Typewriter Series #301 ya foolios. How are you tonight? (at Helena, Montana) https://www.instagram.com/p/Con4iFCvPWo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Hi guys!!! Um. Opening commission for the first I guess 😳 I don’t expect this to get any traction and if if it does it will probably just be for digital cause it’s the cheapest howeverrrrrr if anyone IS interested in a marker or watercolor piece I highly recommend they come out amazing and are my favorite to do 👀 Anyways yea! Dm me if you’re interested, payment is up front through PayPal and shipping should be a $1 for US, $2 for international. I love fashion and would love to collab on ideas as well if you’re interested 🥰
*if you can’t tell I mainly design women’s formalwear however I will draw anything if I’m basing it off an an existing look
alfred is actually just some eldritch being that was watching over humanity for years and years. he took on a human appearance to blend in, he found the wayne's by chance - staying with them to study and learn more about the way people acted, but when thomas and martha were killed he decided to stay amongst humans solely for the reason of looking after, protecting, and raising bruce. because he'd grown rather fond of people, well most people. maybe just bruce.
bruce never suspects anything. not even when alfred's been in situations where he should've died, he doesn't question it, he's just glad he's alright. none of the batkids ever suspect it either, to them alfred is just alfred and they love him all the same. they don't even think that he probably should be getting a bit old throughout the years, bruce never even wonders why he looks the same as he did twenty years ago. maybe he ponders it a little, but whatever, he can think about it later.
alfred is just happy to be with his family, even if they're a little oblivious at times.
I’m making a blackout poem for every letter in the alphabet using the Encyclopedia as found text! Today’s poem comes from the entry for “Burns”. The poem reads:
Burns
In a normal
commonplace
wound
the face falls off
after it dries
It is particularly useful
loss and pain
may increase
scar formation
for grafting
limits the formation of
lost
loss
and so there is a danger
I find it adorable that every member of the Batfam has their own, quiet, just-for-fun hobby
Dick- Gymnastics
Jason- Literature
Tim- Skateboarding
Damien- Painting
Cass- Dance
Bruce- Running the Gotham chapter of Adoption Addicts Anonymous
It's the annual Wayne Enterprises Halloween Trick or Treat Trek!
Whump21~Prompt 15 (Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever)
The bees have finally stopped stinging. The winged beasts wriggle in under his skin instead and burrow into his being, continuously squirming. Up and down his extremities, they crawl. They fill his stomach and clog his chest. The hive is growing inside him. Jason writhes, sweating through his sheets, trying to escape what he cannot purge. Gentle hands hold him down. Whispering reaches his ear, the voice familiar yet far away. The words flatten into a drone, then into a buzzing. The bees are eating him from the inside out. Jason jerks and turns his head, vomiting insects and illness.
Whumptober 2021
Welcome to Whumptober 2021! May the Whump be with you :)
To all of you who participated last year - we have changed a few of the rules, but overall things have stayed the same. To everyone new: WELCOME!
Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
With that being said, we’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. We wish you all the fun!
(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)
Source: whumptober2021
When Jason first came to Wayne mansion had the thought of 'how long untill I get thrown back on the streets again?' and Bruce made a deal that he'd only be forced to leave if he read every book in the house. Jason looked around and saw three decorative book and was worried untill Bruce took him to the library that has two large floors of filled bookcases. Later older Jason took that as a challenge but for every book Jason read Bruce would buy two more.
Anonymous asked:
Dev the light of my life, does not deserve the whump I'm about to impart on him now that I've got your go ahead. Not that that'll change anything to do with my story plans.
I’m just reblogging this because someone else called Dev the light of their life and I am delighted.
I hope Dev is the light of all our lives
Loss (Batober 2020 #21)
Bruce woke up curled on his side, a cushion wedged between his knees and his elbow shoved up under the pillow. Someone had taken his shoes off. He wiggled sock clad feet without moving the rest of his body and felt the weight of a blanket brush against his toes. Across the room were familiar wall hangings and a small desk, books he’d thumbed through days before. Clark’s childhood room, complete with all the trappings of his youth. How he’d ended up here escaped him. The realization should have caused at least the barest amount of irritation but while cocooned and comfortable, it failed to do so.
The door swung open and Clark stepped in with a tray. Bruce tracked him to the desk, where he set down his burden.
“Good morning.”
Morning?
Clark turned and sat himself down on the edge of the twin, reaching out to press the back of his hand to Bruce’s forehead. The touch was uncharacteristically cool. Bruce furrowed his brow.
“You’re still running a fever. But you look better than you did last night,” he offered, used to carrying the conversation since Alfred’s death. “You nearly gave Ma a heart attack.”
Still nothing came to him, the evening previous a blank. He shifted on the mattress and a headache flared to life. The grimace that followed went unsuppressed.
“Easy,” Clark soothed.
His joints also ached. Fantastic.
“I heard your heartbeat spike a few seconds before you started to go down.”
Fainted? Unbelievable.
“You must have already been pretty dehydrated. I’m sure the fever didn’t help. How are you feeling?”
Like death warmed over. His head was hazy. Hot and cold battled one another, striking an uneasy truce. A single eyebrow rose then fell, a noncommittal answer.
“That good, huh?”
The idea of spending a few more hours in bed didn’t chafe.
“I was hoping I could convince you to sit up for a bit and drink some water. Maybe have something to eat.”
Just because he wasn’t interested in rising didn’t mean he was incapable. Pride took over. He inched himself from prone to upright, the pillow between his legs dropping to the carpet. Clark scooped it up and place it with the other, fluffing them both upright for Bruce to lean against. A hand at Bruce’s upper arm led him backwards toward the double supports. Resting again, his shoulders and eyelids drooped from the energy spent.
High price tags then. He might be here awhile regardless of whether he wanted to or not. This too should have ignited irritation. The lethargy of resignation reigned. Besides, there was no one waiting for him at home. Sorrow swept over him, the suddenness of it no longer unexpected or unfamiliar. Alfred’s absence hit him anew on a regular basis, reopening wounds he knew would never heal. The dead and gone continued to speak.
“You okay?”
The concern and hesitancy in Clark’s voice set his teeth on edge.
“Are you settled?”
Better. Bruce closed his eyes but nodded, nonetheless. At least he wasn’t dizzy or nauseous. Small favors.
“Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll pass you the glass.”
No movement followed. Sunshine played across his face. Of course Clark would orient his bed to take in the morning rays. Bruce began to drift with the image of Clark as a small boy, brightness blossoming even in his younger years. Clark’s adult voice beckoned him back.
“Do you want me to hold it? I can put a straw in it.”
He glowered, cracking his eyelids to glare.
Which pleased Clark no end. “There’s my grumpy Bat.”
______________________________________
(Prompt 21 – Loss. 600 words. Indulging my own h/c desires and some low key Bruce/Clark bromance.)
Suffocate (Batober 2020 #20)
“Please tell me you let the paramedics check you over,” Clark pleaded.
Bruce attempted to glare but a droopy eyelid hanging over a bloodshot eye ruined the effect. An angry line around his neck stood out in sharp contrast to the swelling below his jawline. A sarcastic response formed but never found voice, his tongue huge at the back of his mouth and his throat sore.
“It looks really bad. Talk to me, Bruce.”
He swallowed painfully.
“You can’t, can you?” Clark rose without waiting for an answer, agitated and concerned. “I’m calling Leslie.”
Bruce didn’t try to stop him.
____________________
(Prompt 20: Suffocate. 100 words. A giant thank you to Zee, who proofed my first draft. You’re the best.)
From last Wednesday’s recycled art class. That’s a damn fine looking Batman, son. Right down to the expression on his toilet roll face.
My daughter (16): "Dad, can I please have a moment of your time when you're done killing people?"
Batting Around the Truth
Clark leans and takes a moment to watch the boys playing against each other on a console now set up in the living room. He's glad they're not squirreled away in their rooms by themselves. On the screen, Superman is fighting Batman.
"Huh. That takes me back," he mutters outloud.
They both turn at the same time.
"What?"
"No way."
"You fought Batman?"
Clark smiles at their awestruck and disbelieving expressions but doesn't answer.
"Who won?"
"You kidding? Dad totally won."
"Right."
Clark continues to smile.
"You won, right Dad?"
He crosses his arms and looks down, hiding the amusement in his eyes.
"Dad?"
"Dinner's in ten," Clark informs them.
"DAD!!!"
Hearth (Batober 2020 #8)
Wind rustles the grass then blows through windows without glass, thresholds without doors. Burnt out beams. Fallen masonry. Partially collapsed roof. His father’s house, ruined but standing.
The portrait is gone, the mantel bare. Yet he still returns to this spot in his darkest moments of contemplation, when decisions weigh heavy. He glances up at the absent painting, seeks counsel in the silence, draws on wisdom lost. Communes with ghosts and memories as one awaiting death.
Diana steps into the empty space at his side, her presence reminding him. The past need not be abandoned as they build the future.
__________
(Prompt 8 - Hearth. 100 words. Sat on this one for awhile. Still not sure how I like it.)
Falling (Batober 2020 #19)
He should have seen it coming but by the time he realized he was falling, she’d already won his heart.
“Rocky Road! I love this shit!”
“Language,” he muttered as he took a seat, two bowls of ice cream between them.
“I love this stuff,” she begrudgingly restated, the correction sounding overemphasized and unnatural. “Did you know? It has its own song. ‘Tell me inside out, tell me upside down. All around the block, all around the town.’”
He took a bite of dessert to hide his smile.
“Pretty soon, you’ll be singing along with me, B-man.”
She wasn’t wrong.
_____________
(Prompt 19 - Falling. 100 words. Lyrics are from Peter, Paul, and Mary’s “Rocky Road”.