#SUPERSHIT.

dash-only multi-muse for dc and marvel characters

[nuffsed]

‘NUFFSED!

DEFINITION. a superb misspelling of an ancient comics writers proverb. a multi-muse featuring marvel and dc characters near and dead to my heart. tune in for comics mayhem, verbose monologuing, anxious onomatopoeia, and death-defying feats of attempts at timely replies! NUFFSED! ‘cuz like, enough said, right?

MUSES:

DONNA TROY (she/her, bisexual, early 30s. not-so-perfect pollyanna.)

ROY HARPER (he/him, bisexual, early 30s. world’s “okayest” dad.)

KORY ANDERS (she/he, bisexual, early 30s. hot girl galaxy.)

TIM DRAKE-WAYNE (he/him, bisexual, early 20s. least autistic enya fan.)

CONNER KENT. (he/him, bisexual, mid 20s. no longer wearing t-shirts.)

BRUCE WAYNE. (he/him, bisexual. MOST autistic enya fan.)

JASON TODD. (he/him, bisexual, late 20s, far left enough to get his guns back.)

CASS CAIN. (she/her, lesbian, mid-20s, you’re lucky she’s awesome or you’d be dead right now.)

KITTY PRYDE. (she/her, bisexual, late 20s, pirate queen, perfect princess.)

FANG AKIHIRO. (he/him, diasaster bisexual, 70s, a menace to society, which is not a joke.)

JAMES LOGAN WOLVERINE. (he/him, bisexual, old as dirt, father to some, lover to others, war criminal to all.)

LORNA DANE. (She/her, bisexual, late 30s, magnificent magnetrix.)

MADELYNE PRYOR. (she/her, bisexual, late 30s, yeet that baby #womenswrongs)

RULES: #1 I like dark themes! but lets be artistic and tasteful about it! #2 I PARTY LIKE A ROCK STAR, CHOIR BOY, STILL CAN’T HIDE THE TASTE OF PETROLEUM! #3 21+ ONLY #4 new52 and rhato poisoned my crops. do not mention her. #5 krakoa critical, but also, i want to explore the shitty parts in a way the comics did not, i have a lot of plots in mind!

my name is herbert and i like cats, comics, and video games, im turning thirty this year, LETS WRITE TOGETHER!

AFFILIATED/MAIN: @yoakkemae <3 <3 <3

[apotheotica-a]

@nuffsed, for bruce.

THE CAVE IS A TOMB AND A TEMPLE, both at once. in it lies the corpse of normalcy, of any semblance of good sense that a man may have had. it is testament to one's fixation in an unachievable goal and a fortress of its own. jason, of course, has been ranked among the few that had free access to it, a realm of madness made concrete and perfect. sometimes, when bruce isn't around and he knows for a fact none of the birds or bats are around, he sneaks inside and looks at what once had been home.

how naïve he had been.

the poor boy that once inhabited these bones, deceived by the shiny toys and apparent affection, deceived by the grandeur of a grown man's crusade. he had been so happy, then. unaware, innocent, blissfully happy.

it did not last, of course. it never does with him.

the batman is away in a mission with his merry band of heroes when he sets his plan in motion. it's meticulous despite the rage that pushes him through the deed itself: he beats the clown to death with a ferocity unrivaled, none of the sadism he had when he was the subject of violence. it ends disturbingly quick, but it's over, all the same. the clown is gone, but there are measures to be taken, things to be done to reassure the damned creature's fate is sealed.

he dismembers the body, careful and surgical. he incinerates everything but the pasty, bruised face, just to make sure bruce has no means of returning this evil to earth in some misguided attempt to fix his wayward son's deeds; funny, how his fatherly instinct only kicked when the subject isn't him. he watches it for hours in a dissociative haze before he picks it up and takes it to where it must be laid.

he lays it in front of the damned monument, bloodless already after all painstaking work put into this catharsis; right in front of the same monument he wanted to destroy, a macabre offering to a boy he could never be again. kneeling by that uniform, by the memento of a past life, he feels complete. hollowed of all his goodness, maybe, but complete. avenged, finally, but not by the hands of the father. no, something had to come take his place, a shadow, a monster made out of human flesh.

he leaves a letter behind, right by the head, bright red envelope an eye sore.

inside there is a succint explanation, written in perfect handwriting, a prettier version of the one he had earned after many calligraphy notebooks: you can be jury and judge, but from now on, i will be executioner. r.h.

by the time the bat returns, he'll be miles and miles away, but not for long. never for long.

[nuffsed]

Bruce Wayne is an expressive man. His stoicism is betrayed by his greedy heart. The depths of despair—rage, whimsy. And yet, he does not cry. Not since Stephanie Brown’s apparent “death.”

The Joker doesn’t deserve a single tear. He doesn’t. No pity, no regret, no remorse. Bruce runs the tests on his head. It’s him. There’s no chance to bring him back in this state—he can’t be mended, can’t be healed. (If he ever could have been.)

He holds the head in his leather gloves. Instead of shutting the eyes—he pushes in his fingers, until the blue and grey-white bursts like a popped grape. He beats it. Over and over again, he beats it. One last time. One last kiss with a fist. He won’t have to resuscitate him. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until shuddering breaths start coming out in sobs. The head does not bruise anymore than its already been, or bleed at all. It’s empty. The Joker is dead. The Joker is gone.

The Joker can’t hurt anyone else.

The relief and utter silence—save Bruce’s heaving breath and rolls of fat tears and snot-huffs. Is what Bruce imagines it feels like to be touched by an angel. There is something so profound in this moment. He has been saved. His soul has been saved. More importantly—his CITY has been saved.

And there’s nothing he can do to ruin it with his own rules or compulsions.

He has no obligation to bring the Joker back. He can’t—there’s no way.

He’s free.

Bruce has never felt so grateful.

He will never be able to thank Jason enough. He will never be able to thank Jason at all.

He stands at a crossroads. Does that mean his little boy is back? Or does that mean he no longer exists?

He has been put to rest. Batman’s eternal struggle with the Red Hood—with the ghost of his son—with the Red Hood has met its conclusion.

The relief. The exhaustion. Tonight, Batman will sleep for sixteen-hours straight. More than he’s slept in years without being drugged or disabled.

Then, he’ll get to work.

There are yet still more clowns in Gotham. Set to be judged. He wakes up, drinks coffee, has a full and complete breakfast at Alfred’s table. Smiles come easy over the steam and scent of espresso and milk and pancakes.

Revenge, it seems, is sweet and warm, a syrupy brown, that sticks to your mouth and melts, melts, melts, and leaves you full and brainless.

Especially when you don’t have to do it yourself.

[nuffsed]

Bruce Wayne is a liar. Bruce Wayne is withholding. Bruce Wayne is a control freak that looms and broods and curls his lip in disgust instead of telling you what he really thinks of you, at least seventy-two percent of the time.

But he is expressive. BATMAN is not repression. It is the leak of a flood of emotion, the broken dam. It is id, it is impulse, it is fear and longing and want, for vengeance, for violence, for order, for skin-to-leather-to sweat full-body control of mind, matter, and magic.

So he raises his voice. SO he is honest. More honest than perhaps he's ever been with The Red Hood.

His voice goes ragged, angry and impotent.

"You wouldn't have had to beg. I left the door to your room unlocked and untouched. I left your homework on your desk." He memorized every problem, in case Jason's ghost somehow needed help. "The book on your nightstand." He bought another copy, reread it, over and over again, dreamed of talking to Jason about it. "I would've left the food in your fridge if it didn't spoil." And still there was an obsessive loss for it. He pictured maggots in the food and in Jason's corpse with Alfred's snacks for weeks after he cleaned it out. But he reasoned the room still had to smell like Jason, and so he relented, long after he started wearing children's shampoo and soap to smell Jason a little longer---though that too, ended, when Tim noticed and found it strange.

"I spent weeks outside that door begging a God I don't believe in that you would come home."

"I didn't avenge you because I would've gone too far." I would've killed, and killed, and killed, and never.... "And you weren't there to stop me."

"Tim was a replacement because I needed you and you weren't there. He saw me---"

He stops himself. Goes back to absently typing at his keyboard to calm down. Check, check, check. Check the cameras check the oven check the breathing check your pulse check the League check crime alley check the Second National Bank check for alerts check with Oracle ignore the scratching in your heart the bleeding agony in your palms the lump in your throat the bile, the bile, the bile, the leak the leak the leak you've sprung a leak, you cannot fill the hole, you cannot replace what was lost, you have a hole, a hole, a hole, and your mourning cannot fill it and your promise and your mission is a plug that Jason is trying desperately to pull out and drain the totality of your fullness, and he can't because you have to be an infallible riot against God that follows your own self-made scripture in rebellion.

He doesn't know what he's typing, just letters, opens up a random file of the moon, and longs to watch the world from there alone--or by a ghosts side.

[apotheotica-a]

THE FLOOD THAT COMES NEXT IS NOT SOMETHING HE EXPECTS. creature and monster and fiend as he is, his role assigned ever since his return to the land of the living, jason had been charitable: he had left the memories of the boy he was untouched; perhaps that had been the only blessing of the pits, of his own metamorphosis post-resurrection. he hadn't been there to witness the grief of his own mourning, which, in retrospect, is a sad thing; he would have garnered a lot of wisdom had he been able to haunt like some are, rather than just be a figment of another's imagination, watching only.

no, that is where he becomes an anomaly, isn't it? for a ghost to become an agent of his own fate again, then he is no longer a haunting but a revenant. something twisted, broken by design.

(he should destroy that damn monument. next time, next time, next time--he isn't sure if the crowbar will suffice, but it would be poetic, wouldn't it?)

he can taste something like bile on his tongue as he hears him speak. if he hadn't heard talia, if he hadn't heard his anger and grief, then maybe, just maybe... maybe bruce would have never needed anyone but him. it's a tempting thought, but he can't fix the past. he can't fix the blood on his hands, replacing what should have been on bruce's, by his own admission. so he laughs instead, a bark that's more broken glass and venom than any real display of mirth.

"I DIE, AND IT'S STILL ABOUT YOU, isn't it? poor little bruce, bereaved by grief once more. still eight years old, aren't you? unable to move on, aren't you?"

he walks closer, step by step, boots echoing against the stone of the cave. the leather of his gloves find the back of bruce's chair and he grips at it, tight enough the leather of his grip creaks. "i die, the boy you loved died, and you still think your grief is more important than mine." he leans in, over his shoulder, gaze greener and greener by the moment. pit madness, he'll call it, and jason knows it. no, this isn't it. this is just the reflection of his own anger, made clearer by all the ways he's come back wrong. no longer man but a living monument to grief; his own and others, it seems. "do you realize you made me into this? you and your mission. you and your stupid crusade. tim was my replacement, wasn't he? what kind of grown man needs children to light the way for him, bruce? why can't you just accept i am your mistake?"

your fallen angel. not your adam, but your fallen angel.

[nuffsed]

It is. It is about Bruce and it will always be about Bruce and he can’t even deny it. He can still feel the sting of the leather on his palm from when he smacked Dick across the cheek. The stretch around his knuckles. He shot of adrenaline spewing through him through so much anger born from so much shame. Impulse, impulse, impulse. And yet… does he truly regret the punishment if it fit the crime? How dare you blame me. It’s not my fault. Not my fault. Can’t be my fault. I loved him so much. How could it be my fault? It’s YOUR fault, Robin! You made me need you. You made me love you. You cared for me, you helped me care for myself by caring for you, and then you took that away. Batman needs a Robin. You were supposed to be Robin!

(Which Robin is he talking to in his muddled, swiss cheese overly bludgeoned head?)

No. It’s Talia. It’s the Hood. Anyone but Bruce and Jason. How can something that was so perfect be so rotten in the state of Denmark? Bruce scowls as Jason leans in—-takes his hand by the wrist—another naughty child about to have their knuckles rapped by the resident Catholic school nun—and presses down on the radius to remind him he is not a toy for Jason to act out feelings on—-he is a man, a grown man, even if that man is emotionally an eight year old propped up by Jason and his parents’ corpses like a cartoon little boy trying to get into an R-rated movie. Watch yourself, a warning. He doesn’t so much as turn his head, but his gaze flickers to the side. Blue eyes, concealed by white lenses. He never lets The Hood see him with his mask off. (Leather pulls and chafes and tugs. And it feels good. The sweat slide, the tightness, the heat. It reminds him that he is just a body, meat and bone, and if he focuses on what matters—he can be the best at everything except emotional rigor.)

“What are YOU grieving? You lost nothing but time. If you’re alive—if you’re here. You could choose to be better than this. You could choose to—-“ Come home to me. Be mine again, my Robin, my little boy. The prince to my kingdom of fear and grief and anger that ripples through Bruce now like a red lead helmet into a vat of Acme chemicals.

“You don’t have to be a monster. You don’t have to be a mistake. We could fix everything if you would listen.”

[nuffsed]

"I do what I can. It's never enough. You of all people should know that." I taught you that. THE JOKER taught you that. The promise takes and she takes and she takes and she takes and she takes. "You---we made an oath to each other. To this city." To my parents. To the Graysons. "To everything we've lost." Like we all took again after you.... "That we would risk our lives and do everything in our power without ever crossing that line."

"You knew there would be failures." I made them untenable, unacceptable, awful silences and heartbreak and rejection. The first Robin was fired, after all. Sometimes Fatherly advice and sharing Alfred's cookies and home-churned vanilla ice cream can't cut through the disappointment and the pain and the look in Bruce's eye when you fall.

"You knew there would be challenges." Insurmountable.

"We don't always win. Sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes people get worse." He hates it, he hates it, he hates it, he wants to stomp his feet, Robin places a hand on his shoulder or tugs at his cape and he needs a joke or a smile or his joy to feel like the world isn't ending.

"We keep trying even when we fail. We get better with practice, we never lose sight of the mission." He is talking like Jason is a child with wide beautiful blue eyes and not an adult serial killer. He can't help it.

"Why did you stop believing that?"

"YOU can get better. I want you to try."

[apotheotica-a]

THE SPEECH THE BAT GIVES HIM IS RIDICULOUS. out of everyone for him to try to patronize about failures and disappointments, he chooses the one person who paid the ultimate price and came back clawing out of his grave. he knows, he knows, he knows: he knows the taste of dirt under his tongue, the pain of splinters under his fingers, the blood and dust and horror of paying a price you should be too young to grasp.

but what could he know? he had been saved from one damnation to another, from hell to purgatory.

so he doesn't laugh but he looks awfully smug as bruce speaks, the knowing glint in his lazarus-blue eyes, like every word is a badly intoned joke. it's not, no, bruce means every single one of his delusions, but that is what is the funniest part of this. he is just as mad as the people he hunts down, having deluded himself into believing he's the hero of this particular tale. fashioning himself as a knight, as a crusader, as a man on a mission rather than a pathetic broken little child.

jason knows in a way he's not different. he's a fifteen year old that feels unloved, unmourned, unavenged still, a child raised by neglect and poverty made into a haunting by the very man that should have saved him.

it's subject knowledge.

"y'know. you are such a funny guy, thinking that somehow, you know the prices to be paid better than me." he laughs, finally, the noise brittle as he keeps his broken arm close, leans over from his seat towards the glass. he's properly chained down, more beast and villain than person, but he's earned it. he's earned it. bruce knows that too, doesn't he? why he acts otherwise? "it wasn't you who died in qurac, was it? it wasn't you that got beaten within an inch of his life and then got disappointed by two of his parental figures in sequence."

by sheila, in her betrayal. by bruce, in his failure to save him.

two betrayals, in a sense, in the same day. coming of age done in the most brutal of ways: your parents fail you. they will always fail you. they will fail you when they should and when they shouldn't.

they are flawed things, just like you. that's why they made you this way.

"so don't give me that pretty speech of yours. i know the challenges. i know the prices paid better than you and i decided that, knowing them, i don't want shit to do with your mission anymore, that i would do it my own way. is that that hard to understand? aren't you supposed to be a genius, b?"

[nuffsed]

Bruce speaks very clearly, enunciates every syllable. With finality. With a great sort of wisdom from age. “Losing a child is worse than dying.”

And it’s as simple as that. Jason’s death is the worst thing that ever happened to him. Worse than his parent’s death. At least a child is supposed to watch their parents die, eventually. A parent should never have to bury their child. Never. And it was all Bruce’s fault. For loving him like the son he had just fired—-for putting him in that cape and pixie boots. Stealing a Mother’s secret name for her child, and gifting it to his second like it belonged to him, like Jason belonged to him, and him alone.

He did.

“Take your meds, or I’ll give you shots myself.”

[resourcesfortheavergaeroleplayer]

Send "be honest" followed by a question and my muse will be forced to answer with 100% honesty

[nuffsed]

Maybe today ill work on profiles/interaction calls?

[nuffsed]

Muses im thinking about adding:

Clark & warren... & eventually guy... I have read 0 gl except for some kyle and hal stuff tho so. We'll see

[nuffsed]

let's do something Else.... like this post and comment a number (after reading the post i just cut it for length lol) for:

1. Bruce Wayne in that sweet spot right before the n52. You know the spot

2. Bruce Wayne in uniform as the bat after his third therapy appointment. He is 55 years old and having strange feelings about it

3. Roy Harper post-ollies death, pre titans 99

4. Roy Harper is the new teen titans days

5. Kitty pryde dimension hopping

6. Kitty pryde in the krakoa era---secretly trying to take down the council

7. Lorna Dane dealing with being chosen for the council by magneto and Xavier. She doesnt know why or how and has... qualms

8. Madelyne Pryor pre-hellions.

9. Madelyne Pryor ruler of limbo

10. Madelyne Pryor dark x-men era

11. Donna Troy mentors your muse

12. Donna Troy makes another woman friend rip she needs many more LOL

13. Donna vents to your character titans 99 era

14. Conner Kent tells your character about his next big idea (it's a homeless shelter for metas)

15. Conner Kent tells you about his next big idea (celebrity tell-all to sponsor homeless shelter)

16. Conner Kent comes to your character advice when big idea Fails Spectacularly

17. Conner Kent finds out theyve made a documentary about his life (rip)

18. Kory leading her colony of refugees on the slaver alien planet (i forgot their name atm but ill get on it lol) with your character as a pen pal

Thats all I can think of right now

[nuffsed]

I love Bruce in titans media so so bad. He is such a bastard. He will never trust dick to make his own decisions really even tho he constantly is like ‘dick I trust you to make your own decisions.’ He trusts dick’s competency, he uses dick’s independence and different goals often against him, and he trusts dick ‘to make the right decision in the end’ (ie. the decision he WANTS dick to make, OR the decision that is ACTUALLY right even if it proves Bruce wrong) and to perform perfectly, but he doesn’t trust dick with dick’s own heart or goals. Rip

But I also love the idea that Clark knows what Bruce is doing is wrong: but kind of smiles about it. He lets Bruce make his own mistakes because he can’t stop him, in a way? It’s kind of like. Gentle parenting almost LOL. Clark steps in when he goes tooooo far but. Bruce fucks up sometimes, Clark is fully aware of this, but he is so. Non-controlling ? To contrast with Bruce’s controlling nature… he lets Bruce fuck up and becomes the ‘safety net’ to balance him out and un-fuck his plans… it seems very ‘lets see where this goes’ but its more like. ‘I will catch you every time you fall. And you will fall. Because you’re dumb, Bruce. But I’ll let you make that mistake and pick up the slack unless I really think it’s going to hurt someone beyond what I can fix.’

[nuffsed]

NUFFSED INTEREST CHECKER

This is a short one while I work on a much longer one, LOL.

Made an interest checker! Fill it out mayhaps? ‘,: )

[suredid]

jack of no trades.

master of fuck all

[TRISTAN - 39 - HE/HIM]

[nuffsed]

Another plotting call mayhaps? Like this post etc

[hollowprompts]

🤐 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴. 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 (+ 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦) 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦.

🕊️ 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

01. gently brushing the other's hair out of their face to tuck behind their ear. 02. wrapping a blanket around their shoulders from behind. 03. brushing tears off of their cheeks. 04. reaching out hesitantly before resting a hand on their back. 05. placing a cup of tea or coffee in front of them. 06. sitting beside them while they are asleep to watch over them. 07. sharing silence with them. 08. pulling them into a tight hug. 09. writing something quietly and passing them the note. 10. fixing a piece of their clothing carefully.

🔥 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

01. staring at them in silence for a long moment before walking away. 02. slamming a door shut without explanation. 03. packing their things up, slowly and deliberately. 04. breathing sharply through their nose and refusing to meet their eyes. 05. cleaning something obsessively in silence.

🥀 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

01. running their thumb over the others bottom lip slowly. 02. standing just a little too close, enough to feel each others breath. 03. grazing their knuckles along the other's hip or thigh in passing. 04. undoing the top button of their shirt while holding eye contact. 05. leaning in like they're going to kiss and then pausing shyly. 06. sliding a hand under their chin to tilt their head up.

[nuffsed]

" I'm not in the mood ta get fingers in my brain again, thank ya very much."

( For Madelyn! Thanks for the follow! :D)

"And I'm not really in the mood to mess up my manicure stooping to the physical instead of the psychic, but---you're being LIGHTLY possessed, dear. It makes you look bad---it makes the Limbo Embassy look bad---can the theatrics and let me give you a good poke to shoo the poor thing out."

[apotheotica-a]

everyone else. every person who's ever worn a ring, whatever the color. all of them, millions—they were chosen. the ring saw something, something deep in them, a type, a strength. a certain fate.

not me.

independent multimuse roleplay blog; as loved by equinox, featuring kyle rayner from dc's green lantern franchise. READ RULES BEFORE INTERACTING.

[nuffsed]

TUNE IN NEXT ISSUE FOR MORE HEART-POUNDING ACTION, TWISTS AND TURNS, AND MORE STAKES THAN YOU CAN SHAKE A STICK AT.

NEXT ISSUE: the dark knight (BRUCE WAYNE), the magnificent magnetrix (LORNA DANE), the goblin queen (MADELYNE PRYOR), the scourge of the underworld (JASON TODD), ninja pirate queen and all-around ex-gifted kid (KITTY PRYDE), Bieber and beers (LOGAN “WOLVERINE”), wolverine’s shittiest kid (AKIHIRO), the ultimate 90s kid (KON-EL), the master archer okay-ish dad (ROY HARPER), the not-so-perfect universal constant (DONNA TROY), detective and canon bisexual (TIM DRAKE), the sun incarnate (KORY ANDERS) and everybody’s favorite kid (CASS CAIN).

A COMICS INSPIRED MULTI-MUSE BY HERBERT, (almost) 30, HE/THEY, 21+ ‘NUFF SAID. NUFFSED. (PROMO BY: @yoakkemae )

[nuffsed]

Bruce Wayne he

Something I deeply believe is that Bruce Wayne is an abusive father. I don’t know how a person can read his relationship with dick and Jason any differently, and to that point… his relationship with Damian also leaves something to be desired. With tim and cass—we see the best of him. But with his other kids, he will straight up in canon beat them half to death, and i know, this is comics, I know, when Bruce teaches them to fall and get back up in training Tim or whatever that it’s all good and ‘normal’ for comics. But if you look at Grayson, if you like at under the red hood, if you look at the infamous slap/punch to dick after Jason’s death. Well I just think it paints a deeper picture of a deeply unwell man who loves with his whole heart but is unable to fully process his trauma and love in a healthy, consistent, kind way.

Bruce is The Mentally Ill character of all time. He has control issues, he’s obsessive, he’s often mean, and he genuinely believes in ruling through fear on top of kindness. Even if he didn’t hit his kids—-he would still force them to parent him, and even if he can reason that that’s something they choose, that that’s something Batman “needs.” No adult should need a child for their own mental wellness. That’s the adult’s responsibility. To have your child have to bend backwards to coddle, console or shift around to meet your needs, provide for you emotionally… is a crazy expectation.

And yet, this is not an indictment of Bruce to me, as a character. I think that characters can be terrible people—-characters can abuse other characters—-and still be good characters. In fact, when treated appropriately and as art, art and writing, and the gothic horror i in particular like to write with him and from which all his themes are canonically based, are SAFE places to read about, write about, and view and explore abuse

Good isn’t a thing you are, it’s a thing you do.

Bruce does a lot of good and bad things. So do most people. Abuse is a pattern of behaviors from a place of power and/or privilege

I know we all hate the joker, but i really do believe it only takes one bad day for a person to fall prey to circumstances that make you feel like such a hopeless, desperate black pit of a person that you do reach out and hurt others. On purpose, on accident, a little bit of both. You don’t have to be ontologically evil. You don’t have to be a monster. You can legitimately love someone, and hurt them and your relationship beyond repair. You can love someone deeply, and not deserve forgiveness from them, or be granted that forgiveness.

Ultimately, i don’t even particularly believe in redemption narratives. I don’t believe in sin or a need for forgiveness from a higher power—-and i don’t believe that forgiveness is necessary to grow and change and be better, and try to be better, even when you fail, and you often will, which is more tangible and real to me than just ‘turning good’ one day. My Bruce does try to be better—-for @yoakkemae ‘s dick, at least. But he is still incredibly toxic and withholding. But it’s not for some kind of atonement or to make up for taking things from dick. It’s to be better so dick will stick around and let him see his grandkid. It’s so he can help dick not suffer when he’s around. Sometimes there is no noble sacrifice, it’s just a long process of ‘I’m going to be nicer. And I’m actually gonna do that this time. And when i fuck up I’ll apologize and actually mean it.’

Ultimately, abusers are people. People are complicated, people abuse people. If you ‘other’ a ‘monster’ bc you think you could never do that—you become more likely to hurt someone yourself and think you are right in doing so.

Bruce definitely thinks he is right in hurting his kids, half the time. When he doesn’t—it’s always him admitting he was wrong to view them as soldiers instead of his children. You can hurt a soldier. You can’t hurt a child. He can compartmentalize so easily when his robins become his ‘friends’ and ‘partners.’ Even in robin when we can see him express empathy for tm and tell him basically to have a normal life literally constantly——it’s because Tim already has a normal life that Bruce logically wants him to go back to. He doesn’t view him as a fellow orphan, a ‘brother’ a ‘playmate’ a ‘mirror’ or a ‘replacement.’

This hc is so long idk I’m just rambling