#batman#dc comics#bruce wayne#dc#dick grayson#batfamily#batfam#tim drake#dc fanart
seen from Singapore
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seen from Hungary
oh how luvly u r
“ sometimes the quiet nights are the ones you remember most. ”
the quiet nights were often some of the worst. faint buzzing in the brain is only punctuated by the hiss of rodrick's cigarette when he pulls on it, kissing the filter, pinching the paper to keep the shake in his wrist from getting carried away. he doesn't answer daniel right away, but the untidy response is sitting on the tip of his tongue, anyway.
the small radio at his boot tempers the hot embers of their silence, chases the dread away with it's soft, murmuring voice, humming a tune he can't quite catch over the boy's need to be heard. over the boy's heart. the quick boom, boom, boom that comes from somewhere under his skin. somewhere deep, wet. muscled and throbbing.
❛ — ain't all that quiet. ❛ the preacher gently swallows down the guilt of hunger, turning his head a small fraction to glance over at him. with his dark eyes, rodrick's gaze falls towards his jugular and then away. if daniel were less perceptive, maybe, that kind of response might come off as pointed. but rodrick doesn't mind the ceaseless attempts at conversation, not even a little bit. ❛ this world's got music for ears that're ready t'hear it. even the silence gets too loud fer'me somedays. ❛
a soft, knowing shrug and his eyes move back to the man in the rocking chair at his side again. eyeing him under the pale blue glow from the electric bug zapper that hangs from the railing. ❛ ain't ever liked silence, personally. bit eerie. when thangs go quiet here, y'best getcher ass inside — real quick. ❛
@m0ll0ys [text] Can't we talk about this face to face?
contact daniel read at 2:43 a.m.
contact daniel you take the phone for granted. contact daniel what more could i tell you to your face? 'good luck?' be honest, daniel. i will not see how you look at me now. the distance keeps you safe.
@m0ll0ys [text] That movie was awful.
contact: 🤎 daniel. i knew it would be. nicholas cage???? contact: 🤎 daniel. he ruined wicker man, as well. unfortunate.
contact: 🤎 daniel. i want to see. contact: 🤎 daniel. go back to the theatre. :)
[ ' MSG, 3:10AM. DANNY. ']: you're the one who decided to go traveling the continents. we could've had this conversation in person but unfortunately here we are.
@m0ll0ys INQUIRED: [text] Can't we talk about this face to face?
[ ' MSG, 3:12AM. DANNY. ']: i've told you how i felt but i don't expect anything in return, daniel. i know you're adjusting to your new lifestyle and this could be disastrous when brought into the fold.
@m0ll0ys : “You want a better story. Who wouldn’t?”
𝓞r maybe, he wanted a story that wasn’t filled with contradictions, misunderstandings, and lies … oh, yes, he’d read that wretched interview. Risen from a homemade prison crypt cobbled together out of ᴰᴵᴿᵀ and dust, pouring through pages upon pages of foolish recollection ⸺ tales that made him out to be ᴺᴼᵀᴴᴵᴺᴳ more than an uncaring monster, the mother of all devastation, and needless to say, he was not a fan. Lestat’s vanity could hardly handle it. For as much as he loved him, Louis could not be trusted to tell the truth; memory was a funny, fickle thing. Distorted with time, and with one too many hands in the pot. Lestat’s story was by no means ᴮᴱᵀᵀᴱᴿ … merely a raw portrait of a broken man, but a more accurate sense of his character nonetheless.
“I want people to know who I am,” Lestat spoke plainly. It wasn’t enough to spill the secrets of the ᴰᴬᴹᴺᴱᴰ over the airwaves, just like it wasn’t enough to have his face plastered upon every television screen with thousands of people screaming his name, vying for his attention ⸺ the vampire wanted more. He always wanted more, even if it meant ᵀᴱᴬᴿᴵᴺᴳ the fabric of his society apart to get it. Just to see what would happen. If the spotlight was going to be on him, there was ᴸᴵᵀᵀᴸᴱ that could hold him back from revealing all, regardless of the price he may pay.
ㅤㅤ“ ⸺ I want them to know the truth. All of it.”
hard to discern expression benefitting their toying dance, each half-truth teased, & armand volleyed back with blank eyes. watching. delicate glassware carrying deep crimson, too thin to be desired drink, is tentatively brought to pursed lips. a tiringly long sip is held there, without breath. endless circling, these dives into debate. perhaps selfishly, armand goaded & prodding daniel's perspective on penance. did forgiveness require sacrifice? did god require forgiveness? so on, so on. & with such intimate topic, armand's toying repeats playfully discrediting beat. waving the empty hand in dismissal.
“ i know you think i know nothing. “ @m0ll0ys
❝ do not worry, daniel. ❞ saccharine, a blanket of reassurance dragging breathy last syllable. crystal glass placed on wood. ❝ you know what your age allows. ❞ wit creeping into soft voice, a BEAMING SMILE heard but not seen. one uncharacteristically leather clad shoulder ( dressed in a loose jacket he prays daniel does miss, so that he may keep it even longer ) rises & falls independent of a statuesque form, breaking into a casual shrug. ❝ do you want to know, what i think you know? ❞ internal listing of things daniel is sure to know twitches his lip upward. still watching his 20th century teacher.
quiet, warm hum radiates off the ancient, boxy television set, cloaked in walnut that makes clear midcentury origins. the vampire sits, fighting a familiar curl of slender legs to his chest ( to press into shoulder into @m0ll0ys chest, only inches away! ). instead sharp thumb rubs clunky remote control in hand, grip tight. he OBSERVES as colorful, jagged lines zig-zag down the screen until grainy picture emerges. a mess of curls atop a LOVING BLUE-GREEN GAZE comes into view, framed by patient smile & a cloud of smoke.
he can feel his stomach lurch, his face grow hot with another's blood. a golden gaze cuts back over to the subject, seated near him & matured. the same blue greens equally wide, though with something less joyful ( though, when armand played this scene in fantasy, daniel's gaze was slitted, harsh at stolen memories. the nearing fearful alternative brings some semblance of optimism. ) voices, his own louder with close proximity to camera, keep daniel entranced long enough for human features to be considered: the familiar crooked nose, delicate lips. a tousling of curls, only now thinner & colored with age.
he turns his attention back to displayed hazy hotel, to a younger man's recall of what armand guesses must be their final rewatch of TIME BANDITS by the way daniel's eyes glaze over as a disembodied armand redirects THE FILM? & an american accent describes it as weird. response's curt simplicity endears armand even now. the couple prattle on about napoleon's screen time, & he brings his gaze back to reality once his own figure creeps into frame, curling beside lover to elaborate.
back to a shaking, frail hand that sits planted on a denim-clad knee ( the motion another reminder of FAILURE & COWARDICE ) . he blinks twice, hard; a forceful action against the crimson stinging his eyes. he can see daniel repositioned, now matching his stare. the exhale armand lets free does little to comfort under this piercing look: one less naive than that playing behind them. it is the RISING QUESTION building in daniel's mind that twitches a laugh, uncomfortable & stunted, out of armand's chest. THAT WAS STILL HIS DANIEL, RIDDLED WITH MISPLACED CONCERN. ❝ we saw it a few times. nothing you didn't consent to. ❞
