#graphite writes

[goddess-of-graphite]

Building off of the cryptid!Batfamily universe… I propose: the Wayne family, acting freely unhinged in public because they are a rich family full of lunatics and let’s be real, this is Gotham: if even their celebrities aren’t weird as fuck can it even be called Gotham?

further, I suggest all their antics should be posted online (carefully curated, even if it doesn’t seem like it to the public). Just the batboys being ridiculous as civilians because the batfamily isn’t even perceived as human so, like, might as well? Hiding in plain sight, because surely a family so open about their lives couldn’t possibly be vigilantes.

SO! I give you: the Wayne Family, Online

The Bat Clan were professional cryptids. They were serious about their duty and intent on performing it as efficiently as possible - no wasted effort, no fighting between them, no reckless charging in alone…

So, as far as vigilantes go, they were somewhere between myth and public servants. Each trained to put aside personal grievances in the face of a greater purpose, mistakes and blunders were rare.

But, see, behind the masks and under the cowls, they were still people - each unique with their own issues, their own disagreements. And with their careful separation of their personal lives from their vigilante work, all that complicated emotional stuff had to be expressed in their civilian lives.

So the Bat’s Clan were shadowy legends spoken of in fear by criminals hiding in dark alleys.

The Wayne Family, on the other hand, were…

Well, Not That.

Twitter user RedRobin(disambiguation) posted at 5:03:

Lmao this is why social services keep getting called

[video is taken from the foot of a grand staircase. at the top, with his foot on a man-sized roll of bubble wrap, is a boy with a strip of hair dyed pastel pink in the front. a voice, originating from behind the camera, yells up, “Ready!” another voice, muffled significantly, shouts the same, and the bubble wrap roll wiggles a little. with a wicked grin and a solid kick, the boy sends the roll flying down the stairs. the muffled voice is screaming delightedly, broken by every step the roll hits on the way down. the camera backs up as the roll reaches the bottom and keeps going, the video going blurry as it turns to follow the roll. the roll hits a wall, hard, with a loud thump, and the muffled screaming cuts off with a groan. the camera shakes as whoever is filming runs over to reveal that, within the bubble wrap, is a human. he is trapped, squirming, his feet just peeking out of one end, and the camera comes around to the other end to show a young man’s face, well and truly snug in his bubbly prison. he is giggling, echoing the laughter of at least two other people, and the sound of feet running up as the boy from the top of the stairs appears and rolls the human sushi over to begin picking at the tape keeping the wrap firmly bound.

“I’m gonna have so many bruises” the bound man wheezes, and the boy trying to free him has to take a break he is laughing so hard. the camera turns rapidly one last time to show another boy’s face, teary-eyes from laughing, and it is clear that he is the one filming. “this is what happens when we’re getting along” he says and the video ends]

RedRidin’intheHood commented:

I got to kick Dick off a staircase without getting yelled at lol today was a good day

DoNotSearch”PurpleWaffles” commented:

I mean what else do you use that much bubble wrap for

TiredHimboDad commented:

You are all menaces.

PappapBabbab commented:

dis u? 

[a shitty edit of three people in a “getting along” shirt. the background is a building on fire and exploding. cinnamon toast crunch rains down around them, several pieces trailing flame. there is a trail of glitter behind them, and one of them holds a can that is erupting with colourful, clearly fake, snakes. each of the people have a different and equally ugly pair of sunglasses pasted onto them. one small snake is wielding a knife and wearing a top hat]

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Half-Dead and Still Kicking

The thing is, Jason’s been a ghost for a while, okay? Six whole months, and it’s been a goddamn adjustment, being capable of floating through walls and falling through furniture if he’s not careful, if he’s not concentrating. He goes unseen and unheard in a manor too full of grieving to only be residence of two people - Alfred keeps his room tidy and untouched, as if it’s a shrine to keep care of, and Bruce is…

Jason is, was, Robin, so he can’t quite help himself from following in Batman’s shadow as the man patrols, more vicious, more brutal than Jason has ever seen him. He takes more risks, gets injured more often - and it’s terrifying, the way Batman grieves, as if trying to follow him into the grave. So Jason follows, unbeating heart in his throat, and only relaxes again when Bruce is safe in the manor, sleeping off whatever injuries he got during the night.

He can’t interact with the world, but he can watch the shades of past residents going about their lives, and he learns things from doing this even as he fears becoming them one day, mindlessly replaying a life long passed. He can snoop and explore without worry for being caught, and if he ever gets bored he can practice flying (so much harder than it seems - he’s careful never to go too high, too worried that he won’t be able to come back down again, even with the ceaseless curiosity in the back of his mind wondering - just how far can I go? Beyond the sky? Could he touch the stars, if he wanted?) and when everything is terrible, when the memories of his death, his last few hours of life, haunt him, when he is drowning in his own head, he finds distractions; the way the air currents sometimes seem to react to him, trying to move things like ghosts do in those terrible movies, chattering to whoever is around and pretending they can hear him, finding mysteries to solve (what’s up with that camera kid, anyway? He’d never noticed him before…) and trying to read books in the library through sheer force of will, usually ending up just reciting the parts he knows.

(Two months and a bit in to this whole “ghost” thing, he finds out the deal with the camera kid. Jason can only be relieved because, kid’s got a point - and Bruce seems to do better with someone to protect, to teach, to watch over.

He’s not practically tearing people apart with his bare hands anymore. He’s not taking hits he should have been able to avoid anymore. He’s not lurking at the edge of rooftops anymore, staring at the ground as if contemplating how far away it is.)

And Tim… he’s weird, but brilliant, and Jason feels a little protective of him. Follows him whenever he goes out, sharp eyes watching his back regardless of whether he can protect it or not (and maybe it’s his imagination, but the world seems more real when he’s watching over Tim, closer and present in a way he can almost feel, as if he could actually affect the world, if he just tried hard enough - if he just needed to desperately enough).

And then, six months after his-… after this ghost thing started, something… changes.

Something Happens, and he can almost taste the strange Knowing - something, somewhere, has gone wrong, or perhaps right, and the ripples extend beyond the event, slipping into each corner of the universe with the subtlety of a truck, and yet somehow unnoticed.

The ghosts notice. Pale shades lift their heads, existing outside of their own memories for the first time in an age - and Jason, who is new, who is Robin, who lived in Gotham where all things become possible, is hit by the wave of Something Happening Elsewhere Rippling Out and wakes up in a box.

In a coffin.

(But Jason has been a ghost for six months, and the pain of living again is enough to reach for the existence of being a ghost, and by the time he has sorted himself out and half-clawed, half-floated his way out of his grave (again), he doesn’t expect himself to be anything but what he has been for the past six months.)

(And then, of course, he discovers he can interact with the world if he concentrates, if he wants it enough, and he assumes that Whatever That Was made him a stronger ghost.

It’s not an unfair assessment. Incorrect, but not beyond reason.

Why would he think he came back to life, anyway? That’s a bit far-fetched, really.)

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Gothic Dragons

Gotham has always been protected by a Dragon, even before it was ever Gotham.

There was a way about the land Gotham stood upon, that was all twisted magics and darkness and feral energy that never quite fit in man’s modern world. America had but one Guardian Dragon - except for Gotham, which was near a law and country unto itself.

Gotham was a sanctuary for the supernatural, but it was not kind. Those non-humans who risked its dark streets were the brave, or the foolish, or the terribly desperate. Gotham was a dark city, and it’s people adapted or were driven out.

(But should a threat ever come for her, all of Gotham would rise up in response.)

So Gotham had its own Guardian, but the Dragon guarded the world outside from Gotham’s brutality just as much as it shielded Gotham from those that would rend her apart.

But, of course, Dragons were only so many, and new blood must be brought in - human blood, as it often was, and so the trend of Dragon blood “skipping” a generation emerged.

And the bloodline of the Guardian Dragons of Gotham withered, bit by bit, because it is far easier to kill a human of dragon blood than it is to kill a Dragon of human descent.

(And Bruce Wayne has never hated this truth of the world more - because his parents had been Skipped, human, and if they had been dragons, they’d still be there with him.

But they weren’t.

It was just Bruce, a fledgling Dragon, and the butler left to care for him.)

-

Although Gotham had only ever had one Guardian Dragon, it had at one time had a whole lineage of Dragons capable of taking up the mantle. As the Dragons intermarried, however, more and more lines broke off with human kin, occasionally producing dragons.

But the Guardian Line had been reduced to one untrained hatchling. And that hatchling didn’t much care if it was a Dragon or a dragon that was Guardian of the city, just that there was someone to Guard it.

The problem is, of course, that the hatchling needs training - but he cannot get that in Gotham.

So he leaves.

He comes back ready to pull his city back from the brink, by force if (when) necessary.

Here’s the thing - Bruce is no Dragon, because for all that he is the last of the Guardian line he doesn’t adhere to the rules of that duty.

A Guardian’s duty is to the supernatural beings they protect.

Bruce has already decided that that is not enough. Human or Magical Being, if no one else will step in, then he will.

Bruce might have been the Gotham Dragon, but that didn’t mean he was the only dragon in the city.

The thing about dragon blood is that it tended to turn up dragons unexpectedly in families that had been mostly human. A dragon ancestor could have human children, and their children have human children, and then a dragon. It was a recessive trait when introduced into human bloodlines, and especially if it was paired with yet more human lines, but it also was tellingly stubborn - a human may only have a single draconian ancestor hundreds of years back, but they could still unexpectedly turn up a dragon hatchling.

It was just sheer dumb luck that a bunch of said unexpected hatchlings turned up within the span of the same generation.

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Like A Hit-and-Run

When jazz hits somebody on the road late at night, her first instinct is of course to call an ambulance.

… is what she would like to say, but she took one look at this boy covered in grave dirt and wearing funeral clothes and smelling like death and could only think of her brother.

Because maybe other people wouldn’t notice the mark of someone touched by death, but Jazz was liminal - and more than that, she was a princess of the realm of the dead. There were things, when you were so deeply connected to the ghost zone, that you just knew.

-

Danny, for his part, didn’t ever expect to become a mentor, but he can’t look at this budding halfa and let him struggle through all the things Danny had to learn on the fly at fourteen.

So.

He takes the traumatised, amnesiac fifteen-year-old under his metaphorical ghostly wing.

This will definitely only end well.

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Convergent Infiltrations

There’s something to be said about meeting someone else as they’re sneaking around the top secret government facility that neither of you should be in because you both picked the same hiding spot.

Jason was only looking into these wackjobs as a favour for the Bat (he planned to do some real unwise shit next month and he needed B on his side for the aftermath) and, needless to say, he hadn’t really expected not to be the only one scoping out their base.

She’s tall, almost statuesque, clothed in dark greys and soft blacks and armed to the teeth with weapons he can only describe as sci-fi.

She is equally surprised to see him there.

If not for one of those white-suited dickheads almost catching them both, they probably would have been holding each other at gunpoint still.

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Hood, Bewitched

Listen, how the fuck was Jason supposed to know one of the lieutenants he beheaded had a witch as a wife? How the ever loving fuck could he have predicted that she’d find out who killed her husband and left his head in a duffel bag and decide to ambush the man’s killer?

How in the name of god was he expected to have had a defence ready for a curse she enacted by sacrificing herself?

(He will not take any comments on how she was only able to get close enough to him for it because she’d pretended to be a working woman who needed help, shut up. Clearly she and her shitty husband had been well-matched.)

So here he was now, animal-shaped and injured and fucking helpless. All his work to wrangle control of crime alley, gone up in smoke.

Great. Fucking fantastic. How in the goddamn was he going to get his body back?!

-

(Three months later, taking a fatal hit to protect someone he’d hated, he learned: the only way to break a curse enacted by sacrifice was another sacrifice.

His.)

-

(Luckily a fatal wound on a small animal is not necessarily so on a grown human, so he gets to live through the consequences of his actions. Hooooorraaay)

[goddess-of-graphite]

Free Plot Bunny

Concept: Madara dying when he was supposed to. Izuna reincarnating as Namikaze Minato and learning Seals and the Hiraishin out of sheer, firey spite. Tobirama reborn as Kakashi, somehow even grumpier and crankier than either character was in canon. Madara as Obito, full of hate and FIGHT ME but grudgingly behaving for his poor Grandma. Hashirama as Rin, who just wants everyone to get along. Kakashi and Minato trying to out-Hiraishin each other. Rin trying and failing to keep her Mokuton a secret. Obito alternatively trying to murder his teammates and fussing over Minato. Minato trying not to fall face-first into love with Kushina. Kakashi beating people up as a five-year-old when they badmouthed Sakumo, saving Sakumo by being very adamant and very vocal about how stupid he thinks everyone is for blaming it all on his dad. Rin thoughtlessly talking as if they were still their past lives and there was no need for keeping quiet about it; learning flower-language in kunoichi classes and making flowers grow in secret messages as a joke. Obito being so proud of his little brother, and fiercely protective of Minato whenever Kakashi is anywhere nearby - bursting into tears when he holds baby Naruto for the first time. (”I’m an uncle!” “Technically-” “SHUT UP I AM.”) A Team 7 that leaves destruction and bewilderment in their wake. A Team 7 that everyone thinks is divided, that hates each other, but then when something happens all of a sudden they’re a cohesive unit, they guard each other’s backs, they flow around each other as if they’ve been doing it their entire lives. When the danger passes, they’re back to normal. A Team 7 that would close ranks around each other when one of them was threatened and no one would see it coming, the sheer visciousness they’d display in defence of their teammates, because everyone knows that they don’t get along at all. But mostly Minato learning Hiraishin out of spite.

[goddess-of-graphite]

Wolf Blood: the Wave Mission

Have half a chapter from a story I have yet to properly write but have regardless drawn numerous things for. One day I may even share it. Feedback welcomed. Confusion embraced. Shapeshifting may apply. Also yes that is exactly who you think it is. If you ask nicely I’ll let you in on the pun I made with his new name.

--

A shape slips between the ice mirrors, tall and dark and with a snarling black wolf mask. Without a sound it steps in front of Naruto and Sasuke, a strange whirl of black distortion in the air devouring the senbon flying towards them and then disappearing as if it was never there.

It is still for a moment. The only sound is the boys’ harsh breathing and the faint crackle of ice.

“Haku,” a voice says sternly, and with a start Naruto realises it comes from the mystery masked man.

Haku, he thinks, and remembers, the boy from the forest.

A beat, and then the Hunter-Nin’s upper body slowly and cautiously emerges from one of the ice mirrors. “Ookami-san,” he murmurs, “How unexpected.”

“Go and get your Master, Haku,” the masked man sighs. “Gatou is dead. Your mission here is over.”

“I – I see…” The Hunter-Nin (Haku!) steps completely out of the mirror and drops to the ground gracefully. The ice mirrors crack and collapse.

The chirping of a thousand birds fills the air.

 Enma is really getting sick of people who are so quick to sacrifice themselves.

With one hand he grips Haku by the ruff, pulling him out of the line of fire; with his other hand (the right one, the one with inexplicable strength) he manages to grasp the silver-haired Shinobi’s wrist, wrenching it away and to the side, effectively diverting the deadly lightning Jutsu. (He ignores the sparks of electricity that dance up his hand and sear his glove.  The nerves in that arm are deadened, and no pain reaches it.)

The mist recedes. He glances back to check on Zabuza and can’t stifle the startled laughter at the sight of him covered in various breeds and sizes of dogs.

“Oh my god,” he chokes gleefully. “Zabuza, you-” The arm gripped in his right hand pulls and he lets it go, not particularly concerned. He uses his now free hand to point at the unfortunate Mist Nin, snickering. “I can’t believe it . This is the best day ever. Oh, the jokes I can make. They’re never ending.” He’s vaguely aware of the Konoha shinobi retreating several yards.

“Try it Ookami,” the man in question snarls, aggressively shifting forward as much as he was able. The dogs growled in warning. “See how long you keep your damn head!”

Still chortling, Enma drops a squirming Haku before the Swordsman and turns to regard the Konoha Nin. “So you’re the one who managed to put Zabuza in the doghouse,” he says, and grins unseen behind his mask at Zabuza’s low cursing at his back.

“And you are?” the silver-haired man inquired mildly, watching them both with wary eyes. (One of them is red and black and spinspinspins and he can almost feel it whirling, see his reflection in it.) Enma notices that he’s flexing his hand as if trying to return feeling to it, and wonders if he gripped him too hard or if it was simply an effect of the Jutsu the man used.

“Ookami,” Enma hums, pointing to his mask and rocking back and forth on his heels. “When I wear this mask, I run missions anonymously for my village. It wouldn’t do to tell you my name!” He puts his finger against where his lips would be under the mask, a ‘shh’ gesture, and taps it cheekily.

“What are you doing here, Ookami?” Zabuza demands with irritation. Haku inches around the dogs, trying to access his Master’s wounds.

“Our villages are allies, so it’s sensible to inform each other when our individual missions conflict,” Enma answers, assessing his damaged glove and wondering if he should check for injuries. “Your mission was assigned by Gatou. My mission was to eliminate Gatou.” He tilts his head back to look at Zabuza. “Sorry,” he says apologetically, “I kind of killed your client. If it helps, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t good for it anyway.”

“Tch. Figures,” Zabuza spits, eyeing the dogs and then the Konoha Nin. “There’s no reason for us to fight anymore, Copy-Nin. Call your mutts off.” The littlest dog, a pug, stares at his leg with narrowed eyes, as if contemplating whether to pee on it.

More trouble than it’s worth, Enma rumbles at it. It blinks at him sleepily. It’s possible that that’s just how it looks, rather than actually being at all tired.

As the man’s Team (Genin? On a mission like this?) wanders skittishly over, clustered protectively around the old man, the Jounin waves off his Summons. They let go of their catch reluctantly and pad over to him, sniffing curiously at Enma as they pass.