#metal staircase for exterior

[elitetechch]

How Exterior Staircases Enhance Home Design

Exterior staircases play a huge role in a home's functionality and aesthetic value. They can connect different levels of a property or merely serve as a unique architectural feature that transforms the appearance and feel of any outdoor area. From modern exterior spiral staircases to strong metal exterior stairs, the type of staircase used can be a determining factor.

[museumofbuildings]

455 Ash St., Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Built 1942.

[gobuyussomecoffee]

Outdoor Kitchen - Outdoor Kitchen Ideas for a sizable, transitional backyard kitchen renovation that includes an addition to the roof

[signetringsandpreppythings]

Modern Deck New York Inspiration for a mid-sized, open-air, modern side yard deck remodel

[bookman-dgm]

Mulch Front Yard Baltimore

This is an illustration of a sizable, traditional, mulch garden path in the front yard in full sun.

[helenaperezgarcia]

Backyard Deck Seattle Ideas for a medium-sized, classic backyard deck renovation without a cover

[bonehead-forever]

Deck Uncovered in DC Metro Ideas for a massive, coverless, timeless backyard deck container garden remodel

[crimsonmuzzle]

Front Yard - Beach Style Landscape Photo of a mid-sized coastal full sun front yard brick garden path in spring.

[traitorcas]

Modern Deck New York

Inspiration for a mid-sized, open-air, modern side yard deck remodel

[bubblesymphony]

Backyard Deck (Seattle)

[luveline]

Hi I have a request for zombie Steve! I’d love to hear the story of how they met 🫶🏻

zombie!au —You rescue Steve at the start of the end of the world. fem, 2.4k

The sound of them makes your throat close up. Fear like a knife held too tight in unwilling hands, the heat. It’s the hottest summer Hawkins’ has had for years, and you’re overdressed. You couldn’t fit your favourite hoodie in your bag so you wore it but it doesn’t matter, you lost your bag somewhere in the school gymnasium. You’re lucky you didn’t lose your leg when that thing grabbed you. What were they calling them on the radio? Something starting with G.

Those… things, they can kill people. You saw it just ten minutes ago, your algebra teacher turned to a creature, Maisie Lewinsky from your homeroom stained with gore under her hands.

You press the back of your hand to your mouth to stifle a hot gasp. What are you supposed to do now? The Hawkins station said everyone would be waiting here, a repeat radio message, but by the time you heard it the sun was going down and there was nobody left. No cars, no promised convoy, nobody.

You’re the last living girl left in Hawkins.

You’re gonna die in here.

Terrified of breathing to loud but spooked that staying will seal your fate, you lift yourself up from the floor of the science lab to peer over a high table. There’s no signs of life. No signs of the dead, either. You’d thought this might be a good place to hide, the thick fire door unbreakable, but you can’t stay here. It’ll be dark soon.

You wish you had your stuff. They’ve for sure taken anything worth eating from the cafeteria kitchens and Bradley’s has been empty for days. You aren’t sure where your next meal is coming from. Fuck, you’re already dead—

“Fuck!” a voice echoes, boyish and terrified from somewhere outside of the door. “Fuck! Get the fuck away from me, holy shit!”

He sounds scared but firm at the same time. Your own fear is like the insufferable heat, riding the back of your neck as you creep toward the door. There’s gotta be more of them outside. That must be why whoever it is that’s shouting sounds so depeserate. But fuck, there’s relief too. There’s someone still here.

“Fuck! Jesus, help me!”

“Okay,” you say unsurely.

You wedge open the door to the science lab and poke your head out cautiously. There’s a dull thudding sound somewhere to the left, metallic screeching further down, but the panicked shouting (and now panicked yelping) is coming from outside.

You look around for a weapon. There’s nothing to take.

“Holy fuck I do not wanna die!”

Me neither, you think, sniffling back your worried tears. You don’t wanna die, you just want your bed. You want to be home, and safe, but there’s no one to look after you anymore, and you can’t just let people die ‘cos you’re scared. You run from the science lab to the fire escape door full pelt, arm in sudden hot pain at the collision, but the door gives and swings hard into the adjourning wall. You look around frantically for the source of the shouting as it bounces off of the exterior walls of the school and the stone floor of the courtyard, heart suddenly afloat in your chest.

“Hello?” you shout. “I’m here, I’m–”

“What the fuck!”

It’s said with such horrified anger that you give pause, even as your hands shake, cold sweat wetting your lip and colder in the rare afternoon breeze. You dart toward the shouting a moment later, and maybe you’re too late, you can’t save anybody, your shoes pinch as you race down the few concrete steps that lead to the parking lot.

Snarling curdles the air. Your neck snaps left, away from the cars and open territory and toward the subject of your nightmares these last few days. You’ve seen glimpses of these things, always too scared to stay and help, always too stupid, too weak, and seeing them now cements it.

A group of geeks grab at a boy where he hangs from the bars of a metal staircase leading up to the roof of the building. You run toward it on instinct but stop before they hear you, eyes wide. His hands are white-knuckled, his hair falling down into his face, but you know who it is now you’re close enough to see him. You could recognise Steve Harrington a thousand feet away.

“Hey!” you shout. “Hey! Over here!”

Why did you say that? Why are you yelling? The geeks turn their heads to easier pray and you’re done for —they start to run. You stumble back in terror.

“My bag! Get my bag, get the knife!” Steve shouts.

You swing yourself around in a huge circle. There, further into the lot, lies a bag. Further past it lies a wooden baseball bat spiked with fifty silver nails.

You sprint past the bag to the bat and try to grab it while you’re still running, knees grazing hot white fire on the tarmac and hands like acid as you force yourself up again, running further, putting space between you and the too fast footsteps that follow. When you’re sure you’ll have room you swing to see them, their maws dripping gore over white buttoned shirts and once prim blouses. There must be ten of them at least. Only two stay to snap their jaws at Steve Harrington where he attempts to climb up the stairs from the bottom, his foot dangerously close to bloodied teeth.

You pull the bat back as the first of the creatures reaches you. With a grunt more terror than exertion, you force the bat forward, wood arcing through the air, shiny nails catching the light of the setting sun and slamming downward into flesh.

Your eyes flare as wide as they’ve ever been. The geek stops cold and drops, your strangling grip on the bat forcing it up out of the mash of his brains. Another geek leaps over him as you scramble back.

“Run!” Steve yells from the stairs, stress stretching his voice thin and high. “Run away!”

You drop the bat and sprint for your life. Down into the parking lot, past a handful of locked cars and suitcases discarded. This must’ve been where everybody was before they left. There couldn’t have been room. Boxes and trophies, books, magazines and toys, all manner of possessions string like a breadcrumb trail down the road that you have to avoid. You run until your calves are burning over the road that will lead toward Hawkins middle, where you throw yourself into the woods, and hope without any real hope that they’re empty.

Grass folds under your feet. Your panting is as loud as your heart.

When the only shallow breathing you can hear is your own, you circle back to the High School, sticking to the shadows so as not to attract any more attention. A few geeks have collected to join the two you’d left behind, and for a second you’re sure Steve’s succumbed to fatigue and fallen into their blackened clutches, but you spot him balancing dangerously on a handrail between two sets of stairs, leg pulled back in preparation to kick any opposition away.

You sweep up the bat and try to make a plan. You were never going to be able to handle that many people before, not with their new mutations, but you can handle four. Maybe. Probably not.

“Steve, what do I do?” you call. “You have to tell me what to do.”

“You came back!” He swears and shimmies further up the railing as one of his attackers finally manages to traverse the blocked up staircase. “I don’t know what to do! Just hit at them until they die!”

It’s easy for him to say. They’re gruesome creatures, the faces of people you once knew but none of their humanity. They can run as fast as any person can. A human bite has alarming force behind it. The voice on the radio warned you that what you’re trying to do is a bad idea, and yet. You roll the bat in your hand. Your chest aches as hard as your dry throat.

The first geek goes down easy. Unsuspecting, you manage to whack it in the back of the head hard and break through soft skull. The second turns to see you just as you’re lifting the bat again, and it runs hard into it as it comes down, killing itself.

The third is where things get tricky.

“Fuck,” you mumble, lifting your bat to find a sloughing of cartilage and tissue stuck between the spines. “Oh, fuck,” you moan.

“Be careful!” Steve shouts.

You step back and trip, nearly falling. “Stay away from me!”

It snarls in response. Eyes clouded, the geek is a little slower than the others, and it follows you sluggishly away from Steve. The fourth remains, snapping, but you can’t keep watch.

“Stay away from me!” you warn again.

Steve swears on the railing, his cursing followed by a wet thunk.

The geek doesn’t listen, it bites.

You pull your arms to the side, hands wrapped tight around the base of the bat and ready to swing. With a huge, aching cry, you swing the bat to the side and knock the nails clean into its cheek.

It doesn’t die.

Fuck fuck fuck! You throw yourself to the floor by the geek’s feet and out of its reach, on knees, on your feet again, scrambling toward Steve’s bag. You glance over your shoulder as your knees slam down hard into the floor, never so scared in your life, horrified as the bat stays stuck between tendons and the geek takes a running jump toward you.

You pull the knife from Steve’s bag and hold it out in front of you, squeezing your eyes closed in terror.

“Fuck, hey!”

You scream as the weight of the geek lands on top of you. You scream like it’s taking bites of you, until your throat burns and there’s no sound left to make and you choke on it instead. A short, sharp sound.

Then the weight is pulled off of you. Someone lets out a massive gasp.

“Did it get you?”

You blink your eyes open against the glaring white sun where it meets the horizon. If you’re crying, it’s your business, water on your cheek and a dizzy hot feeling everywhere else.

Steve Harrington looks at you like you’re a ghost. “Did it get you? Are you okay?”

You look at your hand and the knife —his knife— where it rests on the tarmac. “I don’t think so. How do you know?”

“They bite! Did it bite you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Because I’m not exactly uninjured, Steve!”

He frowns at you. Well, he glares. “You’d know if it bit you. Don’t be dense.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re telling me you don’t know what a bite feels like?”

“Some of us had homework.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Well, yeah. It was supposed to be hilarious.

You look around the parking lot and the school courtyard for any outliers, but the school seems well and truly abandoned now. You can’t hear anymore huffing or screeching, no crying, not even the sound of a radio. Everyone’s been playing them nonstop for weeks, waiting for days like today. Suddenly the raptures here, and you aren’t part of the rescue.

But you saved Steve Harrington, at least. You’re accruing some good karma.

Steve doesn’t hold his hand out, he just grabs you under the arms and pulls you up into a standing position. You’re surprised he can do it, you aren’t light, but you remember his last skins game in the gymnasium and nod to yourself. Of course he can pick you up. Plus, you help, using your legs despite their stiffness to brace yourself on the ground.

“Doesn’t look like it bit you,” he says, quieter now, his hands sliding down to yours briefly before he stands back. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought this was the rendezvous point. I mean, it was, right? We missed it.”

“We missed it.”

“How’d you get here?” you ask.

“Bike. Car chose the worst possible time in the world to die. Not that I could’ve got gas.” He eyes you hopefully. “Tell me you drove here.”

“I biked too, but it’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Tire popped.”

Steve rubs his eyebrows. His hands are clean where yours are caked. You stand unable to mask your heavy breathing now, and when you reach for him to steady yourself, he doesn’t move away.

“Sorry,” you mumble, licking your lips. You’re a map of little pains. “Are you okay?”

Steve’s hand reaches back to cover yours like he’s going to pull it off, though he doesn’t. “Are you alone?” he asks.

You wince. “Yeah.”

“Where’s your stuff?”

“I lost it.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” Your knees hurt. “It’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s a question. You’re immediately thankful to have found him, because he’s a real living person, and you don’t think you can do this alone. You don’t mean to force him, but you need to know what he’s doing and soon.

“…Better come with me, then,” he says finally.

Steve walks out of your grasp, grabbing up his bag which you’d unfortunately ripped open and shoving the spilled contents back inside. He doesn’t stop to zip it closed, walking straight in the direction of the school.

“Where are we going?”

“Same place as everybody else.” You stumble. Steve, reluctant, frowning hard enough to etch a new wrinkle, holds out his hand to catch you by the elbow. “Where did you think?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, half-indignant.

“You ask a lot of stupid questions, you know that?” He looks you up and down. “How’d you do that?” He points at your bleeding knees.

“I ask stupid questions?”

He grabs the bat from near the felled geek and stands tall. “Jesus. Let’s go find a car.”

It’s not as easy as his tone might suggest. You don’t find a car, you never do, and you never stop asking him obvious questions, but Steve says thank you for saving him eventually (nearly an entire year later, with a hand on your cheek).

[elitetechch]

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[love-bitesx]

is it possible for a Hobie X fem reader on her period? Like maybe he swings by her place thru the window, goes in and the first thing he sees is reader lying face flat on the bed or ground, hand clutching her stomach 🤯

: ̗̀➛ JUST NEED YOU. hobie brown x fem!reader

genuine question: do i write hobie too soft?? idk if he's too ooc or not, any feedback would be amazing! thank u for the req !!

summary: hobie comes home to find you curled up on the floor in pain. words: 952 REQUESTS OPEN! warnings: no pronouns are used, but reader is on their period so, apply that as you choose! gn friendly. obviously, mentions of period, no graphic blood description but mentions of bleeding. hobie being a softie, as per usual.

all he could think of is you.

gliding through the streets, his shoulder aching at the joints slightly from swinging all day, his evening consisting of darting around the city and scanning the streets for any mishaps. pulling himself along, his fingers itched for you, needing to be close, smell your scent and kiss your skin.

almost crashing down onto your fire escape, he scaled the staircase to your room, sighing to himself at the familiar orange glow radiating from your window. it was open just an inch, the warmth spilling into the cold london air, and he couldn’t help but smile thinking you’d left it open just for him.

letting the glow swallow him whole, he dragged the window off it’s latch and kicked through to your bedroom, comforted by the familiarity. your laptop was open on the visibly slept-in bed, the duvet ruffled, no longer molded on the mattress. worn clothes discarded onto the carpeted floor, there was all evidence of your presence, but you weren’t anywhere to be seen.

“darlin’?” hobie called out, kicking his boots off and pulling your bedroom door open, met with the darkness of the rest of your apartment, “y/n, it’s hobie, you ‘ere, love?”

a muffled rustle in the bathroom sent a tingle down his spine, and he turned to see the door shut, the gentle white illumination spilling from underneath it. knocking gently, not wanting to alarm you, his brows furrowed at the silence that followed.

“y/n?” voice softer than his usual harsh exterior, apprehension beginning to bundle in his stomach at the lack of response, until he heard a soft, exhausted groan from within, “you okay?”

another groan sounded, and he immediately reached for the handle, shaking it rushedly to check if it was locked. it wasn’t, the door creaking open on it’s hinges, revealing the harsh white light from within. his eyes went straight to you, his heart dropping at the sight.

curled up on the freezing, tiled floor, you clutched at your stomach in pain. crouching to his knees, his cold hands reached to pull you to him, cradling your head to his chest. fingers running along your skin to check for wounds or injuries, he furrowed his brows.

your skin was drained of colour, the subtle bags under your eyes damp from tears. gently, he brushed the hair from your face, the familiarity of his touch melting you like putty in his hands. he was just the comfort you’d been craving.

“what ‘appened, sweetheart?” his hand cupped your face, bringing it up to look at him, your eyes filled with water, “use your words for me.”

“it’s silly,” voice cracking with tears, you pressed your cheek into his hand, the chill of his metal rings a weird solace.

“tell me, i can help,” a kiss to your forehead cracked a soft smile on your lips.

tearfully you begun, “i just, i woke up and- and i was bleeding…you know,” your cheeks warmed in an innate wash of embarassment, “the cramps just, they hurt so much and i didn’t know what to do.”

he’d be lying if he said he didn’t panic a little bit. not that he was uncomfortable with periods, he was never conservative about that kind of thing, but the feeling of helplessness created a conflict within him. in almost every situation, he lived to save you, it was part of his humanity, his purpose in the world. this felt like something he couldn’t save you from, it unsettled him.

“what do you need?” he spoke against your hairline, thumb caressing your plush cheek.

bringing your hands to his vest, you pulled him impossibly close, breathing in the scent of him and nuzzling into his chest, “just need you.”

melting, his chilled heart turned soft at your words, chest spreading with warmth at the feeling of you, small in his embrace. something itched at him, he was a compassionate man, but prided himself in his cool, harsh exterior at times – until you came about. a spring of safety in his dangerous conscience.

“come on, darlin’,” he muttered, securing his strength underneath you and picking you up from the inhospitable bathroom tiles. you clung to his neck, arms fluid against the sharp collar.

carrying you through to the bedroom, he placed you softly on the mattress, kissing your cheek delicately on the cheek before stepping away, “’ll be back in a sec, love.”

left without him, you tucked yourself under the covers, wincing as a wave of aching pains split your lower abdomen in half – a tear falling down your flushed face. shooting up your spine and fuzzing your head, you barely noticed when hobie stepped back into the room.

opening your eyes at the weighted feeling of hobie sitting on the bed beside you, you’re met with a fresh glass of water and painkillers, hobie shrugging off his vest and jewellery to climb in beside you.

“you didn’t have to get all that,” you smiled gingerly, sipping the liquid and sighing at the feeling.

“’course i did,” he kicked off his jeans and pulled the comforter over you both, snaking his bare arms around your waist, careful not to put pressure on your abdomen, burying his face in your neck, “need to look after you. love you too much.”

“i love you, too, hobie.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1990 home in Philadelphia, PA looks like some sort of factory conversion, and it's right on the sidewalk, but, it's very private and you'd never believe how the inside looks. Actually, I kind of like the exterior. It has 3bds, 3ba, and they're asking $2.999M.

They don't show the front door entrance, this is the foyer in the courtyard. It appears that, if anything, they enter the house thru the garage.

But, check out this living room. Stone walls, a modern staircase and a fireplace with a big metal exhaust hood.

There's a patterned ceiling and a wall of lighted display shelving.

And, this looks like a front entrance with the closets and umbrella holder, but it's not the front. So, I'm thinking that they go around the back of the house, but I'm confused.

The living room is quite large and also has a view of the courtyard.

The dining room may be open, but they partitioned it off with a Soji screen. It also has a view of the courtyard.

This is interesting. Here, in the kitchen, which is kind of a small corner by the stairs, you'll notice that the stairs are very different from the living room. These are more of a traditional Victorian style.

Gorgeous powder room. The mosaic tiles sparkle, the wood on the floating vanity is amazing, and the toilet is so cool.

The primary bedroom is incredibly beautiful. Stone walls, that huge clock, and gorgeous fireplace is part of a built-in closet, everything is built-in.

This is a continuation of the fireplace- it's a hallway of closet storage.

The marble in the bath matches the fireplace.

There's also a cute private terrace.

Here's a lovely guest room.

Large home office with shelving.

Look at this beautiful hallway with a glass wall and ceiling along the courtyard.

The gardens in the courtyard are incredibly beautiful.

It looks like a botanical garden.

The garage looks like it has the old bedroom built-ins. Very classy.

[cemeteryspider]

DCeased: Shadows of the Bat

Jason Todd x GN! Constantine! Reader

Summary: In a Gotham overrun by chaos and loss, you and Jason Todd struggle to survive and escape the city while confronting the devastating deaths of their loved ones.

*Set in the DCeased Universe*

*No use of Y/N*

Trigger Warnings: Death of Loved Ones, Gore, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Grief, Summoning of the Dead, Sacrifice

Word Count: 1.8k

You made your way to Wayne Manor as soon as you heard about the virus. The exterior of the mansion almost looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos erupting across Gotham. For a moment, you could almost imagine Bruce inside, sipping his black coffee at 5 a.m., preparing for another day after a long night of fighting crime. But as you stepped inside, you felt a chill crawl up your spine—a telltale sign that something was very wrong.

The air inside the manor was thick with a metallic scent, the smell of blood lingering like a ghost in the hallways. The once-pristine carpets were stained with dark, dried blood, and shards of broken mirrors littered the floor, reflecting your fragmented reflection. Your breath quickened as your eyes fell upon a particularly large bloodstain, smeared as though something or someone had been dragged down to the Batcave.

You carefully maneuvered through the glass, trying to muffle the crunching sound beneath your boots. The manor was silent—too silent. Every step you took echoed in the emptiness, and as you descended the long, dark staircase to the cave. At the bottom, you paused, straining your ears for any sign of movement—breathing, footsteps—but the silence remained unbroken.

Turning the corner, you found them. Three bodies lay side-by-side, the Bat-Family, still and lifeless. A long black cape draped over one, a familiar blue symbol on another. You blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, but they welled up regardless, blurring your vision. The overwhelming urge to flee seized you, to run back up the stairs and search the streets of Gotham for Jason, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave. You needed to know for certain.

Cautiously, you approached the bodies. Each step felt heavier than the last until you were close enough to see their faces. Your hands trembled as you peeled back their masks, revealing the familiar features of your friends—no, your family. Red Robin, Batman, Nightwing... All gone.

Your knees buckled, and you sank against the nearest wall, burying your face in your hands as tears streamed down your cheeks. What use were your powers if you couldn't protect the people you loved most? The thought gnawed at you, a cruel reminder of your limitations. Your sobs were the only sound in the cave until the door creaked open, and you heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs.

Instinctively, you reached for your lighter, ready to defend yourself with a burst of flame, but you hesitated as a familiar figure emerged from the shadows—Jason. Relief flooded through you, and you flung yourself into his arms, burying your face in his neck as he held you tightly.

"I was so worried, baby," you whispered, feeling the cool metal of his helmet against your cheek. With a clatter, he removed it and tossed it aside.

"Me too, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You clung to each other, drawing strength from his presence. When he finally pulled away, Jason's eyes wandered to the three bodies lying on the ground. His expression froze as he stared at the fallen members of his family. The normally stoic Red Hood blinked rapidly, struggling to keep his composure.

"They can't stay like this..." His voice was barely above a whisper, his grief evident.

You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort you could. "I can bring them upstairs if you want to..."

Jason sniffled, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before standing up, fists clenched in a vain attempt to suppress the tears threatening to spill over. "Yes, that would be very helpful."

As Jason's heavy boots echoed up the stairs, you were left alone with the bodies once more. Your heart ached, but you knew what you had to do. Retrieving your spellbook from its hiding place, you flipped through the pages, your fingers trembling slightly. The ancient incantation you needed was familiar yet no less daunting. You gathered three pieces of parchment, carefully inscribing the incantation on each one, and placed them on the bodies.

Standing over them, you began to chant, your voice low and commanding. "Admovendum corpus, spiritus vagans, audite me. Per vim occultam, surgat corpus hoc et locum mutet!"

The temperature in the cave plummeted, your breath visible in the cold air as the lights flickered ominously. The bodies, once still and lifeless, began to rise slowly, as if pulled by unseen strings. With a gentle nudge of your powers, you guided them up the stairs and out to the estate's cemetery, where you knew Martha and Thomas Wayne were buried.

Jason was already there, digging a second grave beside the first. You laid Tim’s body in the freshly dug earth, waiting patiently as Jason finished preparing the other two. Once he started to cover the bodies with dirt, you turned your attention to creating makeshift gravestones. Large boulders were carved with the names of the deceased, and you carefully set them in place.

"What do you want them to say, Jason?" you asked softly.

Jason was lost in thought, staring at Dick’s headstone as if in a trance. When you repeated the question, he knelt beside the stone, guiding your hand to engrave words that reflected what his family meant to him. His arm wrapped around you as tears flowed freely, his sobs shaking his entire body.

"I never thought it would be them, you know," he choked out, his voice filled with heartbreak.

You held him tighter, offering silent comfort as he grieved. The memory of your own father abandoning you in the rain flashed through your mind, a reminder of the pain that only family could cause. But your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a low growl.

You and Jason whipped around, weapons ready, only to see Ace, the loyal Bat-Hound, trotting toward you. Relief washed over you as you knelt down, petting the dog, while Jason took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

Ace led you back to the Batcave, where he stopped in front of the Batmobile, his eyes fixed on it. Jason chuckled sadly, "He never did let me drive the car."

You gave him a small, bittersweet smile, then turned to the Batmobile. "Car, show me the locations of all the Bat-Family in Gotham other than Jason."

"Eight located in Gotham, Mx. Constantine."

Jason's expression darkened as he asked, "How many with heartbeats?"

"Two."

Your heart sank as you climbed into the passenger seat, Jason taking the driver’s seat. The Batmobile's display showed two small bat symbols—Cassandra Cain and Damian Wayne. "Take me to Cassandra," Jason commanded, and the car’s GPS began calculating a route to the GCPD.

The drive through Gotham was harrowing. The Batmobile’s tires crunched over countless bodies, living and dead, as you made your way through the city’s ravaged streets. When you finally arrived at the GCPD, Jason rammed the Batmobile straight into the cell block, the vehicle’s armor shielding you from the chaos outside.

"Batman?" Jim Gordon’s voice was shaky as he approached, but Jason only lifted his helmet slightly, revealing his face.

"No, not Batman. Get in."

Jim and Cassandra quickly climbed into the backseat with Ace, and once again, you were speeding through the streets of Gotham. Jason explained your plan to escape the city, but Jim interrupted, desperation in his voice. "No, we can’t leave. Not yet. My daughter is out there somewhere."

Your heart ached as you turned to Jim, knowing the truth. "No, Commissioner, Barbara is... gone."

Jim’s face contorted in denial, his voice trembling. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Car, show heart monitor for Barbara Gordon."

The low hum of the Batmobile’s display filled the air as a flatline appeared on the screen. You averted your eyes, unable to meet Jim’s gaze as he stared at the evidence of his daughter’s death.

"How do you...?" Jim’s voice faltered as realization dawned on him, his eyes flicking between Jason and Cassandra. "Jason. Cassandra..."

"We’re the only ones alive in Gotham, so we have to get out," Jason said softly.

But Jim shook his head, his voice breaking. "I have to see for myself, Jason."

Reluctantly, Jason guided the Batmobile to the location indicated by the tracker. There, strung up in vines, was Barbara’s body, limp and lifeless. Jim fell to his knees before his daughter, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to accept the sight before him.

"Oh, God," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Through his tears, Jim looked up at you, desperation in his eyes. "Do you think you could... you know."

The request hung in the air, heavy with the weight of what he was asking. Summoning the dead was never easy, and it was something you had always hesitated to do. But this was Jim, and Barbara was a friend who never got to say goodbye. You gave him a small nod, feeling Jason’s hand tighten around yours in support.

You began to mutter the ancient words under your breath, calling forth Barbara’s spirit. The air grew colder, a chill settling over the alleyway as shadows twisted and contracted around Barbara’s body. Slowly, her ghostly form materialized, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and pain that gradually softened as she realized she was no longer in pain.

“Why did you call me back? I thought I was finally free…” Barbara’s voice was barely a whisper, carried on the wind. Her eyes met yours, filled with hurt and confusion.

But before you could respond, Jim stepped forward, his voice trembling. "I asked her to, Barb. I just needed to see you one last time."

Barbara’s gaze softened as she looked at her father, still wearing her Batgirl suit. "Oh, Dad, I’m sorry I never told you."

She reached out to hug him, but her spectral form passed through him, sending a shiver down his spine. Your hands were growing colder, the strain of maintaining the connection to Barbara’s spirit taking its toll.

Jim reached out as if to take Barbara’s hand, though he knew it was futile. "Oh, it’s okay. I am so proud of you and everything you’ve done to help our city. We all have a debt we can never repay you. I love you so much."

Barbara’s form began to flicker, her connection to the physical world weakening. “I love you too, Dad,” she whispered before vanishing in a gust of wind.

Jim wiped away his tears, his voice thick with emotion as he turned to you. "Thank you."

You nodded, understanding the depth of his gratitude as he retreated to the back of the Batmobile, needing time to process his grief. You exchanged a glance with Jason and Cassandra, a silent agreement to give him the space he needed.

"Want to help me string the Joker onto the hood of the car?" Jason asked, gesturing to the lifeless body of the man who had caused him so much pain.

You shook your head in disbelief, leaning against the brick wall with Cassandra as you watched Jason attach the Joker’s body to the front of the Batmobile. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a small, bitter sense of satisfaction as the Batmobile roared to life, ready to leave Gotham behind.

[your-resident-boat-person]

would u consider what happened to SS Normandie to be twink death

also WHY NO SS NORMANDIE

Hoooooooo boy. I assume you're referring to my top 25 list of ocean liners? So yeah... uh... i hate to say it, and I'm probably going to get crucified for this, buuuuut.....

I'm not a fan of the SS Normandie.

I know! I'm sorry! But of all my criteria that a ship needs to meet, she just doesn't hold up! First, her career. It was PATHETICALLY short. Only 1935 to 1939. She sat in New York for a few years until she burned down (as is the tradition of French liners cough cough). The most interesting part of her career was her rivalry with the Queen Mary, but personally, I just think that story is way more interesting from the Queen Mary's side. I think the story of her engineering is interesting, like her turboelectric engines, and her hydrodynamic hull, but I think the engineering of ships like the SS United States is just more interesting! People say she's the most beautiful ship ever engineered, buuuut....

Yeah, I just don't get it. ESPECIALLY compared to her younger fleetmate, the SS France

Or her OLDER fleetmate, the SS Île de France

Who had a MUCH more interesting career, by the way.

Anyway, people point to her interiors as an art deco masterpiece..... BUUUUUUT

Look, from an artistic standpoint, I would never argue that these interiors are gorgeous. But people often forget that this isn't an art museum. It's an ocean liner. People are expected to live in these spaces for at least 4 or 5 days. Would you feel comfortable staying in a hotel that looked like this? With all the metal and marble and stone? This cold, towering, imposing atmosphere? It feels like a goddamn palace, and not in a good way. I'd be afraid to touch anything. Like I said, it's pretty, I just dont think it serves it's purpose very well. And people from the 1930s generally agreed with me. Many people described it as being "too much" and bordering on gaudy. I vastly prefer the Queen Mary's, Queen Elizabeth's, and Caronias take on Art Deco.

They just feel so much more homey and warm and inviting. Personally, I'll always prefer the Edwardian decor, which was a more restrained version of the Victorian decor. The Olympic's grand staircase, first class lounge, and a la carte restaurant are my favorite examples.

So anyway, those are the reasons I'm not a fan of the SS Normandie. Her story is short and largely uninteresting, and the way it is interesting, other ships like the Mary and the Big U do those things better. Her exterior is weird looking and ugly, and her interiors are oppressive, gaudy, and downright uncomfortable. I just never understood the love for Normandie. Anyway, if you disagree with any of my points, PLEASE let me know! I love talking to people about this stuff ^ω^