bruz3r - Tumblr blog

[bruz3r]

im sorry this is the less funny version of my broose wants to carbon date his significant others joke 😤

[bruz3r]

" Yes. We can check on the bats but after my coffee ─ okay, baby? " But she's already gone and he's facing the amused expression of his wife. " Just one more sip. "

@am4zon .

[bruz3r]

DON'T MESS WITH ME, 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘. 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐒!

PARAINVESTIGATE is an independent roleplay blog for HELLBOY of dark horse's comic franchise of the same name, protected by WHISKEY.

[bruz3r]

good morning, thinking once again about the narrative implication that the bat is the cause and source of all the crazy in gotham which in my college reading level of comprehension just means he's a silly wet rat sex machine that dramatic people find too sexy they want to kill him

[bruz3r]

FILE : APPEARANCES – [ 07 ] .

[bruz3r]

Adria Arjona as Five in 6 Underground (2019)

[bruz3r]

this is the story of how a woman found herself in death and craweled her way out KICKING AND SCREAMING.

an independent ELEKTRA NATCHIOS of MARVEL as loved by PAIGE. mutuals only. 21+. headcanon based with influences from Netflix's DAREDEVIL and comics. GRAPHIC AND HORROR CONTENT PRESENT.

[bruz3r]

mail arrives at the wayne estate. a more or less neatly packed parcel containing two books without a cover picture. the first one has something scribbled on top saying "just read. don't just. by god just read." the other is covered in a red envelope with the letter 7 scribbled on it. 7 was alvarro's code for "spicy". bruce should probably read that one a little later. there is a letter in the first book addressed at him. "can't decide which one's better. breaking my mind. you can send the worse one back if you like. - L" (my neurotic little mf)

His butler sets down the package over breakfast. Bruce Wayne with a cup of coffee and a plate of butter on toast. A hearty meal for the likes of him. Dessert is chocolate protein shake and a few rounds at the gym. 

A small smile weaves into his usually tired features when he notices he scribbled notes along with the warning of literature probably not best suited to read over breakfast where any of his children could walk in and see. Probably. He takes a long sip of his coffee and then asks for another before he just casually brought both books out into the patio where the bistro table was already set and all he needed was to sit and open the book while the morning faded into the afternoon in front of him and all he’s consumed is perhaps a few buckets of coffee and words served a la Alvarro. 

He sets it down and retrieves a card with his letterhead to scribble down a quick message. 

“ I expect to receive signed copies of the official printing for my library of both novels.  The slightly less explicit one definitely could use some editing. The latter: perfect as it is. ─ 𝐁.𝐖. “

A pause and he scribbles a smile and a heart at the bottom as further emphasis of his genuine enjoyment. He thinks he prefers these over the emojis the kids use. 

    “ Alfred! Can you send this through ? ” He called out from over his shoulder after he was finished.

@4lvarro .

[bruz3r]

@bruz3r

🤣🤣🤣 I’m so sorry, but Nick isn’t allowed to train alone because he just goofs off half the time. Boy has to be supervised

[bruz3r]

A flash of an easy grin, a few more smiles and a quick thank you’s as some of Tony’s employees asked to take a picture with him. He nods cordially and waits for them to walk along before he even relaxes. An easy line to his shoulders settling until a pair of doors open and in his peripherals he sees the familiar silhouette of no one but the 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦' CEO. 

     “ I probably should have called ahead. “ He noted, that 𝘽𝙍𝙐𝘾𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙔𝙉𝙀 grin on his lips and taking off his sunglasses to tuck into the inside pocket of his jacket. Arms open and raised up high, expectantly almost, even if only to clasp the other billionaire by the shoulders and squeeze. “ You busy for little ol’ me? “ 

@dereiserne .

[bruz3r]

To 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗡 its a fair question. There’s too much. He could have been shot ; stabbed ; a number of things in the time that it took him to get there. But to his son it’s a loaded gun ; unsure whether the barrel is full of armor piercing bullets for him or himself. 

And maybe Bruce can’t really blame him. 

[1] How many times has their conversation ended with an epilogue of bruises and bloodshed? 

But maybe there would be some comfort to know that𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗞𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 wasn’t for him. Tonight wasn’t for more arguments or violence in the name of chastisement. The bouquet of flowers in his free hand and the date today must be enough explanation. 

And still, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 ignores the question to walk to the boy and cup his cheek through his mask. Assessing the damage in silence. The boy’s answer not exactly helpful to alleviate the instinctive concern that still takes over his bones like lead and leave him in place. It’s less than the memory of him in his arms, he thought to say but held between his teeth. He’s older and bigger up close now than when he’d carried him home.

[2] That’s something, he suppose. 

He pulls back only when he’s satisfied. 

       “ I’m only here for a walk. “ 

Which from 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗡 was the best explanation he’s ever getting. 

@knightlier cont .

[bruz3r]

There were two bullets. That’s all it takes to kill the man. It takes four more to kill 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗡 where he stood. A little less of him to serve up to 𝘎𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘔 on a silver platter. A little more of himself to lose in another night of an endless war he may never really win. Jason was a reminder of it and he’s held such a large part of him in between the crevices of his tightly held fist it was hard to figure out how much of the blood on the floor was the corpse’s or haunted living standing before him. But this time the rage escaped him much faster than his own heartbeat.

[1] A flash of rage and then BANG its gone.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗡 is depleted of any left for his son. All he has is the sight of blood. The weight of it all too familiar on his palms. The weariness that it adds to his bones as he bent down to close the blood shot eyes of the man his son had just murdered. 

Guilty or not ─ when did they become executioners? 

“ Montoya was working on a case. We’ve got the D.A. on it. “ He answered, his voice rasp with the wear of nails scratching another day on the wall of his enclosures. The reminder that the darkness is just ever growing, raising the roofs and the walls as the night grows longer. A gentle promise that tomorrow will come and the path from the edge of the blood to the nearest exit is once again longer than the day before. “ We were going to put him away. Put them all away. “ One by one. With more danger for casualty. With more chances for another head to replace the hydra in its place. 

A breath through his nostrils. His eyes close and the glow of his eyes dim with it. For a moment all he feels is the drop of rain on his skin. On his cheek. His stubble. His lips. He wonders if the taste of iron is from guilt or something else. He thinks 𝘎𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘔 has always tasted a little too close to blood. 

“ No, son. “ It’s a crack. Something in the facade breaks through for a moment and one might almost see blue through the white of his lens as he opened them and stared back at his boy. 

[2] Not again. Never again. He had promised that. Especially not him again. 

“ I don’t know. “ He admits. More than he’s said since their fight. More than he’s ever said when faced with the end of a gun and the wrath of his own son ready to ravage him. “ I just know this can’t be the only way to do this. ” He murmurs, his voice soft ─ tired and strained ─ by the admittance, by the weight of such a truth.

INSIDE HIS HEART   which should not beat so willingly,   there is a young boy wanting to make his father proud.   and in the dark of gotham’s long night that boy is watching on with a look of horror in his bruised eyes.   to him alone,   the dead robin would cry with blood pouring from his mouth:   why are you doing this!,   but tonight he is quiet.   for when the batman takes the red hood in either fist,   there is a severance which continues to divide them like the parting of tectonic masses.   between them a chasm of distrust and hatred,   guilt and desperation,   magma gurgles exposed beneath the surface of an impending erupt.   jason’s fist is tight but his trigger finger lays upon the safety,   and the barrel is pointed at their feet.   his shoulders usher forward as the batman pulls at his jacket,   and then his heels return to the ground when the batman steps away.

why won’t he just   TRUST   me?

“yes,   i did.”   it is not defense still but   reason,   jason gestures with his firearm towards the body which begins to stiffen.   “what were   YOU   going to do about this shitbag?   give him to the cops falcone has in his pocket?”   and while the notorious falcone may have a large share of the GCPD paid off,   not all of their hands are dirty.   there is always a chance justice may yet prevail,   but with the dead man’s rap sheet,   jason couldn’t fathom taking on those odds.   safer just to get the trash out of the street.   for good.

“he’s getting parents killed and taking vulnerable orphans to raise ‘em like his own little drug runners.   and those thirteen-year-olds selling dope under   falcone’s   name?   they were gonna start a turf war without even   knowing   it!   how the   HELL   was your   outdated version of justice   going to put an end to that,   BRUCE?”

beneath the mask of the red hood there is a smile,   a grin,   sardonic and aching to rein words he knows he'll only say for a reaction.   like an addict,   he keeps pushing their every interaction to the edge.   euphoria,   revelation,   blood exchanged between fists.   the comedown always sucks.   “...or maybe you just wanted   one more dead kid   under your belt.”

[bruz3r]

' I love you but I wish you didn't love me. '

His head tilts and his fingers lightly caress his cheek to his jaw. A bewildered furrow to his brow and a small helpless smile on his lips. As if the question along with its answer was inevitable. 

         “ Do you really wish for something that cruel for me, Harvey? “ He asked, in almost a whisper. Hand cupping his cheek. 

@acidcaught .

[bruz3r]

How long has it been? — His own question haunts him with an emptiness ; a carved out crater somewhere between rib and stomach where the ache throbbed even now, even after everything. And his gaze stumbles – guilt, longing, all of it, even – maybe for the life that could have been between them. 

The empires they could have built between what ifs and what could have been-s. 

“ Then – “ A pause. Ever the Detective as clarity puts pieces into place. “ You were here for me. “ He points out then, rough hand cupping her cheek. Thumb stroking a small circle against her temple, just below her eye. “ Weren’t you? “

She prefers him without the cowl. When they first met, she had pulled it from his face, not truly recognizing his features under the bruises and the blood. How long since they met? How long since they fell in love? Or how long since he said I do? It no longer matters, time nor distance. They have their duties. Their love was a star that shone too bright, too quickly.

Her hand rises to fix his hair from the cowl's disturbance. When finished, it falls back to her side, away from him. She is not upset at his forgetfulness. Disappointed, perhaps, but there's no anger. It is not surprising. He has.. others. "Many years, beloved. Many years. It is only a date ; do not let me disrupt your night. I am not here on business. No league members hide in your shadows."

[bruz3r]

Is it arrogance to shine brighter than the sun? To warm him with just a smile? To send heat to the very core of his nerves and his frame with her proximity? Has anyone ever tried or come close? Perhaps those are all questions meant to be answered when he’s not at the mercy of her presence ; when his thoughts and his breath are so devoted to worshiping her lips, her skin, and wanting to dig his teeth back into the same crevices he had already marked as his in the shadow of night. 

“ Mhm. “ He whispers, tracing his fingers along every ridge of her spine, to her shoulder blade to the nape of her neck, pressing her firmly to him. Skin to skin. “ I should never have doubted you. ” He whispered against her jaw before he’s lifting himself up by his elbow only to turn them onto her back. His lips finding hers for a moment as hands run down her sides, grabbing hips and thighs, locking her legs around him as his length teased against her entrance. Pulling back, to look, to ask and demand ─ a moment of prayer before the act.  Hovering to take in the carnage of marks he knew would soon disappear, with only one intent clear in the fire in his gaze: reclaim and conquer the sacred ground of his new religion. 

Her. 

She is wild in her nakedness: the curly hair that falls down smooth shoulders, the soft valley of her belly that leads to her greatest intimacy, the breasts that are decorated with bite marks matching his teeth. Her face does not portray a smile but something more hauntingly beautiful than that, something that says she is neither predator nor prey, but something softer yet more determined than either. Diana sinks into Bruce's embrace, astride him but certainly not the one in control. She allows Bruce that, the control, instead.

❝ All the pretty girls you have let in your bed, and it is the Amazon you cannot help but to miss. ❞ Diana teases and taunts, not touching him but her nudity invites his caresses all the same. She tilts her face, she does not lower her voice, but her tone grows huskier with desire. ❝ It is as I have said, Bruce: I do not think you've ever known a woman like me before. ❞

[bruz3r]

[bruz3r]

Sometimes that must be the risk when you turn man into a weapon ; even the simplest of words become knives against throats. He doesn’t even think about it ; doesn’t consider how it would come off. Caught between a wall and a hard place ; between heartache and longing and nowhere to run to. And she speaks and the hard won hope is once again dragged to the floor, teeth in the dirt and hands in the mud. Eating his own words through iron and sodium. 

Has she been talking to Alfred, of all people. Or is his old man again talking about him to anyone that would listen. His brow arches. His words hanging to the back of his throat, scraping against the wall as he practically hissed the words. “ Is that jealousy or observation? “

Ah, the sting of him using that moniker is like a splash to her face with bladed water. The chill it sets off between them is deadly, their bodies drowning beneath the ice. With him, she has shared her mind and her body and her heart. He has moved inside her in the ancient way of lovers and sparked beginnings where there was once only an end. She holds herself in arms weary from carrying weapons of destruction; when did she who was made for love become too jaded for that which defines her?

She buries her gaze in the floor, far away from him. Like she' is refusing to see him if he is refusing to acknowledge her as Diana. ❝ Perhaps that wishful thinking will be fulfilled by one of the many who have been sharing your bed as of late. ❞ He smells of others and Alfred had told her so, too. And it is unfair of her to say this, perhaps, for it was her who struck him down, after all.

Nevertheless, she stands in silence and allows her statement to remain.