#andrew flair

[lemonboyjosten]

the way andrew takes pristine care of everything that belongs to him, including all of his responsibilities eg. the people under his care, is truly admirable. it’s hard not to love him. he probably also suffers from a mild case of OCD. funny thing is that, while andrew is all about order, neil is anything but. andrew's need for order and control possibly stems from a desire to protect himself and others, while neil's disregard for order reflects on his pursuit of freedom and a rejection of the oppressive forces (his parents) that have shaped his existence. now putting this into a daily scenario: imagine andrew's obsession with meticulous care and responsibility management is so extreme that even his cats have a personalized 5-year plan. it’s endearing and borderline hilarious. meanwhile, neil's idea of organization is finding his left sock in the morning. they are polar opposites of each other in some instances and thats perfectly normal behaviour resembling that of an old married couple.

#i love andrew minyard from the bottom of my heart #i wont hesitate to chop anyone who dares to hate on andrew into bite sized pieces #i’ve got the flair for the dramatics but i heard so does neil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #the foxhole court #palmetto state foxes #gay #lgbtq #the raven king #the kings men #aftg trilogy #tfc #trk #tkm #nora sakavic #aftg fandom #aftg headcanon

[andrew-dramaqueen-minyard]

sometimes Neil gets hay fever or just allergies that irritate his skin and it makes his scars flair up and be more raised and itchy and when that happens he gets incredibly restless and wants to scratch his whole body so Andrew just, holds his hands constantly.

And then if he’s still restless Andrew will do “the cold trick”, in that he gets an ice cube and rubs it on Neil’s skin. 90% of the time that will ground him or distract him from the itchiness and the other 10% it makes Neil just wanna kiss him. Both outcomes are good.

#aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #aftg hc #andreil headcanon #Neil’s scars #late night hc inspired Neil bring me in that I’m having a flair up and i want to scratch my skin off #but cold helps #the raven king #the kings men #all for the gay #this is also just another excuse for them to hold hands hehe

[20genderchild]

"why are these jobbers and randos getting tv time when there could be more womens matches instead" what if we cut ftr's time in half and gave that to a womens match. best of both worlds!

#aew #aew collision #imagine not being oh so happy to see andrew everett on your tv screen #it's so frustrating cause like #we need more women's matches!!!! we do!!!!! #but dont be an asshole about other underutilized talent getting time #we can't even get a workhorsemen match without dick flair's gross face everywhere

[dogwhizzer]

love how all the men who have ever played whizzer have their own version of annoying fag voice

#stephens straight but idc hes an honorary fag to me. masc king #he's got like a nerdy flair about his it's great it's very classic #andrews is silly it reminds me of my grandma a little bit it's great. love you midwest girl #nick a hes like. Well he's like la millennial fag. is the masc in the room with us type voice #i don't know man just look him up youll understand #garfs barfs

[bughead-in-the-comics]

From Square Flair, Jughead's Jokes #59 (1978).

#bughead #jughead jones #betty cooper #archie andrews #old comics #digest comics #complete panels #jughead's jokes #bughead high school #bughead spring #bughead party #bughead stage #bughead food #bughead singing #bughead surprised #square flair

[mybrainproblems]

sometimes (okay, a lot of the times) i think about how a showrunner took 12 years of his combined work, both as a general writer and eventual showrunner, and just lined everything up and blasted it to bits in 40 minutes.

and that takes either a lot of effort or lots of interference bc the thing that dabb has consistently put forward is that dean wants a home, wants a life, wants to retire.

#15x20 feels like it has had deep DEEP bites taken out of its narrative connective tissue. like it's not there. things just happen. #the thing that sticks out like a sore thumb to me is that the structure starts as standard in terms of what i think of as being a dabb ep #but besides the pie festival scene there isn't really anything i'd point to as being definitely his writing. #like i'm not saying he has an identifiable panache or stylistic flair of say bedlund or robbie but he has a kinda particular structure #for his episodes and Themes that he leans on heavily and to see almost NONE of that is just. wat. #nvm that he wrote 15x10 which is basically a blueprint good end for dean and then just fully contradicts himself 10 eps later #14x20 -> 15x01 -> 15x04 -> 15x10 -> 15x20 is an insane series of episodes to watch with all but 15x04 written by dabb #broke: get stoned and sync up pink floyd's dark side of the moon and wizard of oz #woke: get stoned and turn your brain to soup about the writer of spn episode dark side of the moon andrew dabb #spn #finale fuckery #dabbnatural

[kwebtv]

Flair  -  Seven Network  -  August 1-2, 1990

Drama / Miniseries (2 episodes)

Running Time:  120 minutes episode

Stars:

Heather Thomas as Tessa Clarke

Andrew Clarke as Phillip Harmon

James Healey as Chris Drake

Rowena Wallace as Pamela Winter-Smith

Joseph Bottoms as Matt Lee

Charles Tingwell as Bert Clarke

Imogen Annesley as Sally Clarke

David Reyne as Mark Tupper

Elaine Smith as Megan

Briony Behets as Samantha Harmon

Khym Lam as Mira

#Flair #TV #Seven Network #1990's #Drama #Miniseries #Heather Thomas #Andrew Clarke #James Healy #Rowena Wallace #Joseph Bottoms #Charles Tingwell #Imogen Annesley #David Reyne #Elaine Smith

[emiliosandozsequence]

christina's world by andrew wyeth, 1948 / foolsdoart recreates masterpieces / caught on camera: art alive 2017 / writing afterimage: show versus tell and the multimedia narrative / ethel cain in 'american teenager' music video / flair - bruno dayan 'cornfield' / by sebvidophoto on flicker / christina's world relived by laura corebello

#christina's world #andrew wyeth #ethel cain #american teenager #bruno dayan #web weave #web weaving #web weavings #web weaves #mine #mww #comparatives #comparative #robyn

[reportwire]

Drew Brees tweets dumb comeback idea

Drew Brees tweets dumb comeback idea

Drew BreesPhoto: Getty Images Over the weekend, Jameis Winston’s commentary about realizing his passion “wasn’t football,” it was “playing football” seems to have resonated with Drew Brees. It was also more interesting than anything he’s ever said in the public sphere. Brees is going through a pseudo-mid-life crisis exacerbated by career changes that can best be described as somewhere between…

View On WordPress

#American football #Andrew Marchand #Cris Collinsworth #Deadspin #Dennis Allen #Drew Brees #football #Football League #Football Night in America #Fox #Jameis Winston #Jason Witten #Johnny Manziel #Manningcast #Michael Keaton #National Football League #NFL #Peyton Manning #Phillip Rivers #Ric Flair #Rob Gronkowski #Sean Payton #Sports #Super Bowl MVPs #the NFL #Tom Brady #wrestling

[songoftrillium]

Meet The (Updated) Art Team

Hello Kinfolks!

I've been really looking forward to this post for a while, and it's now time to unveil the art team I've assembled to put this project together! They're some heavy hitters that y'all ought to recognize, so without further ado let's meet them!

Bek Andrew Evans

Linktree

Mx. Bek Andrew Evans (he/they) is a freelance writer and illustrator from Jackson, Mississippi. He's been doing art since he was young and takes inspiration from comic books (particularly in the 90s), Jhonen Vasquez, grunge, and Carvagio. His favorite mediums are loose inks, watercolors, oil paints, and digital styles that replicate the looks of traditional mediums. He uses body horror and attention to expressions and lighting to convey stories through images, often queer in nature. He explores themes of mental illness, disability, abuse, poverty, and the many intersections of these statuses.

iezeradd (They/He)

Carrd

They are a mixed media artist and writer hailing from Quebec, Canada. They explore concepts of queerness, identity, generational trauma, and otherness through his illustrations of werewolves, often contrasting tenderness and violence in his works. They use transformations and inner conflict as a reflection of his own experiences as a queer individual.

iezeradd is joining the team to provide a myriad of art, ranging from props, to textures, and tribe artwork! We're very fortunate to have them on the team!

Dogblud She/Her

Tumblr

Dogblud (she/her), is a Midwestern cryptid working as a freelance artist and writer. Her work is near-exclusively sapphic, centering primarily around werewolves, werebeasts, and their strong thematic ties - horrific or otherwise - to all forms of womanhood.

A long-time fan of Werewolf: the Apocalypse, she's joined our team to produce all of the tribe artwork for the book, in addition to a number of other contributory pieces!

Meka (Any Pronouns)

Tumblr

Meka is a Scottish comic artist with a flair for the dark and extremely bloody and a long-standing love of monsters and what they let us all explore-- for better and worse. Vehemently underground, they build stories about horror, grief, depersonalisation, and the isolation that comes with being just a little too weird and too angry to swallow whole. Art and catharsis go hand in hand, as far as she’s concerned.

In a throwback to the original game series, Meka has joined to produce a 22-page fully illustrated comic for the series entitled Cracking the Bone. A postgraduate in traditional comic artistry, we're extremely fortunate to have them on the team.

Mx. Morgan (They/Them)

Tumblr

Mx. Morgan G Robles (they/them) is a freelance artist and illustrator based in Seattle, Washington. Their work is best known for its use of macabre themes, animals, and nature. They use these themes to explore mental illness, gender identity, or simply to make neat skulls.

They're known for producing book covers for several major publishers, and they've been brought in to design our book covers as well. In addition, they've developed a number of inside pieces as well!

M.WolfhideWinter (He/Him)

Tumblr

He is a part-time freelance illustrator from Scotland. His work is heavily inspired by the rugged terrain (and rain) of Scotland with a focus on werewolves inhabiting the wild landscapes both past and present. He explores themes of mental illness, societal stigma, dark folklore, and sad werewolves in the rain.

WolfhideWinter has joined our team as our monster-maker, dedicating their time towards depicting our primary antagonists of the garou: The Black Spiral Dancers, and the Wyrm's brood! We can hardly think of a body horror artist more fitting for the role.

#world of darkness #werewolf: the apocalypse #werewolf the apocalypse #werewolves #world building #werewolf #w5 #wod #wta #WoD #WoD Artists #WtA #WtA Artists #Gothic Artists #Gothic Punk #Gothic #Gothic Punk Artists #Indigenous Artists #Morggo #Mx Morgan #Dogblud #WLW #WLW Artists #WLW Werewolf #queer #queer artists #meka #mekanikaltrifle #horror comics #comic artists

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It's been a while since I posted a decommissioned missile silo that's been turned into a home. Can you imagine this thing being your front door? This particular one, from the Cold War, was done by YouTube influencer Andrew Flair of Fishing With Flair. It's a former Atlas-F missile complex, built in 1962 in York, Nebraska. It has 1bd 1ba & is asking $750K.

Once inside the cement entrance, you proceed down the stairs.

This would be your foyer and very sturdy door.

And, here we are in the residence. As you can see, it's very open concept. I kind of like the bumble bee effect on the funnel thing- makes it the focal point of the room.

The kitchen and flooring are very nice.

The walls and ceiling are very rough- looks like he simply painted them.

It has electricity, hot and cold running water, a working septic system with lift station, and a water purification system. You have to add a StarLink system (or similar) for communication, gaming and entertainment.

Listed as 1 bd, but clearly, you could put more beds around, right?

This is the one bath, or shower, and I see that he put some drywall up in here.

Now, let us proceed to the unfinished lower level.

So, this can be finished for more living space, but I'm not loving those creepy holes in the floor.

Now, let's go thru the tunnel to look at the empty missile silo.

I don't know what's going on here.

If you've never seen one before, it's just a long empty space that housed the huge missile. You can see the hatch doors on top, there.

This is what it looks like from outside, where the missile would launch.

It's the typical missile silo design. What in the world would you do w/that silo?

Of course, it's in the middle of East Bumblefuck, and comes with 6.19 acres.

#houses #house tours #home tour

[thespineoftherighteous]

few things are as important to me as Kevin and Andrew's relationship and i think them pre-tfc specifically is sooo scrumptious because. when they first met they go from being at each other's throats all the time to being inseparable. they picked each other up from rock bottom. nobody really understands their relationship. they're the only people who can really motivate the other. he's not allowed to drive his car just because it's fun to tell Kevin no. they aggravate each other to no end. Andrew would've taken Kevin's head off if Kevin hadn't already thrown Andrew's racquet halfway across the court. they know each other's boundaries and are therefore the only ones who can successfully push each other. he gives him his pills. they can spend an entire afternoon alone together without saying a word. Andrew said he'd break his own fingers if Coach made him play with Kevin again. they've seen each other at their weakest, they can see the most triumphant versions of each more clearly than anyone else. they've both got the same flair for the dramatic and thank goodness because who else is going to put up with them. Kevin gives Andrew direction Andrew gives Kevin strength. they're both ridiculous as hell. their successes are so emotionally tied together. they need to see each other be better, nothing else is as motivating.

#for the record i am aware of how extravagantly I've been posting #and how annoying I've been #but well. I'm not really sure what i can do about it #aftg #andrew minyard #kevin day #kandrew #mine aftg

[cuffmeinblack]

Andrew voice lines 🖤

"I suppose it's nice to have anyone wave at you...even a statue of a knight."

Is he lonely? 🥺 What a sad thing to say.

"Sebastian is rather good after all."

After the way Andrew stares at Seb in DADA I'm not surprised he said this.

"I've heard rumours of a goblin painter travelling about. Don't tell Binns, he'd lecture us on goblin art for a week."

"I'm bored with goblin rebellions. I'd like to rebel against discussing them any further."

Standard Binns bashing. Not a history fan, then. Or at least the way his professor teaches it.

"I'd much rather be studying art. That's historic too, isn't it?"

I wonder if he's much of an artist himself. I pegged him as a reader, and of course literature is a form of art, but perhaps he'd also paint or play an instrument too (I had him as a painter in his spare time in Coming Home). He'd make a very cute flautist.

"Accidentally transfigured your book work into a toad? Weasley's never going to believe that."

"A happy beast is a giving beast. That's what professor Howin always says at least. If we treat them well, they'll treat us well."

Maybe he likes beasts, maybe he's just agreeing with a professor. I think he'd like something small and cuddly as a pet. I like him as a cat person because a puffskein seems too exuberant for him, rolling around and knocking over his tea/paints/books.

"Potions requires more creativity than most realises. Really quite rewarding at times."

This feels like a very Garreth thing to say, and also something I say about Snape; a brilliant potioneer sees brewing as more of an art form than simply following a recipe. Andrew obviously has a creative flair, too.

"The constellations are beautiful. Not sure they're worth dying of a cold for, but they are beautiful."

Appreciates beauty, hates the cold. Get the boy a blanket. It's interesting he remarks on their beauty rather than anything academically relevant. What a romantic.

#andrew larson

[hollywoodfamerp]

Pack your bags, Famers! Our annual winter trip is taking place in Ireland! On February 17th, all celebrities will be arriving at the Adare Manor to kick off our trip! Named the #1 resort in Europe in 2023, Adare Manor sits on 840 acres of pristine parkland.

"It’s prestige without pretense and magic without nonsense. Above all, it is the sense of belonging. You are known. You are family. You are home."

UNDER THE CUT, YOU’LL FIND THE LIST OF ROOMMATES!

Unless we got a message from you telling us you wanted to be with a specific person or were not in the ships list - you were included in the generator. If you do not see your FCs name on this list, please message us POLITELY and let us know - sometimes a name gets missed getting put into the generator. We’re human and it happens! At the same time, if your FC is on there twice by any chance then please let us know. Again, mistakes happen. As we accept new applications and people come into the group before AND during the event, this list will be updated. Same will go for if people get unfollowed or ask to leave the group. We posted the pairings in advance so that you may reach out to your roommate and get new interactions going! Even if a mun is on hiatus, be sure to reach out to them so that you can see if you can head-canon some interactions or plan for something when they are off hiatus. All trips are to encourage new interactions and unlikely connections!

PLEASE LIKE THIS NOTICE WHEN YOU HAVE READ IT AND SO THAT YOU CAN KEEP TRACK OF THE LIST UPDATES!

Addison Timlin & Sabrina Carpenter

Akanishi Jin & Lee Sunmi

America Ferrera & Ben Feldman

Andrew Garfield & Elizabeth Lail

Angourie Rice & Chris Evans

Anne Hathaway & Jenna Coleman

Ariana DeBose & Mason Mount

Ashton Irwin & Ariana Grande

Awsten Knight & Miley Cyrus

Bae Joohyun (Irene) & Dove Cameron

Barbara Palvin & Maxence Danet-Fauve

Beyonce Knowles & Chloe Bailey

Brie Larson & Brittany Baker

Callum Turner & Chace Crawford

Camila Morrone & Jessica Chastain

Cari Fletcher & Victoria de Angelis

Carrie Underwood & Gigi Hadid

Cate Blanchett & Ellie Bamber

Cha Eunwoo & Glen Powell

Choi Minho & Kim Ahyoung (Yura)

Choi San & Danielle Campbell

Choi Soobin & Rylee Arnold

Cody Christian & Lucy Hale

Colby Lopez (Seth Rollins) & Rebecca Quin (Becky Lynch)

Danny Amendola & Olivia Culpo

Demi Bennett (Rhea Ripley) & Ashley Fliehr (Charlotte Flair)

Dua Lipa & Joseph Quinn

Emma Stone & Chris Daughtry

Ethan Torchio & Damiano David

Florence Pugh & Cillian Murphy

Gareth Southgate & Byun Baekhyun

Harry Kane & Charlie Hunnam

Harry Styles & Mazz Murray

Hayley Williams & Luke Hemmings

Hwang Hyunjin & Bang Chan

Jackson Wang & Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul (Ten)

Jamie Campbell Bower & Jonathan Good (Jon Moxley)

Jenna Ortega & Halle Bailey

Joey King & Nick Robinson

Josephine Skriver & Aaron Taylor-Johnson

Jung Yoonoh (Jaehyun) & Lee Taeyong

Kang Seulgi & Jung Wooyoung

Kelsea Ballerini & Joe Keery

Kendall Jenner & Liam Hemsworth

Kim Hongjoong & Diamanté Quiava Valentin Harper (Saweetie)

Kim Jisoo & Christian Yu

Kim Mingyu & Sana Minatozaki

Kit Connor & Gong Jichul (Gong Yoo)

Kylie Jenner & Christina Aguilera

Lauren Jauregui & Bill Skarsgard

Leati Joseph Anoa'i (Roman Reigns) & Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Lee Felix & Dakota Johnson

Lee Jeno & Na Jaemin

Lee Taemin & Kim Jongin

Leigh-Anne Pinnock & Alycia Debnam-Carey

Lily James & David Tennant

Logan Lerman & Jeon Jungkook

Louis Tomlinson & Phoebe Bridgers

Lucas Wong & Kim Jungwoo

Lupita Nyong'o & Tessa Thompson

Billie Eilish & Ryan Gosling

Madelyn Cline & Chase Stokes

Maika Monroe & Dylan O'Brien

Mark Lee & Lee Donghyuck (Haechan)

Min Yoongi & Kim Namjoon

Niall Horan & Matt Smith

Nicholas Galitzine & Taylor Zakhar Perez

Nick Jonas & Selena Gomez

Nina Dobrev & Sofia Carson

Pamela Martinez (Bayley) & Mercedes Justine Varnado (Sasha Banks)

Park Seonghwa & Lewis Pullman

Pete Davidson & Naomi Scott

Renee Paquette (Renee Young) & Taylor Swift

Renee Rapp & Olivia Cooke

Ross Lynch & Anya Taylor-Joy

Sam Claflin & Riley Keough

Samantha Gibb & Sydney Sweeney

Saoirse Ronan & Jack Lowden

Sarah Paulson & Jessica Lange

Sebastian Stan & Margot Robbie

Tom Hardy & Elizabeth Olsen

Tom Holland & Natalia Dyer

Tony Goldwyn & Megan Jovon Ruth Pete (Megan Thee Stallion)

Travis Kelce & Romee Strijd

Troian Bellisario & Joshua Hong

Vanessa Hudgens & Matthew Macfadyen

Wong Kunhang (Hendery) & Jensen Ackles

Xiao Dejun (Xiaojun) & Yoo Jimin (Karina)

Xu Minghao & Noah Beck

Yoo Bora & Joe Burrow

Yoo Siah (Yooa) & Kim Minjeong (Winter)

Zac Efron & Sophie Turner

Zendaya Coleman & Paul Mescal

Zoey Deutch & Dacre Montgomery

Zoë Kravitz & Lili Reinhart

#hollywoodfameevent #hfrpireland

[outercrasis]

Don't Be A Stranger

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Battinson) x gn!Reader

Word Count/Rating: 4.7k // PG-13

Warnings: references to canon-typical violence/injury

Summary: There's no mistaking that silhouette. It's him in your living room. The Batman.

It was pure chance. Anyone in Ms. Atwood's fourth grade class could have ended up with him as their pen pal. You're not sure you believe that the stars aligned just right or that fate was on your side anymore than it being a true, one-in-a-million fluke. Still, you're the one who ended up with Bruce Wayne as their pen pal.

You didn't know it was him at first. You were only given his first name and a non-descript address. The PO box didn't exactly scream the prince of Gotham. Sometimes you wonder if you would have treated him differently if you had known. There's a good chance you would have.

As young as you were, no one could forget the bold, block letters of the Gotham Gazette from early that September. THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE DEAD. The editor didn't even attempt to give it any flair. It was shocking enough on its own.

Your father had been devastated, a large supporter of Thomas Wayne's mayoral campaign. Your mother had regarded Martha as a style icon, in shambles over losing her favorite inspiration. You remember reading the byline about young Bruce surviving the ordeal, trying to comprehend what it would mean to suddenly no longer have parents.

It was news that rocked the entire city and the very next day it's all your classmates could talk about. Robbie Carter said his grandpa thought it was all a conspiracy, Monica Gibbs told you her dad was one of the first officers on the scene and that blood had been everywhere, and Avery Parker told everyone to shut up. You were glad Avery did, as the discussion had been making you start to feel queasy.

A few months later though, when your pen pal was assigned, the name Bruce didn't really click. After all, why would Bruce Wayne of all children be writing to someone in the Gotham Public School system?

Blissfully unaware of your pen pal's true identity, you wrote to him like you would have any other kid your age. You introduced yourself, telling him the important details like your favorite ice cream flavor and what you wanted to be when you were older. He was kind enough to not point out that an astronaut chef was an unlikely job.

His responses were a bit muted in comparison, but you didn't mind. It was clear Bruce was intelligent early on with his large vocabulary and varied topics. More than once you had to look up words in the dictionary or pull a reference to understand what he was talking about. Having to look things up sometimes was far better than a boring pen pal – like Andrew Clark who had a pal that only wanted to talk about a specific species of shark.

At the end of the school year with a parent's permission you could send your home address to your pen pal to keep the correspondence going. It took three days to get your mom to grant her approval and worth every extra chore you agreed to. Even more thrilling was that Bruce wanted to keep writing to you too.

Somewhere early fifth grade you figured out Bruce's real identity, not that he'd ever truly been hiding it. The pieces had been clicking together for a while but the clear mention of his bedroom in the Tower cinched it. There's only one capital T Tower in Gotham and everyone knows it belongs to the Wayne family.

You chose to not acknowledge it. Looking back on it you don't know why – it just didn't seem to make a difference. Bruce was Bruce, Wayne name attached or not.

You both kept writing consistently all the way through middle school. Considering the attention span of kids, especially pre-teens, it was a remarkable feat. From what you knew, you were the only one to keep in touch with your pen pal for so long.

For whatever reason your parents never chose to look over your letters and without a teacher's watchful eye, you could say anything. No topic was off limits. There was no judgment between you two. The bond was sacred, sharing every last thought and feeling. You normally made up for where he lacked in the feelings discussion, where Bruce had plenty of thoughts for the both of you.

High school was where things started to slip. You were caught up in keeping your grades high, extra curriculars, and the drama of who’s dating who. You’re not really sure what Bruce got caught up in – as far as you knew he didn’t even attend the posh boarding school for Gotham's elites. 

Needless to say, the established schedule fell apart a little. It certainly wasn’t once a week anymore but you did your best. Even when you didn’t get a reply for a while, you kept sending your letters. Someone had to be clearing out the PO box because none of them were ever returned.

Bruce’s letters came to a complete stop soon after graduation. It coincided with his widely-reported disappearance from Gotham, so you weren’t surprised, but it felt wrong to give up on your correspondence. A pen pal for this long shouldn’t end without a proper goodbye. 

You kept at it – the frequency of your post varying with the ups and downs of life. College brought exciting times but also a fair amount of strife. You kept Bruce up to date about everything. New friends, new partners, new addresses when you moved, celebrations of passing exams, excitement over what was on the horizon, grief at the untimely loss of your father, the burden of bills and low wages. 

While there weren’t any letters being sent in return, Bruce would find a way to pop up in your life from time to time. You’re not sure what he was up to in his world, but it was enough to know he was reading your letters. A surprise delivery of baked goods at your doorstep filled with your favorite confectionaries, a large anonymous bouquet at your father’s wake, a mystery deposit in your bank account when your bills became a bit too tight. 

You'd offer a brief thank you in your next letter, nothing that would embarrass him, but enough that it was acknowledged. After all this time you had a good idea of how to properly toe that line. 

Part of you wished for a real response. Even a short missive emblazoned on impersonal Wayne letterhead. You weren't ungrateful for his little gestures, but you missed his voice, his mind. Bruce had the most interesting way of looking at the world. You missed being privy to it – you hoped one day he would let you back in.

—

It's late when you get home. Clean-up at the volunteer shelter took longer than you expected, meaning your trip home was more nerve wracking than usual. Your apartment isn’t in the Narrows, but that isn’t saying much. Gotham isn’t the kind of city to have a truly “safe” neighborhood – the promise of violence just varies from borough to borough. You’d say yours provides an even 50/50 shot.

The mostly-empty subway cars are uninviting despite being the fastest and safest option. With less bodies crammed inside the tubes it means your chances of being targeted go up. Every squeak of the train track seems louder, every rattle a little more threatening. You keep a tight hold on your bag. The streets themselves aren’t much better. Moonlight barely reaches the street, blocked by the thick clouds, and streetlights are inconsistent at best.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you see your apartment door. Six stories up with two locked doors between you and Gotham's nighttime streets means you can finally relax. It's not really paranoia, more so staying vigilant in a dangerous city.

You flick on your small table lamp and fall into the couch. There's an attempt to fling your bag onto the coffee table, but it hits the side and it slumps onto the floor. Not a big deal. You'll grab it tomorrow. The comfort of home settles in, nearly tempting you to close your eyes right there on the couch when your stomach growls. Food, eating, important. Right.

Rolling off the cushions, you catch a small whiff of yourself. You don’t smell bad, but you’re not sure it can be said that you smell good. Your priorities quickly become apparent. Food, shower, then sleep. Anything else is tomorrow’s problem. 

Deciding what to eat is easy when there isn’t much in your kitchen to start with. Grocery shopping was supposed to happen yesterday, but with how busy your week has been there’s been no time. Luckily, there’s still enough to scrape together a serviceable sandwich. You eat it over the sink, not wanting to deal with a dirty plate and trying to keep the crumbs contained.

By the time you finish your sandwich, your eyes are half-open. Skipping the shower until tomorrow morning is incredibly tempting, but the idea of slipping into your sheets squeaky clean just barely beats it out. 

It takes a little time for your water to heat properly, the result of aging infrastructure and a half-caring landlord. In an effort to keep yourself awake, you pull out a pen and paper and begin to scrawl a new letter to Bruce. 

It's been nearly two weeks since your last one. You've gotten through the simpler details when the water has finally heated, abandoning the letter on the kitchen counter. 

The choice to shower was the correct one. There's immediate relief standing underneath the warm spray, the stress of your day-to-day melting away. The city's grime sloughs off of you, collecting in the tub. It eventually makes its way down the drain – a clogged pipe that you can do nothing about always leads to an inch of water for you to stand in.

You're nearing the end of your shower when a noise catches your ear outside the bathroom door. You quickly write it off. With an apartment six floors up it would take a worthless amount of dedication to find a way into your place. Any smart thief wouldn't enter the apartment with a light on either. It's nothing.

Rinsing your hair, there's another louder noise accompanied by a heavy grunt. There's no mistaking that. Someone has found their way into your apartment.

Panicked, you quickly grab a towel and wrap it around yourself. If someone is going to break into your place they aren't going to catch you completely naked. Looking around the bathroom, you quickly settle on the plunger for a weapon. It's not much but definitely better than nothing. The thought of the baseball bat perfectly nestled under the edge of your bed taunts you.

The shower is still running, but your water bill is the least of your concern at the moment. If you die in the next ten minutes you won't have to pay it anyway.

Inching towards the door, you mentally walk through your gameplan. Throw open the door, plunger raised, run at the intruder yelling, and rain fury down upon them. Hopefully they'll be so shocked by your deranged appearance that they'll immediately frighten and leave.

You only manage to execute the first two steps of the plan – the shock of what you find stopping you dead in your tracks.

There's a man standing there, but it's not some random drophead like you thought. There's no mistaking that silhouette. It's him in your living room. The Batman.

Before you can really process the insanity of the situation he stumbles, landing hard on one knee. You rush over, terrified that the masked vigilante of Gotham is going to die here on your secondhand rug.

He's heavy. With more than half his dead weight falling onto you, it's a shock you don't completely buckle underneath him. 

"Come on, at least get to the couch before collapsing," you grunt, leading him over. 

His eyes are partially closed, clearly struggling to keep them open. He's breathing heavily with his suit half blown to hell. You have no idea what to do.

The most intense medical experience you have is shooting someone full of narcan to help prevent an overdose at the volunteer shelter – an experience you're not exactly eager to repeat. You weren't built for stitching up wounds and preventing infection. Clutching your towel, the realization that there is nothing you can do for him is crushing.

Water is becoming a puddle on the floor beneath you, your breaths becoming more ragged to match his with every passing moment. Something about your fear seems to awaken something in him.

"Front– pocket. Auto– injector. Thigh." Every word is a labor. It takes you a few moments too long for his words to click.

"Now."

The force of his words snaps you into action. You launch forward, frantically flipping through all his pockets to find the right one. Front pocket, honestly. He couldn't have been more vague. Eventually, your fingers wrap around something that looks similar to an epipen.

"Twist. Then–" he breathes in sharply, struggling for the next word. "inject."

You can do that you think. His armor is thick, but the fabric on his inner thigh thins a bit. With his sprawled position, it's easy to access. 

You twist the injector, watching the liquid turn royal blue before stabbing it into his thigh. He cries out slightly, his body tensing, before collapsing back into the cushions.

"Good job."

His eyes slide shut. His chest continues to rise and fall at a slow but steady pace. The mania of the last few moments washes over you, panic transforming into shock and confusion. How did Batman manage to choose your apartment out of millions? What the fuck.

You stand there looking down at him, suddenly realizing you're only in a towel and the shower is still running. A flush of embarrassment courses through you as realization crashes. There's only the barest hope you didn't flash him in all the commotion.

Drying off and changing as quickly as you can, you bring a clean rag and some warm water over to him. You're guessing whatever he asked you to inject him with is some kind of super-serum but you can't imagine being so filthy is doing any favors. The absurdity of this isn't lost on you. You're really about to clean up Batman's wounds.

It's a slow process. You take your time, periodically switching out the water. At some point you grab a different rag to clean up the torn edges of his armor as well, trying to keep everything as sterile as you can. You do your best – you're not exactly an expert at this.

Even as you clean him up it's difficult to come to terms with the fact that this is really happening. Following the aftermath of the Riddler a couple years ago, Batman went from freakish rumor to celebrated hero overnight. He still seemed more myth than real to you, but there's no question now. He is very real and seemingly very human. You hadn't been sure if the bat motif went deeper before.

You finish up and are left with the conundrum of what to do next. You're more exhausted than ever, but leaving him here just seems wrong. In the end you settle on dragging over your moon chair and grabbing a book. This isn't weird right? You're just making sure he doesn't die or convulse or something.

It was foolish of you to think you could stay awake. Between your preexisting fatigue and the adrenaline come-down, you don't make it through a paragraph before falling asleep.

—

The first few rays of sunlight streaming in your windows are what wakes you. There’s a moment of panic before registering that you’re just in your living room, safe and sound. You stretch and rub at the tight spot in your neck. Falling asleep curled up like that is never a good idea. 

Your eyes drift over to the couch and you freeze. He isn’t there. Had you imagined it all? Was last night actually some incredibly vivid dream or hallucination brought on by exhaustion? 

That’s the final straw. No more doubles that roll into volunteer shelter shifts. Your body can’t handle that toll anymore. You give another big stretch, your spine popping, and let out a small yelp when you turn to the kitchen and see Batman standing there. 

If last night seemed ridiculous then you don’t even know what to call this. What is there to say or think when the city’s masked vigilante is standing in your kitchen like he belongs there? And how the hell is he even standing after the condition he was in?

He doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure what you expected. You don’t know what to say either. It doesn’t even feel like he’s trying to psych you out or anything, he’s simply… quiet. His eyes return to your letter that he’s holding. 

“Hey! That’s private!”

You rush into the kitchen, pulling the letter out from his hands. Gotham’s protector or not, he doesn’t have the right to start reading your private correspondence. 

He doesn’t seem all that bothered by your anger. "Sorry, I probably shouldn’t read ahead."

You stare at him in slight confusion and wonder as the pieces click together. Holy shit. How did you not put it together before? It seems so obvious now – like you’re in the fifth grade again realizing your pen pal Bruce is Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

His letters stopped years ago, but you would still venture to say you know Bruce Wayne better than anyone else and it all fits. More wealth than he knows what to do with, a desire to continue his father's legacy to improve Gotham, and a deep, dark scar left on his heart all too young. 

You always imagined he would start doing some serious philanthropy work, but you suppose this is in line with that. It's not all that shocking that he wants to do it with his own bare hands. Bruce has always wanted to do things himself.

In the eighth grade he told you about a computer he was working on, going into great detail to explain its complexities. It was going to be one of the most advanced systems ever designed once he was through with it. He also mentioned offhand how he nearly blew himself up with it. Becoming Batman seems right on target with that.

What doesn't make sense is why now? Why tell you at all, this many years in? He's let Batman remain a mystery to you for nearly five years. You didn't do anything new to gain his trust.

“I um, I think I need to sit down.”

You stumble back against your countertop looking for stability. From him showing up unannounced in your apartment to this, it’s all a bit much to take in. You’re grateful Bru-Batm-Bruce doesn’t immediately intrude on your personal space, giving you room to breathe. There’s a good chance you would have fully freaked out on him if he did.

You take measured breaths, careful to not let yourself spiral. Although, if there was ever an appropriate time to do so, this would be it. This is a lot to put on anyone, especially so abruptly. The answer to why Bruce couldn’t use his incredible intellect to plan this better will evade you forever.

Once you can trust yourself to not start panicking again, you look back over at him. You have no idea what comes next. This is not how you ever imagined meeting Bruce. You thought maybe one day he would begin to write back again, leading to the decision to meet for a coffee or dinner. It seemed realistic – a bit more adult. This feels like something out of a dream.

You close your eyes again, trying to take it all in. He’s still there when you crack them back open. To be sure, you give yourself a little pinch on your arm. If Bruce finds that odd, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

Needing to do something before addressing the elephant – or rather bat – in the room, you grab a glass down and pour yourself some water. It feels strange to ignore him, so you offer you uninvited guest water as well, to which he shakes his head no. It at least feels like a semi-normal moment in all of this.

From there, you wander back to your living room, taking up an end of the couch. Bruce follows, politely letting you lead the way. You wonder if he’s told many others or if he just knows this is best for you. You have absolutely no idea of where to begin.

“Um, hi I guess,” you venture.

You’re by no means an expert in the expressions of Bruce Wayne, but you’re willing to bet that’s the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Hello,” Bruce says.

“So you uh, you’re the Batman then? I feel like I should have been able to put that together sooner.”

“I would have been surprised if you did.” You’re not certain on how to respond to that. Your shock must come across clearly on your face, because Bruce is quick to clarify. “I’ve worked hard to keep people from putting the pieces together.”

Not many must know his true identity then. You can’t say it’s surprising, given Bruce’s usual habits about divulging personal information. 

You’re not too proud to admit that sitting across from him in his full suit, even as beat up as it is, is incredibly intimidating. The reason for the bat motif evades you, but looking at him helps you to understand more. He looks large in the suit, an imposing figure by anyone’s standard. His eyes stand out against all the black in stark contrast, the icy blue pinning you in place. It makes it a bit hard to think straight.

“Would you mind um, taking off the–?” You hope you’re not overstepping. He’s trusted you with his identity, but you’re not sure if that also means trusting you with his face.

Your breath hitches as his hands move. The cowl comes off in one fluid motion. 

You’ve seen photos of him of course, even recently, but being face to face is something else altogether. The tabloids have at least one thing right. He’s gorgeous.

His hair is long and in severe need of a brush after a night under the helmet, and yet it works. There’s black makeup hastily smudged all around his eyes, maintaining the contrast of his eyes. Stubble dusts his sharp jawline, drawing your attention to his plush lower lip. You’re not sure if this has calmed your nerves or made them worse. He looks like he was just dragged out of a gutter, which for all you know he might have been, and it’s as though he stepped off the cover of a magazine.

You suddenly realize you should say something more instead of continuing to stare. “I guess I can’t pretend it wasn’t really you after all this,” you half-heartedly joke. You’re not sure if it lands.

Bruce readjusts slightly on the couch, drawing your eyes back to his injuries. Whatever serum he had you pump him full of clearly did its job. The exposed skin still looks angry, but cuts are already stitching back together and there's no longer any active bleeding.

The state of his suit is something else. It looks like he was chewed up and spit back out only to be chewed up again. Massive holes are torn clean through, numerous singe marks across his chest. He's lucky to have not lost the pocket where he was keeping that emergency vial. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, “I was a little worried you’d die on me in the middle of the night.” 

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” You think that was meant to be comforting.

Once again, you’re not really sure where to go from here. It feels like your life has now been turned upside down from when he first stumbled into your apartment last night. Simply patching up Batman would have been plenty to deal with and process, but now you know his identity too? Calling this whole thing strange is underselling it.

It peaks your curiosity though. 

“Why now?” you ask.

Bruce's eyebrows twitch upward for just a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why tell me now? You've been Batman for a while and I can hardly remember the last time you wrote to me," you explain. "There's essentially no point in telling me so why? How can you even trust me?"

You wish Bruce wasn't so hard to read. It's nerve-wracking, unable to tell what he's thinking or feeling. It's also entirely unfair, knowing that your heart is on your sleeve.

"How long have we been writing to each other?" Bruce asks. You're sure the non-sequitur has a point, so you let it slide.

"Since we were nine. Although I'm not sure the past few years count as actual correspondence." 

"It counts," Bruce asserts, “Trusting you is the easy part. I’m sure my childhood secrets would have fetched a fair price to the right reporter."

Bruce’s mention of selling his letters off is the first time the thought has ever crossed your mind. It makes sense, you suppose. There were definitely times where that extra cash would have come in handy, yet it was never something you considered. You didn't ask for Bruce Wayne as your pen pal and he didn't ask for you – who are you to betray that sacred childhood bond?

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re choosing now to tell me,” you say.

“Your address was the only one I could remember last night.”

You've never been more touched and more concerned at the same time. You caution moving slightly closer to him on the couch.

"You still didn't have to tell me," you say. Bruce looks confused, so you press on. "You woke up first. You could have easily left and told me sometime later."

"Would you have preferred that?"

You think on it for a moment. "Well I guess not but-"

"You deserved to know," he interrupts. "I came here and you cared for me having no idea who I was. The explanation was warranted."

He's not really wrong. The explanation does and doesn't make sense, but what seems to matter most is that Bruce is so certain of it. There's not a single trace of doubt – you're not sure what to do with so much confidence in yourself.

You think back to all the years of silence from him. So many years where you filled him in on nearly everything in your life while learning none about his. Any sane person probably would have stopped writing. Any sane person probably would have changed his PO box and yet, neither of you did.

Sitting across from him now on your well worn couch, you suppose you have an answer for all his unsent letters. You know what he was doing. Sure, the details are missing, but you know and for now that's plenty.

Something more significant than childhood letters are shared between you now. Neither of you are unaware of the shift.

"I need to get back," Bruce tells you. "Alfred is probably worried."

You remember the name of his childhood butler from his letters. It warms your heart to know he's still a large presence in Bruce's life. He always seemed to have the young heir's best interests at heart. 

"Will I see you again?" you ask. You desperately hope this meeting isn't bound for more years of silence from his end.

Bruce slips his cowl back on. "I'll be in touch."

You nod, watching him walk across your small apartment back towards the window. The ever-present clouds in the Gotham sky should provide enough shadow for him to sneak away undetected. He's certainly had enough practice.

Bruce is half out the window when he turns back to you and asks, "Why did you keep writing?"

You don't have to think hard about your answer and give it almost immediately. "I didn't want you to be lonely."

His mask obscures most of his face. You hope that he's touched and not offended – the thought of growing up alone in that Tower just always struck you as empty.

Bruce gives you an almost imperceptible nod and then he's gone. You hope he won't be a stranger.

A week later, there's a letter in your mailbox.

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

Tagging a few people who seemed interested:) @skeletoncowboys @green-socks @nobodys-baby-now @moonlight-prose @autumnleaves1991-blog @1800-fight-me

#bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #the batman fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #crasis writes

[bughead-in-the-comics]

From Share Flair, Jughead's Jokes #70 (1980).

#bughead #jughead jones #betty cooper #archie andrews #veronica lodge #reggie mantle #gladys jones #old comics #digest comics #complete panels #jughead's jokes #bughead high school #bughead family #bughead parents #bughead food #bughead hangout #bughead eating #bughead laughing #jones residence #share flair