for Eddie bumping hips with him as he settles back on the couch between Steve and El. He’s got a bowl big with enough mac n’ cheese for them both with two spoons precariously balanced on his lap while offering out a beer.

“Drink?”

“Thanks,” Steve hums, dumping the little bottles on his lap to accept the beer.

“Hungry?” Eddie’s speaking so low that the girls don’t even seem to acknowledge them. Steve nods and hefts a spoonful into his mouth and washes it down in one breath. Eddie makes another noise, something like casual, genuine awe. Steve can feel it where their bodies touch.

“Very,” Steve says around another mouthful of pasta.

“Mm,” Eddie hums as his gaze drifts down Steve’s face, his neck and chest, and finally rests in Steve’s lap. Steve has half a mind to let his face flush when he remembers the nail polish “Need help deciding?”

“Yeah, I uh… I’ve never had a choice on something like this. I know it’s not permanent but it feels like something that matters more than just putting on a shirt for the day.”

“No, you’re right,” Eddie says, leaning into Steve a little more. He grabs gently at the bottles and turns them so he can read the shades. “Merlot is very date night. Mysterious but sexy. A solid choice.”

Steve enjoys the thought of Eddie painting his nails for a date, wonders what color Eddie would paint them if it were a date that Steve asked him on.

“Ah, blush sands, a classic. Casual, doesn’t draw much attention. It’s more for you to know and feel pretty in,” Eddie continues. Steve hadn’t thought about which color his eyes would be drawn to while checking in returns at work, or potentially ringing up customers.

“Lagoon.” Steve can sense the unsaid creature-from-the-black prefix and snorts out a laugh. “Summery, bright, attention seeking, fun.”

“Doesn’t really narrow it down, huh?” Steve groans and shifts his hips so not only do the little bottles brush together and make cute clinking noises but so do his and Eddie’s thighs. It’s a solid touch and Steve feels his mouth water for something. He satiates with a beer.

“Are you asking me to decide for you?”

Robin cackles at something Max says and the fond smile it brings to Steve’s face hurts. Seeing his people happy, after everything they’ve been through, is all he could ever want in the world. El is waving her hands in the air to dry her new designs and leans over Eddie to show them both.

“Look! Like the roller rink’s floor!” She beams. “Robin made them perfect!”

“I don’t know about perfect-” Robin scratches at her nose sheepishly but Steve can see the pride in her eyes.

“Damn perfect!” Eddie shouts, bouncing in his spot. “I call after Max! I want flowers Rob- ones with little yellow dots in the middle!”

“Jesus christ, who do you take me for?”

“A goddamn artist,” Eddie grins and blows her a kiss. It’s hard to tell if the red in Robin’s cheeks is from how hard she’s laughing or from the alcohol. Max and El swap spots, El simply twisting bits of Robin’s hair in on itself until she winces or it pops free. Eddie turns his full attention back to Steve and it sends a shiver down his knees.

“I’ll pick two, you take it from there?”

Steve nods, spoon in mouth again.

“I think Lagoon is a little daring for your first time. Could give you some weird feelings.”

“Okay.” Steve doesn’t even think to ask what might constitute weird feelings. “Okay, then I think blush sands. It’s not too far off what my nails look like anyway- in case I hate it.”

“Good job,” Eddie beams, snatching up the two unchosen bottles and stashing them away in the shoe box on the table. “You’ll definitely look cute in that one.”

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles and ducks his chin to his chest. “Uh… how do I… how do I start?”

“Oh shit, Stevie, yeah, here let me!” Eddie transplants his beer and the mac n’ cheese to the coffee table and pivots his whole body so they’re facing. “Gimme.”

Eddie takes the bottle of blush sands and cracks it open, gesturing for Steve to hold out his hand. It probably only takes about ten minutes maximum for Eddie to get two coats on each of Steve’s blunt nails but it’s long enough for Steve to finish both their beers and get pleasantly buzzed on the liquor and the smell of Eddie’s cologne.

“Pretty,” Eddie hums when he’s done, holding Steve’s hand up in the dingy lighting. His gaze drifts over his hand, up along his arm where Steve knows he has visible bat scars pulling taught over his muscles, resting finally on his face- his eyes. Steve blinks a few times and wets his lips. Eddie imitates the action. “Yeah, pretty.”

In that moment, Steve decides that he’d do anything asked of him for the rest of his life if Eddie would call him pretty.

[evilgabe29]

Working Title(working title) chapter 1, second draft

alright its finally done, this was a very long process, and i still don't trust that i got everything right, especially the punctuation. but now with this done i can go work on the second chapter, that hopefully wont require over a week's worth of work to get right. now please enjoy:

The streets of Artagan were a pretty sight, well for me at least. Buildings stacked upon buildings creating spires of rust stained brick and concrete, white painted metal doors leading to escapement ladders providing the only method for scaling these monoliths. shops with neon signs glowing a beautiful cyan in what was a feeble attempt to attract customers, corporate government buildings alight with a lovely magenta. both providing the only sources of light for the streets of the city. 

Rats that wore coats of muddled gray skittered across the streets of black rock looking for what little they could find to survive. kids covered in gray dust, living out of cardboard boxes, indefinitely waiting for their parents to come back from the front-lines of bureaucracy. The clear dark sky hung above with a horrifying indifference, thousands of eyes, all different colours.

A boy ran through the streets, he couldn't have been more than ten half-feet and some slivers tall. his coat, made of synthetic cotton that he’d pinched off a Keno mine worker flapping in the wind. well it was wind relative to him at least. There wasn't much in the way of wind in Porthos cities except minimum to keep the air circulating. 

The boy ran, his legs were barely able to keep up with him as if they were there more for keeping him off the ground rather than pushing him forward. His left hand rested on what looked to be a railroad spike made of a white stone tinged with cyan. his right holding on to the shoulder strap of his yellow canvas bag that made a clink every time he took a step. The boy glowed a faint but vivid yellow. Once he got close to the job centre his glow faded from him like a light tube being switched off. Now while he may have stopped accelerating. his momentum still planted his face into the concrete wall of the building.

“Shit!“ The boy cursed, stumbling back clutching his nose with rose tinted fingers."I am not used to that yet.”

The boy took a second to right himself before entering the small corporate job centre. It was a cramped room, buildings in Artagan were never big enough to have large rooms. But the centre's space was small even by Artagan’s standards. thirty people waited in line in front of the terminal. It was a relatively small contraption that had many number plates cycling through different characters as it was being used. It was less than he had been expecting, most of his visits to the centre had resulted in all the jobs being picked clean by the time he got to the interface. 

When it was his turn to use the terminal, a large number of the jobs had already been taken. Thankfully there was still one left that was looking for a dasher. sure it's a scouting job but he'd take any excuse to get off this dump. 

The boy left the job centre paper in hand. looks like he would be working for a Mister Wayne, no first name given. Who would be waiting at landing pad twenty eight. Since the boy already had all of his personal effects on him he began making his way towards the port.

—its the line break! your favourite character! …right?—

The port was the biggest building in Artagan, sure it wasn't the tallest building with some residential complexes reaching up to 5 half miles in height. But its footprint more than made the difference. Despite its size it only had one entrance, marked with a large yellow neon sign. 

The boy stood in front of the port entrance tapping his foot. He had already rang the buzzer a few times now but no one had answers yet. 

“What in the eight trials is taking them so long?” the boy mumbled to himself. “Well if I'm gonna be waiting i might as well..” he trailed off, taking his job paper out of his bag and began reading.

It had all the basic information like date and time the job was accepted, name of the employer although it once again did not include their first name, wasn’t the first name the most important of the two? Well that's what he’d heard at least. The boy didn't have either so he wasn't in a position to comment. 

The Door behind him opened suddenly, making the boy, who had been leaning on it, fall into the building. The guard who’d opened the door jumped back reaching for her gun before seeing the job printout still clutched in his hand. She visibly relaxed and helped the boy up. He squirmed under her touch but appreciated the help. The guard, Melka, according to the small nameplate on her Yellow uniform, smiled at him, an uncommon sight for the boy. 

“Sorry about that, that door does open quite suddenly don't it?” Melka said taking the job form and reading it over.

“Yeah, even a bit of a warning would have been nice,” the boy muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his head, more embarrassed than he was hurt.

“Okay, looks like you're looking for landing pad twenty eight. But I'll need your name first for the log. Even just a first name will do, our system allows for that”  

“Uhm i uhh… dont… have one?” the boy said, blushing.

“Oh you poor thing here i'll give you one, how does Viktor sound?” 

“Oh um i uhh could i go with just Vik?”

“Of course you can! Here let me just write it down” Melka said, bringing out her clipboard and pen writing what the boy assumed to be his "name”. It didn't sit right with him that some random person he’d just met could just give him a name based on nothing at all. But on the bright side, it's not like he’d had anything else to use. And it did sound quite nice.

Once Melka was done with whatever she was doing, she handed Vik his papers and pointed him towards his destination. It was the landing pad that had what looked to be a pile of scrap on it.

The main area of the port consisted of giant square landing pads, arranged into a grid pattern, each with a corresponding hole for the ships to enter through. The landing pads themselves were of a light blue painted steel. each of the pads were marked with their corresponding numbers using white paint. 

Vik was frozen by the glare as he approached, an individual wearing a light blue dress shirt standing straight as a drain pipe, hands behind his back. Vik moved his hand to the ring spike at his hip, but it wasn't there, dred engulfed him as he padded his pockets before remembering he’d put it in his bag. Vik took another look at the man in the blue shirt realizing that he was not in fact staring at him but at the entrance. Vik let out the breath he didn't know he was holding trying to get himself to relax. 

Vik approached the man with his hands in both pockets, getting a good look at him up close, turns out he wasn't in fact wearing a dress shirt like he’d first assumed it was actually a thick coat. How did he not burn up in that? The man jumped, finally noticing Vik. 

“You are Mr. Wayne I assume?” Vik asked the man, he knew the answer but it never hurt to be sure.

“Um yes that's me i'm la- uhm yes, wayne, yes, uhh  what's your name?” the man responded scratching the back of his head.

“My name is uhh Vik? i think, they just sorta just gave me one at the door” Vik said, uncertain

“Well it works well enough for me, so are you the dasher or the heaver, oh! and can you cook?” 

“Uhm im a- the…dasher i guess?” Vik said fidgeting with a sliver in his pocket.

“Ah! Yes! I see that makes sense, ah here, let me see your hands.” 

Vik reluctantly took his hands out of his pockets revealing the light magenta stains on his fingers that faded even more as it went along the finger, blending with his tan skin seamlessly. He’d gained them after stealing a Ring Spike off a drunk Ring Guard a half month ago, who’d passed out in the same alleyway Vik was staying in. he’d used the thing sparingly since there wasn't much Athos left in it when he swiped it although it did seem to hold much more than he’d expected.

“Ah I see, that's not too bad. I was expecting no Kenek stains at all, we can definitely work with that”  the man said, slapping Vik on the back, Almost making him fall over. “oh by the way you never answered me, can you cook? Nell and I can't cook anything more than reheating some rations” 

“Uh i cooked some rats with a lighter i found once unfortunately it ran out of fuel after a couple of days. The rats tasted great though!” Vik said, proud of his skill in the culinary arts. The man though gave him a look that Vik could not quite discern it seemed to be similar to ones he’d see mine workers give him when they’d saw him but his eyebrows wrinkled as if in confusion, but that would make no sense, all the words he’d said were actual words and they all made sense to Vik.

“So… that's a… no on that front then…” the man said slowly. “…Anyways let me show you to the ship, Nell will show you around, Athos propulsion methods are pretty intuitive so don't worry.” the man began walking toward the big rectangular mass of rusted metal behind him. Vik, not having much choice in the matter, followed him.

As Vik approached the ship, it coalesced into a shape that he could wrap his brain around. It looked like two packs of playing cards glued together with unnecessary metal bits that would only introduce drag when flying. This last thought gave Vik pause, how did he know about the concept of drag? He wasn't taught that at his mandatory compulsory classes. How did he know about this? Vik moved on, figuring that he might find the answer later. It was a skill Vik learned to hone on the streets, given how effective curiosity is at murder.

“So what do you think? She’s a beauty ain't she?” the man as if he was proud of his pile of garbage, he continued “we call her Theo after a document of the old world, before the collapse of the Deathmaker’s guild. Basically this dude, Theosunis had replaced every single part of his seafaring vessel over a very long and treacherous journey. But once he arrived back at his home port someone tried to claim that he no longer owned the vessel since it was not made up of any of the same parts as when he filed for ownership. There was a long legal battle, lots of paperwork, before eventually settling that people owned the idea of the object…eh what am i saying you're probably interested in those kinds of things,” 

“no, this is pretty interesting. Why name it after him specifically though?” Vik asked, genuinely interested in the conversation, he wasn't taught much about pre-deathmaker years, or really much of history now that he thought about it. and the smile the man wore while he was explaining made Vik feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. well Vik wouldn't have used those words specifically but you get the idea.

“Ah! Yes, that is a very good question!” the man exclaimed, clearly not used to people taking interest in what he had to say. “Well you see all of that complicated legal paperwork survived the fall of The Guild, Despite the archives being burned. we would have a much harder time reading the old script, and Ian’s journal would be a complete mystery to us” 

Vik really wanted to ask some more questions but they had just arrived at the door to the ship and he didn't want to interrupt anything that he might say. A white metal door stood in front of Vik, it seemed to be of the same style as those he'd seen used for the residential buildings in Artagan. There was no way those were space-grade right? But what did Vik know? The door opened as the man knocked on it a few times, revealing a big brawny man who was also wearing a big puffy coat though this one was green. Despite the large coat the man was still shivering as he spoke.

“H-hey L-Lan, this the n-new kid?” the new man asked, stuttering on every other word. “Heaver or d-dasher?” the green coated man asked the blue one, Trials Vik really needed to learn their names. let's see, The blue coated man had mentioned someone named Nell that must be the man in the green coat, and Nell had referred to the blue man as Lan, Vik decided to mentally use these names until he could get confirmation. of course asking for their names never occurred to him.

“This would be the Dasher, about grade 1 or so,” Lan said, patting Vik on the back.

“That's not too bad, we can work with that,”

“exactly my thoughts, anyways i gotta keep a lookout for whenever that Heaver gets here, can you show them around?”

“Sure dude” Nell said as Lan began to walk away. “You can call me Nell, what's your name kid? And how are you not freezing out there?” Nell asked, turning to Vik.

“I don- uhhm i mean uhh, Vik, i think,” said Vik stumbling over his own words, still not used to having a name yet. And maybe a bit intimidated by the large man.

“Well alright Vik, let me show you around Theo here” Nell said, inviting Vik inside the odd vessel.

As He entered Vik was struck by how open the interior was, sure it was quite big on the outside but he had still expected the inside to be small and cramped. The interior was made up of the same steel plates that were on the outside. What really drew Vik’s attention though was the large White rock that seemed to be on fire? A brilliant yellow aura danced around the boulder while also not burning anything around it. he couldn't tear his eyes off the majestic sight.

Nell chuckled beside Vik.“first time seeing a Keno engine? they are quite the sight eh?”

Vik just nodded.

“well you can do your gawking later, let me show you around the place and then we'll get you settled into your quarters” Nell gestured towards a set of tables off to one side of the ship where a couple appliances sat, to the left of the Keno engine as Nell had referred to the fiery boulder. “That's our kitchen setup, everything is bolted down because of inertia and all that, but we've got a small oven, a coffee maker, and a stovetop. Which are basically the three essentials when it comes to sustenance on a ship, we uhh also can't afford anything more than that. And over there,” Nell gestured to the other side of the ship.

“We have our couch, that …isn't bolted down so uhh don't sit on it during takeoff” both sides of the couch were unsurprisingly beaten up to the point you could see the metal frame under the padding.

Nell gestured to the back of the ship where four rooms sat, two on either side of the door “and those are the quarters, Lan and I are on the left there so you'll take one of the ones on the right.” 

Vik stood trying to process all of that information then gave up, figuring he’d learn anything he would need to know in due time. Vik let Nell drag him over to one of the rooms on the left. 

“Get comfy in there while we wait on the heaver. How are they always late? you’d think they’d be better at getting off their asses” Nell mumbled the last part under his breath as he walked over to the couch and sat down, keeping a casual eye on Vik.

Vik opened the door to his quarters, made of the same chaotic steel plates as the rest of the ship, revealing a bed, a dresser, a desk, and a small extra room at the back which Vik assumed to be the toilet. Vik put his bag on the desk and collapsed onto the soft bed.

tags:

tagging mutuals:

@ohnoitsslime @caligusabs @beloveddawn-blog

@illarian-rambling @theeccentricraven @kaylinalexanderbooks

@leahnardo-da-veggie @ratedn @weird-dork37

and per request:

@mr-orion

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Halloween Special

Ship: Vampire!Bruce Wayne x Hannibal Flood

Word Count: 1313

Summary: One autumn evening, Bruce returns to the Batcave behaving... strangely. Hannibal is there to offer moral support, but he may get more than he bargained for. CWs for wound and blood mentions, Bruce drinking Hannibal's blood.

Tag List: @knightfallships @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

On a foggy autumn night in Gotham, Hannibal decided to pay Bruce a visit. Joker had plans to perfect and had no trouble with his husband coming and going as he pleased, only asking that he stay safe and to call him for any reason at all. When he showed up on the Wayne Manor steps, he could see the Batsignal in the distance and sighed, holding his coat tighter as he waited for Alfred to open the door.

“Mr. Flood,” the butler greeted with a respectful inclination of the head, bathing Hannibal in yellow light when he opened the door. “I’m afraid Master Wayne is… out.” They shared a knowing look.

“Could I wait for him here?”

“Of course.”

Hannibal stepped inside as Alfred closed the door behind him. He wasted no time venturing down to the Batcave, settling into the chair in front of the many large monitors of the Batcomputer, and opening his bag. He had brought a few things to entertain himself in the very likely possibility that he’d be waiting on his close friend; magazines, the latest Script of Damocles prints, and of course his phone and headphones. He lounged in Bruce’s chair, pouring over the black text smearing white pages. Some contained Hannibal’s own stories, but he was mostly interested in what else was being published in the underground newspaper.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed until the familiar sound of the Batmobile pulling into the cave jolted him from his thoughts. He removed his headphones, having been tuned into the GCPD radio network, and turned the chair toward the vehicle, patiently waiting for Bruce to exit and notice him. When the doors opened with a faint hiss and the caped crusader ducked out of the vehicle, Hannibal was immediately aware of something being… wrong, even from this distance.

“Hey, Batbrain,” they called playfully, ignoring the concerned twinge in their chest. “Kept a boy waiting long enough. Who was it this time? Scarecrow? Two-Face? Y’know, Harvey’s name showed up in yesterday’s Damocles, can you believe it?”

Bruce’s head turned toward them a bit too sharply and they frowned as he slowly approached, a hand cradling his brow. Hannibal stood. “What happened? Do you need a medkit?”

When he came close enough, Hannibal saw the fresh blood dripping from puncture wounds in the neck of Bruce’s cowl and his heart rate spiked in alarm.

“My head…” Bruce grumbled, but Hannibal hushed him, guiding him into the chair.

“Don’t say anything, you’re bleeding like a leaky faucet… what the Hell…” Without overthinking what he was doing, Hannibal began to remove the cowl as gingerly as possible, wide eyes glued to the gushing wound. “Don’t move.” With that, he rushed off to find medical supplies, returning to find Bruce attempting to take off his cape by himself.

They set down the medkit and forced Bruce back into the chair. “What did I just say?? Bruce, can you hear me?? You’re freaking me out.”

His dark eyes seemed to pierce right through them. They didn’t look like his eyes at all. Returning their attention to the medkit and Bruce’s wound, Hannibal began mopping up the blood with a handful of tissues, examining the marks on his neck. These almost look like… bitemarks??

“I’m going to treat this with antiseptic. It’s going to burn, but I know you already know that… fuck, speaking of burning…” It was almost painful to keep in contact with Bruce’s skin. It was as if a fever had spontaneously taken hold of his body as Hannibal finished cleaning the wound and began wrapping his neck in gauze. “Bruce, please, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on with you so I can help you.”

“Hurts,” he rasped, glaring into Hannibal’s face. They swore they saw a flash of crimson fire in the rain-soaked woods that were Bruce’s eyes.

“Where? Besides the wound.”

His hands shook as he clutched his head and indicated to his jaw. Hannibal found a mostly empty bottle of Aspirin inside the medkit and began to open it. They opened their mouth to ask about water, but Bruce had taken the bottle from him, tapped out the medicine, and swallowed it in the blink of an eye. Hannibal stared at him, unsure of what to do next.

“Let’s get you out of this heavy suit and put you to bed… I’ll let Alfred know something happened.” Worriedly, he swiped limp, black hair away from Bruce’s forehead. The vigilante’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he closed his eyes and leaned into its touch.

Between Hannibal and Alfred, it wasn’t exactly easy moving Bruce from the Batcave up to his bedroom.

“He comes back before sunrise for once and it’s because he’s been injured,” Alfred tutted. “Do you want to stay when he’s in this state?”

Hannibal nodded determinedly. “I want to know what happened. If not for his sake, then for my writing.” Though it sounded cruel, Alfred knew it was barely truthful, if at all.

“Very well.” The butler paused. “You’re an odd one. I want to say you’re good to him, but sometimes… ah, but perhaps it’s not my place to say at all. I believe he keeps a set of nightclothes for you in the bottom right drawer if you wish to change into something more comfortable. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Some hot chocolate might be nice. No whipped cream. Thanks, Alfred.”

He nodded and exited the room, leaving Hannibal in silence and the glow of Bruce’s bedside lamp. They entered his walk-in closet and opened the indicated drawer, drawing out a black sheer nightgown. It changed within the closet, folding its clothes and setting them on the plush bench at the end of the bed for easy access, before finally sitting on a loveseat in a corner of the room beside a large window with its curtains closed. They couldn’t bear the thought of distracting themself, far too anxious about Bruce’s symptoms and behaviour. Something unusual had happened on Gotham’s streets that night, and not the usual kind of unusual that lurked in the city’s shadows.

An hour passed after Alfred brought Hannibal his cocoa, and Bruce was suddenly wide awake. Meanwhile, Hannibal had dozed off, and only came to again when he heard a door open and close. After his eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room and he remembered where he was and why, he concluded that Bruce had slipped into the master bathroom. Hannibal sat up, rubbing his eyes and feeling around for his glasses. Once he had put them back on, the bathroom door was opening, briefly blinding him with the sudden appearance of white light.

“Hannibal,” Bruce spoke, his voice cutting through the warmth in the air.

“Mmh? How’re you feeling?” Hannibal hummed in response, squinting through the dark at his faint outline.

“Starving.”

Hannibal’s brow creased. “Did you forget to eat dinner before you went out on patrol?”

Bruce stalked forward. “I’m not hungry for food. The idea of something solid makes me sick.”

“So… you’re thirsty??”

Suddenly, Bruce was sidled up beside them, his muscular form pressed up against their softer one, his nose nudging their neck and under their jaw. Colour burst forth on Hannibal’s skin.

“Woah-- Bruce, I think you ought to--” They broke off into an unexpected moan as his mouth latched onto their neck, teeth grazing their pale and vulnerable skin. What was for a moment pleasurable turned painful as sharp fangs sunk into their flesh. They yelped at the sensation, eyes darting around the darkness fearfully as a large hand slipped over their mouth. If the near-obscene-sucking noises did not give it away, everything else surely did. This was not Bruce. At least, not the Bruce Hannibal knew. This was a far more aptly titled creature of the night.

[burritowitch]

a character study ficlet on the idea of Goth Cass based on my Goth Cass playlist

Fingerless gloves with steel spikes on each knuckle, tall boots with thick soles, black denim jeans with holes at the knees, torn fishnet tights, loose leather jacket. She pulled on each piece in a methodical rhythm, following the music as it flowed around her, the sparse lyrics of Bauhaus settling into her bones as she moved to grab her brush. She teased her hair, shaping it as she’d shaped every other part of her, but this was her choice. 

No one made her do this. It was not brought upon her by blows and harsh words she could not yet understand. This was brought upon by music and dancing and community. This was something she’d chosen herself. No predetermined destiny. No fight to the death declared the day she was born. No grandiose title she could never live up to. Just music. Just her. 

Her little brother had been the one to first show her Darkwave on a car ride to Bludhaven from Gotham. She’d almost felt like she was floating, Pain by Boy Harsher flooding her very being and consuming her whole. And that was it for her, she was hooked. 

She put the brush down, running a hand through her hair and looking at herself in the mirror. The girl who stared back was her. Not a weapon, not a monster. The blood on her hands would never leave her, no matter how long she scrubbed, no matter how hard she worked to be better, but in this way she could take those foul hands and shape them into something new and better with needle and threat and music. In this way she was born anew. 

She was used to disguises. Cassie Wayne, the innocent little girl in the pink dress, someone with no blood under their nails. But here, head to toe in black and sharp edges, there was no disguise. There was simply Cass. Daughter of Shiva, daughter of Cain. Unabashedly and unashamedly her. There was no doubt in the power she held in each practiced finger, in the all knowing eyes wrapped in dark shadow and liner.

She radiated power, radiated energy, and yet… 

Maybe it was because she wasn’t hiding it, wasn’t hiding all the edges of her that were sharp enough to kill, that she was putting them all on display. She noticed that there was a large portion of people that looked more at ease when she walked into a room, onto the street at night. That older women would come up to ask her for help before others, citing that their friends from bingo had told them that ‘those gothic kids’ tended to be friendly and kind and willing to help when they asked where the nearest bus stop was and chatted about how they had a grandson just her age as she walked them there. That young kids would come up to her and tell her she looked even cooler than Batman. That girls who were scared and alone would come up to her like an old friend and talk meaninglessly until they were safe. 

It made her feel like Batgirl, even when she wasn’t in the layers of armor and weapons. Like a protector, a symbol. 

She’d go to a concert with Brenda, black lights bathing a sea of leather and metal and lace in purple and she’d get pulled onto the dancefloor by girls with neon hair as the bass and drums washed over them. She’d smile and laugh and dance to the music as it pounded in her ears. 

Since she’d taken up the title, Batgirl had become a sort of Dark Protector of Gotham. Despite how little she was seen, she was turned into a pop culture icon for the subculture, something honored, something seen. People saw themselves in the dark Batgirl with the twisted past, and she did too.