#Absolute Bruce Wayne

[dumbassalex]

Yk how people go wild over Absolute Batman being 24? Absolute Superman is canonicaly 18/19 in the story according to Jason Aaron, and i think that's something we should remember, especialy when it comes to SuperBat stuff.

[fishyfcuk]

absolute batman #2

[gl1tchr]

your honor I have no excuse for this behavior. he's wearing Crocs

[scipplyzndoodlyz]

Scars & Sweat

Absolute Batman/Bruce Wayne x Reader fic

NSFW :: MDNI W/C: 3k Not-in-the-know: Absolute Bruce Wayne is in his mid-20s and a civil engineer instead of a billionaire. He is also not well known throughout Gotham yet. Scenario: Gotham - mid Party Animals crisis. You are a shut in that hasn't left their apartment building in months, it's taken weeks of practice just to leave your room, and with the news of masked marauders tearing the city up, you're not planning on pushing yourself further anytime soon. You've left your friends and family on read, and the most human contact you've had is with delivery drivers. However, unknowingly to you, Batman finds himself at the foot of your door after a night of carnage against Black Mask in deseperate need of some covert and descrete medical care, and you're the only one availble... T/W: blood, scars, reader has a history of self harm and self hatred, bruising, breakdowns, self deprecation, FiRsT X rEaDeR fIC Tags: hurt/comfort, awkward sex, drafted nurse, scent, soft grime, tease

He just showed up. You groggily opened the apartment door to grab deliveries earlier that morning and felt a soft bump, followed by a bassy “ow”, and there he laid, a pulverized bear of a man, resembling a second hand piñata of roadkill more than a human.

Phoning the hospital was out of the question. You tried that. As soon as those 3 beeps sounded off from your phone, the body that you were convinced could barely stand, caged your hand with its own massive claws just before you tapped call. “Don’t…” He ordered. The look he gave scared away any questions of detail, so your curiosity persisted silently.

Bloodshot eyes bounced from wall to window, keeping tabs on every point of cover or camera blindspot, all while heaving to try and get up onto a fragile standing position. It wasn’t much use. “Aid… First… Aid…” He whimpered with a weak breath.

This man didn’t really need to explain that he was too weak to dress his wounds and stitch himself up, frankly, you noticed that as soon as he tried to sit on your bed with his cold, shaking figure. Probably the Party Animals, you thought to yourself. You’d heard enough stories about them and seen enough news lately that it just felt obvious. From that point it was clear; you had just been drafted and this was your patient.

Unveiling his arms, you've seen bacterial cultures and abstract art with less vibrant and contrasting colors than this beast’s skin: scars, bruising, burns, the works. And you really feel that word - beast -  This thing growls when you clean its cuts, and it rumbles with a low purr that is indecipherable from anger, concentration, or throat phlegm. 

Their physique, it’s a map of conflict, continuously marked, revised, and torn. You can’t look away because you recognise some of these wounds, they’re going to leave lasting scars on the stranger. After all, you should know, you’ve had experience. 

Stone-like calluses on feral, scarred hands, red from something you’re too scared to ask about, as you gently bandage it up you feel their burning warmth. You even find yourself going slower just to be near them a few seconds longer.

Scribbles of indents and protrusions of flesh in the arms display a history of almost playful acts of violence, only partially obscured by a combination of wet and blood dried body hair. This stranger is huge, you don’t have enough product to go over his entire body on your bed. Feeling the urgency you manage to utter through the tension “S-Shower…”

“What?” He replied.

“Sh-Shower. It’ll clean the wounds quicker.”

It’s Gotham. You barely go outside as is, even less so now the Party Animals have been causing chaos, but everyone knows you don’t even touch the Gotham streets with a gloved hand if you can help it. A similar thought must’ve run through the stranger's head as, with a growl, he begins slowly taking off his… Combat gear? You’re not sure. It’s a strange mix of nylon bullet proofing and what looks like slate. 

Regardless, the little amount he is able to do, before requesting your assistance, releases a scent of combined blood, sweat, rain water, and what you’re pretty sure is gunpowder. It's a revolting chemical compound that doesn't leave your mind without a bit of force, even when a twisted part of you wants it to stay. Eventually he strips down to the essentials and goes into your shower to do the rest himself. 

Months of isolation and self imposed loneliness has atrophied your social capabilities, and you almost got up to follow him before having to remind yourself, Oh yeah! The blood! - After changing your sheets and cleaning what you were able to, you hear the large stranger call for you in the bathroom.

Opening the door a cloud of mild steam brushes up your body, slowly revealing the towering, imposing stranger. At last you could really see what he was like, his skin cleared of dirt, stains, and blood, but still covered in marks. His build was large, like that of a powerlifter, a work of craftsmanship of both muscle and fat that invited you to get lost in it. He didn’t need the definition. He didn’t need visibly rippling abs. It was raw power that needed no explanation.

“Uuuhh… My wounds?”

You’re staring.

“...OH! O-Oh s-sorry! Yes!”

Snapping yourself out of it, you tend to his injuries again. You can actually see everything more clearly now, and feel it too. His skin, his hair, it's smooth with occasional imperfections from scarring. You hate that texture usually, it's too familiar to you. But this feels different. You want to feel these scars, and so you take it even slower.

Wounds sewn shut, gashes bandaged and wrapped, bruises padded down, and abrasions cleaned, everything appears to be tended to except a slight elevation under the towel on his waist. 

W-When did he get that? You think to yourself - This isn't uncommon. You have experienced it a lot actually. Some nights would go by where you’d sit back surrounded by sheets and pillows, the pain and disorientation lingering in your flesh or maybe your face would sting slightly from crying, and then it would just grow in you suddenly. Most of the time you’d ignore it. I don’t deserve something like that, you’d say. 

You notice he’s looking away. His rough exterior just cracked for a moment. The serious face he’d been wearing gives way to embarrassment. On instinct you step back.  

“I should go.” He says with a humiliating sigh.

The stranger stumbles to his knees, recklessly attempting to walk out, causing the towel to fall to the floor. You turn your head away quickly and hold a hand in front of your face, but you were still able to catch a glimpse of it. 

“Y-You need to rest! I-I can give you my bed if you n-need it!”

He shouldn’t even be here, he should be in a ward being cared for by top notch professionals, not some shut-in covered in scars!

A typhoon of emotions is circulating in your blood. There is a potent flavor of self hatred within for feeling even the slightest bit of interest in this stranger, a stranger who doesn’t have much of a choice. Or maybe he’s doomed you; the Party Animals could be round the corner with SMGs and machetes, and you’re just collateral to get to him. 

Doesn’t matter, I’ve probably infected him anyway with the patch job! 

“Thank you…”

…What?

He gets up, lumbers over to the fresh bed you made and crawls in like a bear looking for a hole to hibernate in. There's a sudden coughing fit, and you feel your body throw you on instinct in his direction to check on him. The large stranger flips onto his back. Clearly that side was poking into something awful. The protrusion coming from between his fupa and large thighs is still there under the sheets. For a moment you both just… look at it.

“Food?” You ask, trying desperately to cut the tension.

The stranger nods awkwardly then winces from neck pain. 

Your hands fumble through a small forest of takeout leaflets that drift to the floor as you sort through them, with hands that utterly refuse to stay still. 

Screw it! Cantonese! 

You place the order.

You forget to ask what the stranger wants. Hopefully he likes his seafood.

Returning to the bed, purposefully avoiding the topic of the order while your eyes helplessly land on the erection beneath the sheets, you finally ask “O-Okay, seriously, what the hell is your name?”

The man looks at you blankly for a solid 10 seconds before replying.

“...Malone.”

Bullshit.

“Great, Malone. D-Do you need help with that?”

…What did I just ask?

“Would it… help if it was gone?” Asked Malone.

“A-a little bit, yeah.”

Anything to get this static out of my head. Am I seriously doing this? I’ve not even touched someone like that in months. Am I honestly that desperate that I’m exploiting an injured ma-what is he doing with my hand?

 It’s warm. It’s thick.

“You looked a little overwhelmed.” Said Malone with a bassy, yet tender voice.

The softness of freshly washed skin paired with the gentle humidity of faint sweat made his parts feel like a tactile toy. The strong desire to play with every combination of skin fold, malleability, and position of this cock is powerful. At last you turn to fully see it, the blanket lifted like a theatre curtain. 

Could you take it? Probably not. It’s not long, but it is girthy. But that scent. An aroma like oak wood smoked meats, and the worst gym locker room odor you can think of. It is both disgusting and enticing. Like those foul smelling fermented foods that you knew tasted heavenly once it reached your lips.

For a while, you’re not sure how long, you softly squeeze it’s different sections, from the base, pulling down his hood, and then slowly playing with the head. Just watching the skin slide up and down, covering and uncovering the head is hypnotic. Those other thoughts definitely aren't bugging you anymore.

Why does it have to be this that finally makes me calm?…  Why does it have to feel so… Simple? I don’t want this to be a right answer.

Maybe it's the release of so much anxiety, or maybe it’s a clue that you need to mail order a stress toy, but you feel your eyes begin to water.

“I’m so sorry, we can stop.” Says Malone.

NOPE!

You kiss it. Just with your lips. But you press the warm cock deep into your face, painting yourself with his fragrance. Malone’s parts twitch, rocking your face back and forth a couple times before you finally release it, and watch as a silvery, translucent drop blooms from the head. You tell yourself that you’re not going back to those muddled feelings and go in for a taste. The beast grunts violently from the sharp sensation of your tongue as well as the stinging, aching pains of his wounds. It is a writhing motion. “Malone” clenches his jaw trying to fight back the agony. You even see his hand considering reaching around the back of your head to push you further down.

Watching this pain, this sensory grip, it strikes your mindlessness with fear, fear that you’ll break him, but then that hand makes up it’s mind and you find that your vision is blacked out and your ears are muffled by thighs, fupa, and warm parts, with “Malone” stifling a pained and sensually intoxicated growl. You reach between your thighs to confirm suspicions and… Yeah, you’re leaking.  

This beast has you trapped now, all you smell is him, all you hear is him, all that you want to feel is him. Even here you can feel the scars on his skin, the fat of his body hugging you like a warm pack, and his muscles locking you in place. On instinct you begin to brush his imperfections with your tongue as you also clamber fully onto the bed. The agonized twitches and contractions of Melone’s abdomen are powerful. They almost sound like a second heartbeat down where you are, all it does is serve to drive you deeper into him. Soon all you can hear is the beating of his femoral arteries. You feel every bump and indent of his past wounds, and then the softness of his package above you. He’s trying so hard to keep you still, but loves your mouth so much. 

Now you linger in this soft darkness of muscles, tendons, fat, pain and joy while his breath steadies. 

Joy… Not joy. Please, not joy.

You’ve told yourself you don’t deserve to feel good, to the point seeing excessive happiness in others is scary. It feels uncomfortable, like if you get lost in that feeling you’ll be blind to doing something stupid, that the rose tinted glasses will disguise something horrible. But there’s no rose tint here. Here there are stitches, bandages, blood stains, sweat, hurt, and tears. You thought you found clarity in this in the past, but now you want marks. Not marks left by you, but by him.

Then slowly, Malone releases you from his grip. That hand that held you down now deeply strokes your hair and scratches your head, which you’re pretty sure has now got pre on it, but you don’t care. Gotham is gone as far as you’re concerned. No monsters outside, no Party Animals, no Peacemakers, no Tetracide. It's just him.

He takes quaking deep breaths, his eyes peering past scruffy, unbrushed, dark hair. While you look from between his legs, his square face is half-blocked by his still hard, but very leaky, parts. And for a while you both softly whimper, looking at each other, and watching his cock twitch and pour out onto you. 

You take the initiative to pull yourself up, trying not to press onto anything you’ve bandaged or padded up. But if it means he will push you down into him again, you wouldn’t mind at all. No, you don’t want to cause more damage. Instead you look at the cock again, and glide your lips and tongue up and down it, kissing it, breathing softly onto it, all while you start to touch yourself and spread yourself strategically onto this man’s body. Malone clearly beats your bed any day, it's not even a close call.

Gradually your motions become stronger, trying your best to also gaze into his eyes, showing every fucked up emotion in your head, and merely glimpsing his. You still don’t even really know what led him here, but right now that doesn’t matter. His dark eyes silently order you to continue servicing him, while gently encouraging you to touch yourself; an expression of stern, trusting, care.

His abdomen tenses, he’s close, you open your mouth wide to take his head, and then

BEEP BEEP

The order came before he did.

AAAH!! Oh god what have I done!? Shit! The order!!

Malone watches you scramble off the bed and scurry to the door like a skittish rat. Your mind racing as you run down the apartment building to collect, desperately hoping that you haven't left a wet patch in your bottoms, and then returning to your apartment to find Malone wiping away what you now just realised you wanted in your mouth more than the food.

“OH COMMON!!” You shout, causing the stranger to flinch.

For a second you feel a wave of humiliation over how you just acted, mixed with the sewage of other emotions you have in your body at the moment, until realising he’s still hard. The feeling of relaxation after seeing that calms you.. And realising that this calms you, then proceeds to sicken you. 

“I-I’m so sorry!” You say, tears flowing from your eyes. 

Malone clearly is not feeling great about this either. Maybe this was a mistake. “I’m going to need to rest for a while. I’m… sorry if you got overwhelmed, but if you want I can actually leave this time.”

“N-No.”

Please don’t leave me like this.

“I… Can still take care of you.”

“...Alright then.” Says the stranger.

The rest of the night is awkward. You do feel better after the food though. 

You try putting on some TV but the stranger requests you avoid the news. You ask what he’d like to watch on youtube but he just doesn’t answer. So you put on your own things to which he takes some interest in. Telling you who he is would clearly be dangerous, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve ruined the space between the two of you. He really has no other choice for recovery.

I fucked it up again… I acted like an immature idiot. Rose tinted glasses as usual.

Soon it becomes time to sleep. “Malone” is starting to look extremely tired, as are you. You didn’t consider where you were going to sleep. 

The couch? 

No, that should be his spot. 

But he’s got a spot.

But that’s my spot.

So you march over to your spot, ready to try and push him off, regardless of the circumstances until you see him offering up a slot next to him for the night. And for a moment you feel weak, as you stop to look. He’s hard again. “You don’t have to do anything.” He says assuredly.

You tentatively take the offer, and burrow in next to him. The stranger’s huge body acted almost like tent poles to prop up the blankets. It's so spacious, and so warm. His cock presses against you every now and then drawing your attention, but the stranger doesn’t guide your hand this time, instead you reach over to it slowly inch by inch, and then stroke. 

No goal, no end point, just touching.

Wounds like his will require time to heal, and maybe another night before he should be going out again. Though after this he might leave. You have no idea. But for now, you feel a great comfort in being near someone again. And just when you thought he’d only been putting up with you, he pulls you into him, letting you sink tiredly into him. Tomorrow doesn’t matter, for now, the two of you just rest there, in an achy, sensual slumber. 

You’ll figure the rest out when the time comes. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Authors Notes: [[Finally did it, finally made an x reader. I struggled with the ending adfskhgopnw, but I hope you liked it. Feel free to comment or even request. I'm mostly doin' Marvel & DC stuff.

Wanted to do an absolute batman fic cause there aren't many, so fine I shall do it myself! Apologies for spelling and grammar, have a lovely evening.]]

[vertigoartgore]

2024's Absolute Batman Vol.1 #1 cover by artist Nick Dragotta and colorist Frank Martin.

[camo-wolf]

Absolute Batman #3 covers

[apocalypse-shuffle]

I feel like Absolute Batman could’ve been more radical. As it stands (and this is just based off issue one, so my view is very limited rn) he’s just main continuity Batman if they redid his origin again and nudged the execution of his vigilantism slightly to the side — and if he was edgier.

As it stands he barely feels anything more than aesthetically different in regards to drastic changes. Even his more violent approach isn’t out of the realm of Bruce characterizations we’ve already seen both in and out of the comics, and even in main continuity sometimes (imo).

I don’t know, it just feels like this could’ve been a “safe” (less polarizing) way to explore the opposite approach to comic vigilantism from main continuity Bruce’s without blanketly villainizing things like being anti-establishment or anti-cop or just less pro-reform in general. Instead the only drastic differences Absolute Batman has to main continuity Batman is being deliciously big as hell (hence the, The Batman Who Lifts™️ jokes), being more purposely depicted as hyper-violent without the writers feeling the need to scramble to make as many excuses for said violent behavior, and being shown making a conscious effort to manually repair (through his construction job) any property damage he causes.

Otherwise he just comes from a working class (not at all rich) background and so his perspective on life is more “grounded”, grew up being friends with his original continuity rogues gallery with his mother still alive to raise him, and how he works around getting expensive gadgets is different as opposed to just buying them or getting them custom made (but he still uses similar gadgets to what he uses in main continuity regardless). Him and Spy!Alfred are fighting, making them enemies for right now instead of the master/servant & father/son-esq relationship they usually have, which is different too but not crazy.

Overall, though, these are all things that, in my opinion, only skew Absolute Batman a little to the left as opposed to creating any actual impactful subversion with this version of the character. So as far as first impressions go I’ve found him to be very lackluster but I suppose I just expected more than I should have (tho I do still think that with the setup we’ve been given that my initial judgement can be proven wrong, but we’ll see).



Obviously though my overall opinion isn’t (and can’t be) concrete right now as I haven’t read the entire series yet, but I do still have initial thoughts. Hopefully I have to eat my words as the series continues but, otherwise, the new gadgets he has are cool (the bat-axe & ear knives were a sight to behold) and I do like the changes in his character and Gotham and am interested in how the story will go. I just would like to see something different with this depiction of Batman also.

Anyway, I’m done for now. Bye!

—

EDIT: While (after reading issue #2) I still so far stand but what I said up top, I do want to say that even though Absolute Batman is certainly and noticeably different from main continuity Batman, that he isn’t ‘woke’. As per usual the appropriated bastardized version of that term strikes again, but in this case, with the meaning it’s been retroactively given by the masses, I don’t even think it fucking applies. Some people will truly call anything a little askew from the status quo ‘woke’ so whatever, at this point I can’t take any critiques seriously when they throw that term around like the gatcha it wasn’t even originally meant to be; it’s like putting a negative amount of thought into a review and at that point what merit can a review even have?

Calling this comic “Absolute Woke”? You bitches are dumb, I’m sorry. Like, is the ‘wokeness’ in the room with us right now?

I do still absolutely want to gnaw on his thighs though, hell, even his calves are thick:

ALSO where did working class Bruce get that big ass Batmobile from?!?!? Did he steal it????

[singswan-springswan]

In a happy world where Jason is legally resurrected and gets to go to college like he's always dreamed of

[pedrocomicreviews]

Absolute Batman #5

"The only hero of this story, Batman, is money."

Man, call me an idiot, I can never hate on Scott Snyder. The guy has a way with tone and words that always appeals to me, no matter how fucking dumb some of these stories can get. Absolute Batman continues to show the man's still got it.

At this point we're all in on the bit: Batman will have everything he needs in order to say ice cold shit and do cool stunts, money is not an object. But as far as the story is concerned, money is a temptation, and it's cool to see it used to send a message. Sure, I watched it done in The Dark Knight back in 2008, but the scene was good. More people should steal from it.

The brutal takedown of Batman's first major plan going completely wrong, even when we didn't know what it was, wasn't where I thought this was going. It's all all rendered like crazy by Dragotta and Martin, who feel like they're having so much fun illustrating this story. I also really like Crowles's decision of lettering goofy ahh 60s Batman sound effects all over the fight scenes, but they're ridiculously violent. It all has a lot of personality.

I do hope we don't end up playing this game of will-they-won't-they between Bruce and Alfred finally working together. While I know they said "he has no butler" in this, this Alfred both isn't a butler and clearly would like to stick around. I dunno, It's Batman and Alfred, I don't know if five issues in I still believe he's got doubts about putting down roots in Gotham. And if he doesn't, well, shit, that's a great character going away, no one wins here.

And at the end of the day, this is probably my favorite version of Black Mask, ever. Reminds me of his more comedic and unhinged portray in the Under the Red Hood movie in 2010. He's a menace the likes of which only the Joker usually is in this, and I really appreciate the committal to him during this introduction arc. I hope he doesn't just die at the end of it.

Overall, the Absolute project keeps on giving. Super happy with how it's turning out, can't wait for Martian Manhunter.

[sparkoflena]

Kon: Why are you staring at me so intently?

Tim, completely casually: I think I want to stab you with Kryptonite a few times. In different areas. For science.

Kon: ...why is my best friend considering torturing me?

Tim: I'm wondering if it takes you down so badly because it is truly that dangerous to you or if the invulnerablility of Kryptonians gives you a weak pain tolerance.

Kon: And you're asking me, a half human, instead of Clark or Kara?

Tim: They'd start telling Bruce about my "concerning villainous behavior" again.

Kon: And I won't?

Tim: I've kept fighting through pneumonia, a gunshot wound, and broken bones. And you go down when I poke you with a rock. Come on, you've got to be curious.

Kon: ...okay, I am a little curious.

Tim: YES! You won't regret this!

Kon: I will absolutely regret this.

[everwalldigan]

Concept: Jason sending Tim a different drug dealer’s name every month so that rich kid Tim Drake tries to make the dealer sell to him as a test if they’re truly sticking to Jason’s no selling to kids rule.

Jason has essentially killed two birds with one stone, 1. He got to identify and take out the fuckers that were still selling to kids and 2. He essentially made sure Tim could never buy anything from Gotham’s dealers. Call it his way of caring.

To anybody else, Tim just looked like another stupid rich kid who doesn’t know what they’re getting themselves into but the ruse is up when the news starts spreading that anyone who sells to Tim Drake specifically will get their ass busted by the Red Hood. So the next time Jason sees Damian he pitches the idea up to him and the few dealers that sell to Damian get an especially slow and painful treatment cause how dare they sell to what is very clearly a 14 year old baby??

The operation is kept strictly away from Bruce, of course, until one day some reporter breaks the story about billionaire Bruce Wayne’s kids caught trying to buy drugs and all HELL breaks loose. The end result was all of them being grounded for a month after a 5 hour long rant about responsibility and damaging their civilian reputations and the entire Wayne family being blacklisted from the drug market no matter how much cash they wave around.

[bruciemilf]

Batman isn’t a mask; It’s a leash. In this essay I will—

[fishyfcuk]

absolute batman #5

[deecotan]

absolute superbat

[noodles-and-tea]

:(

[soranatus]

THE ABSOLUTE TRINITY By Dan Mora