#/ i will still answer that one you sent in with another symbol instead that wasn't sent in

[punkshort]

to have and to hold

A The Way We Were/Look What We've Become one-shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (established relationship)

Summary: You and Joel enjoy a quiet morning together the day after your wedding.

Warnings: language, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, brief mention of oral (m!receiving), an absurd amount of happiness and love.

WC: 2.2K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Was it what you always envisioned for your wedding day?

Certainly not.

No, you definitely didn't imagine finding the love of your life, who also happened to be your extremely intimidating boss, right before the apocalypse. You didn't think you would spend a year traveling across the country together, fighting for your lives and keeping one another safe while doing your best to deny your feelings for him, and he for you.

Yet somehow, it all worked out. After enduring unspeakable things in that year, you found sanctuary in Jackson, Wyoming, with Joel's brother. Tommy had a very different experience in that first year. He managed to find Maria, his wife, and create a beautiful community. The walls around the town were still being constructed when they found you both on the side of the road, on your way to Yellowstone to settle down together someplace safe. They took you in and you acclimated nicely, although it took a long time for you both to feel safe, to let go of that nagging feeling in the back of your head that said stay alert, keep one eye open, stay awake. But you did, and you each finally found peace.

Sure, it wasn't all easy. Old fears cropped back up when Joel mentioned starting a family and getting married. You said all the wrong things, anxiety driving you instead of your heart and it nearly destroyed you both. But with time, you managed to work through your fears and you came out on the other end stronger than ever.

And now you were married. Devoted to one another forever, said the words with tears in your eyes and smiles on your faces in front of your friends and family. Ellie never called you mom and dad, but you took on the roles for her, anyway. You fed her, taught her, kept her safe, kept her secret. She was just as much family as Tommy and Maria, who also stood by your sides as you exchanged vows.

As silly as it was, Joel still insisted on keeping the hair tie you had given him that night wrapped tightly around his wrist. It was a makeshift ring, a symbol more than anything of your love and devotion to him, and even though you had since found a thin gold band for him to wear one day not too far outside the walls under Tommy's guard, Joel still never took off that hair tie.

It was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes the day after your wedding. Your cheek was pressed against his bare chest, his right arm wrapped possessively around your middle and his left hand resting on his stomach. The way the sun beamed in through your bedroom curtains made the gold band around his finger practically sparkle, or maybe you were just imagining it. Either way, it made you smile and nuzzle into his warmth even more, inhaling his natural, comforting scent.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising underneath your cheek, then you heard him grunt softly before his fingers twitched then left his stomach in favor of scratching his beard.

"'S'late," he yawned, voice thick and gravelly. The way it sent a wave of arousal through you, you would have thought he said the most filthy, depraved thing known to man.

"We were up late," you reminded him, biting your lip when you saw the slow smile spread across his face.

"Oh, I remember," he teased before his hands found your hips and shifted you so you were lying on top of him. You pressed a slow, lazy kiss against the center of his chest and you could feel his heart fluttering under your lips.

"What do you want to do today?" you asked him sleepily.

He hummed and you got your answer before he even had a chance to respond when you felt a familiar twitch against your leg.

"I planned on stayin' in bed with my wife all damn day," he said, making you giggle.

"I like the sound of that."

With Ellie at a sleepover, which was at her own insistence to give you some space on your wedding night, a gesture both thoughtful and embarrassing in nature, you knew you had at least a few more hours to yourselves.

"C'mere," he murmured, his chest rumbling underneath you. With a grin, you propped yourself on your elbows so you could reach his mouth. Pressing your lips together gently, you each sighed, feeling yourself relax even more in his arms.

His tongue swiped along your bottom lip and you dropped your jaw, allowing your tongues to lazily reunite. One of his hands delicately traced your spine while the other cupped your cheek, cradling it like you were made of glass. You leaned your face into the palm of his hand, letting him hold you close. It felt like he had you completely surrounded, like your body was just melting right into his, and you couldn't be any happier.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Turned out, you could be a little happier. That became rather clear when your kisses grew heated, your hands began to roam and your hips started to shift. You didn't even bother to ask, you just pushed yourself up so your legs were straddling him on either side and reached between both your bodies, angling his cock so it lined up with your opening and slowly, oh so slowly, you sunk down. You watched through heavy lidded eyes as his face went slack and his brow furrowed, taking great pride in the way you made this broad, strong, beast of a man all pliant and soft underneath you. How you and you alone with one touch or look could stop him dead in his tracks.

"Yeah, sweetheart, that's it," he growled when you started to move. He pressed his head back into his pillow and groaned, watching as the evidence of your arousal smeared between you both with each rock of your hips. His hands gripped your waist, one set of fingertips brushing up against the shiny, but faded, scars on your ribs. His eyes focused on them for a moment, allowing his ego to inflate just a bit when he recalled what you would be willing to do for him. It was the same he would be willing to do, and have done, for you: kill anyone who dared try to do you harm.

His hands drifted over your stomach, rough palms gliding over smooth skin, until he reached your breasts. He squeezed one, then the other, then drew small circles over your nipples, flicking his nail against the hardening bud and making you whine.

It didn't take much convincing. Just one hand pressing lightly on your back made you fall forward, planting a hand on either side of his head so he could take your nipple into his mouth while you continued to ride him at a pace you seemed to enjoy best.

"Feel so good," you practically slurred, your mind growing numb as your pleasure built. He released your breast with a smack to his lips and pushed you back so you were upright once again. His eyes looked black when he met your gaze and he clenched his jaw before he muttered lowly, "fuckin' take it. C'mon, lemme see you work for it."

You took a deep breath and stabilized your palms against his chest before tilting your hips up and dropping them down quickly, over and over in a steady, fast rhythm that had your skin slapping together obscenely in the otherwise quiet house.

"Yeah, that's it. Fuck, what a good girl," he murmured. You could see the shift in his face now and it fucking thrilled you. Gone were the sweet, loving looks and chaste, gentle kisses. Now that his own pleasure was mounting low in his stomach, his cock throbbing and begging for release deep within you, he was growing impatient. He bared his teeth while you kept up your fast, tight pace, eyes flashing up at you hungrily, heat flushing his chest and neck and you briefly thought he looked not unlike an animal, the thought only spurring you on more.

"Keep fuckin' yourself on my cock, sweetheart," he gritted out. "Look so pretty like this, all stuffed full of me. My beautiful wife," he added, his voice dropping to an adoring whisper with his last words. It had you tipping you head with a deep moan, your gaze locking onto the ceiling while you continued to ride him as best you could with trembling legs.

And he could feel it. He could feel your legs shake, he could hear your breath stutter and he knew you were growing weak but fuck if you didn't try to push through it just to please him. The mere thought practically short circuited his brain, his senses dulling at the idea of someone as perfect as you wanting to do what he asked. But he knew you were tired and sore from the previous night. He hardly let you rest once you finally tore away from the festivities to be alone for the first time as husband and wife, but you both knew the desire was double sided. You couldn't keep your hands off him, either. After all, it was you who dropped to your knees in your beautiful fucking dress right on the other side of your front door, barely making it inside, to take his cock down your throat.

So he decided to help. His hands found their place on your hips, thumbs pressing into the crease of your thighs, and he bucked up into you, each movement paired with a deep grunt that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your fingernails digging into his chest.

When your body shuddered and your jaw hung open, a sharp gasp the only sound to leave your lips, he smirked because he knew what would happen next. Your perfect fucking pussy clenched around him so deliciously, squeezing and relaxing over and over again while each wave of your orgasm ripped through you. The sight and feel was unlike anything else, the experience simply incomparable.

He lifted you off him quickly, making you yelp in surprise, and rolled you over so you were on your back. He knelt between your legs and furiously tugged at his cock, his eyes fixated on your spent cunt. He groaned loudly and fell forward onto one hand as he came, painting your stomach with his release, and you watched in a daze as you continued to catch your breath.

"Christ," he gasped when he was finally finished, then collapsed next to you with a tired groan. "Gonna kill me one day."

You giggled and tossed your forearm across your eyes, and he grinned before reaching toward the ground for something to clean you up.

"Why don't I make you breakfast?" he offered softly as he wiped the rag over your belly. You hummed and dropped your arm to your side with a smile.

"I think Julia baked us muffins as a wedding present. The basket should be downstairs somewhere."

He was surprised his stomach didn't growl on command.

"You stay here, I'll be right back," he said before kissing the tip of your nose and lifting himself up with a grunt. He slid on his boxers, not fully convinced that Ellie wouldn't come bounding through the front door unannounced, before heading down the steps. While the coffee brewed, he rubbed his lower back with a wince. The last twelve hours wore him out, but he wouldn't ever let you see it. But by the time he got back upstairs with a tray full of muffins, coffee and apples, he could tell you were just as exhausted as him. You had hardly moved from the spot where he left you, but he couldn't deny you looked completely relaxed.

You ate in a comfortable silence, picking at baked goods and feeding each other pieces of apple until you were full. Afterwards, you took his left hand in both of yours and admired the way it now looked adorned with a gold band, marking him as yours forever.

"Looks good on you," you murmured. He smiled and cupped your jaw with his other hand, kissing your lips so tenderly it took your breath away.

"What do we do now?" he asked, nuzzling the side of your face.

"What we promised we would do," you said with a sigh. You leaned into him, head coming to rest on his shoulder while his arms circled your waist, holding you as close as he could.

It took him a moment, but he understood what you meant.

I promise to love and cherish you. To remain faithful, to protect you, to laugh and cry with you. To grow together and lean on one another. Until my very last breath, this I swear.

His chest swelled at the memory and he felt so happy in that moment, he thought he could float away.

He took a deep breath and kissed the top of your head before replying.

"Okay."

[seonghwacore]

let me cook. (an unexpectedly thanksgiving full course)

tagging @ye-xiu and @lavandulacosmos idk if you wanna read my brainrot but pls give it a chance im coping so bad 😭

i've read several theories surrounding k.will's mv, which i don't like the ending at all fck u screenwriter. but i noticed this one so let me, boil it to perfection.

my theory abt the wristwatch in "no sad song for my broken heart" is more simple yet symbolic. it didn't imply time travel or a scifi plot but more of the story's timeline? i assume, the wristwatch in the mv wasn't functioning as an individual's possession but more like a way to tell us when their time stopped. like, how our life stopped in 2019 for some of us?

in the beginning of the mv, the scene showed a broken wristwatch with the year function set to number "12" and the hands pointing to "10:11". the hand was clearly inguk's.

while i know this is please, don't mv release date, as the please don't mv enjoyers, i immediately understood that this was when inguk's time stopped. when jaehyun married dasom in the mv, he knew there'd be no more chance for him to pursue jaehyun or even simply, to tell him his true feelings. he drove away silently back then, not saying a word. this is why his time stopped in 2012.

meanwhile, at the end of the mv, the scene showed that the wristwatch was perfectly fine, no scratch, was brand new, and was encircling jaehyun's wrist instead. the year was "24" and the watch's hands were pointing at 06:20. WHICH WAS, YESTERDAY IN MY TIME OR STILL TODAY IN THE OTHER PART OF THE WORLD.

again, that was a symbol to the mv's release date. BUT WHOSE TIME ALSO ENDED THAT DAY?

HIM.

"then it's just symbolizing inguk's end of time then 🤨" well, whose hand was that wristwatch on? it's on jaehyun's wrist. following the logic from the first scene, then it's most possible that the wristwatch symbolized jaehyun's "time". tragically, jaehyun seemed to understand his feelings towards the other man very much later. he had no time to fully develop and understand his feelings towards inguk and of course, a chance to be with him.

(gahd i planned to stop here but i was seeing everything suddenly)

the row of happy scenes, to me, was more like his delusion and regrets. things he could and would do if only inguk reconnected with him. im not sure tho how he finally realized his feelings but MAYBE, this was the reason of his "mv divorce". maybe, they were still in contact but was obviously limited. in another universe, we'd get the answer, guys.

exhibit #1: he would stay connected with inguk, shown by this exchanging number scene. literally fck u scriptwriters for making grown ass dude crying

maybe they were just, like, linked in acquaintances just sent e/o happy birthday or congratulate each other for promotions asjdalsd

exhibit #2: he'd want to update him that he's already divorced.

LOOK AT BRO'S SMILE??????? in jaehyun's mind, if he announced the news to inguk, he would've gone full smile like that. and he wanted to see that.

exhibit #3: he'd reconcile, have a hearty conversation with inguk over drinks, reliving their fun bachelor nights and obviously, take care of him.

(maybe this was how inguk died???)

now, this is a bit hard but, exhibit #4: he imagined that they'd go into this awkward, pining moments, wondering if inguk would still have a crush on him.

this part was actually confusing because he opened his eyes, as if he knew something. but what did he know? what did he expect from inguk? or did he begin to realize that this was all just his delusion?

NOW. this is going a bit longer than i thought i didn't mean to do a full analysis gosh but this is even crazier to think about. when inguk said his line, about saying things he couldn't say and whether he could hug him just once. this line is weird tbh but eventually makes sense.

we backtrack to these scenes first.

after getting his phone, jaehyun's calling him to make sure it's the correct number. but why inguk seemed... rather worried? again, following my logic with the wristwatch, the phone was just a symbol. jaehyun was holding onto inguk AND his soul. then, how does this relate to inguk's worried face?

we're entering the afterlife realm.

starting from this scene. there's a belief that butterfly in association with death is a messenger from the passing loved ones. in some k-dramas, noticeably "goblin", butterfly represented gods or the supreme being. the butterfly in this scene symbolized that inguk already passed away. it's his time to go.

however, jaehyun "found" him and even asked for his number. so, when the call "connected" it meant jaehyun had yet, once again, clung on his memories and soul. in some cultures, and again there's a k-drama reference that's "sell your haunted house", sometimes the family of the dying person will be asked to let the person go. in the sell your haunted house, hong jia's refusal to let go of her trauma locked her mother's powerful ghost in her house.

guess who's locked in their "house" as well?

and he's wearing white outfit as well, which is often believed to be your afterlife mandatory outfit color. then inguk "called" jaehyun, in a hope, he could wake jaehyun up and let him go. so, the sequence of happiness began.

so, inguk's expression was rather worried when jaehyun called him instead of overjoyed. because he didn't want jaehyun to be stuck in his regrets and delusion.

now, back to this scene.

this was probably inguk's last straw. the scene reminded me of "it's okay it's love" where jo insung gave do kyungsoo's shoes. the act was done to let go of his hallucination from his childhood trauma.

inguk, telling jaehyun how he actually felt and did it through a physical hug, was like an act of letting go. and he hoped that jaehyun's mind would be more at ease now that jaehyun had known his feelings and jaehyun had understood HIS OWN feelings. he hoped that the hug could finally calm jaehyun's storm so jaehyun could be at peace with his own regrets.

then, inguk proceeded to leave because he had to. leave to the afterlife. but after fighting his own struggle, jaehyun called him again. shouted even.

HE RUSHED BACK but jaehyun was stupefied. and the scene later showed that jaehyun was alone in the tunnel.

my big assumption was inguk rushing back to him was also jaehyun's desired response, that inguk would come back to him every time he called. he did, but i think, inguk's death was related to the tunnel or the train. so, when inguk rushed back to him, the train passed by above him with the alarm sound, and jaehyun woke up from his hallucination alone.

a wilder theory is the train was a symbol that it's time for inguk to really go. it served as a "transportation" to the afterlife. that's why inguk wasn't seen anymore after that.

the rest is history.

kidding, we still have this. this time, the scene showed that jaehyun didn't call inguk.

the road, the terrain, elevating to a certain degree, somehow looked like as if he's going to a higher place. and he's not stopping. he kept going, not turning back. so, that's when jaehyun realized, he really needed to let inguk go and rest in peace.

my madness shall end here.

[bxd-kxrma]

Null Eviction - Part 1

The realization of what she had was starting to dawn on her, the rubble of building that served as the exit to the chamber lay at her feet and she would kick the rubble and watch it bounce off other debris as a sigh from the brawler would ring out through the vast emptiness. It was almost poetic. But Karma wasn't one to think of such anecdotes.

"So, you ready to come out?" Karma said, lifting her shirt to reveal those kanji symbols that ran down her ribs. "Are are you gonna get cold feet?"

'You know the answer, do it already. Or are you intending on teasing me more of my freedom...?'

Karma would nod, there was hesitance in her movements, the fear of what had happened in the other timeline coming back to her. Try as she might, she couldn't push that fear away and she could feel her alter smirk wickedly in her mind. It was a dreadful feeling that made her question herself once again, that fight or flight rolling as a flight and wanting nothing more than to continue keeping Alter in her place. But she knew what had to be done, this wasn't just for the people Alter had killed, the destruction and turmoil she had caused to so many others.

With a short breath, Karma's hand would raise and swipe itself down the seal symbols and watched as one by one they would disappear and as the last letter dissipated from her skin. There was as sudden feeling in her stomach, she fell to her knees and wretched, throwing up black ooze all over the ground below her as the laughter in her head became less of thought and more real. 'HAHAHAHAHAHA'

From the black ooze on the ground, the Alter's eyes would glow and slowly that blackened sludge would move and slowly start to form until the Alter would take form in front of her. Karma couldn't see it's mouth, but she could feel the grin coming off of her.

"It feels so good to move again!" She would say, stretching every which way it could, cracking almost non-existent bones and shaking herself off as if she were covered in the sludge that formed her. "I can assure you, I intend to never let that happen again. But first..."

With intense speed, faster than what Karma could be capable of, Alter would appear in front of the brawler and punch her square in the jaw. A ripple of sonic force boomed in the emptiness and Karma was sent back, tumbling like a skipping stone across the ground until catching herself and standing. "What the hell! You're throwing sucker punches now?!"

Again, another sudden rush, but instead of the punch landing, Karma would catch it and follow up with a blast of energy to her Alters stomach. Then another clash, causing ripples of force and energy to come from the two of the fighters.

Until Karma's leg was suddenly grabbed, her form being spun and thrown to the ground as a followed up blast of pure dark energy was was shot from the Alter, causing Karma to send one of pink back. As the energy collided, the both of them struggled, but it was clear Alter was the winner as an explosion of concentrated void energy broke Karma's own, causing her stumble back and land on her chest.

"Even with all that training, all that time, I'm still vastly stronger than you." Alter would laugh, prodding Karma with her words, her grey fingers forming a fist and slamming it once again against Karma's face. Then grabbing her coat collar and hitting her once again, and again as she yelled with rage.

"All that time locked up! All that time having to waste away in that crude, awful and unmanaged body of yours! You call yourself a student? A fighter? How long has it been since you've tried to attain an ascended form? Calling you another version of myself is akin to spitting in the face of a go-!"

Her hand was suddenly caught by Karma's, that's when Alter noticed, from the beat up features of the brawler, the blood that ran down the corner of her lips, she was smiling.

"Wanna know a secret...?"

Karma's grip would tighten and Alter could now feel the immense amount of energy beginning to grow. "No... No! No! NO!" She would continue to wail on the woman yet her attacks seemed to do little to nothing.

Karma's hair would fall from its bun, the color changing from it's iconic pink to a soft hue of orange. Alter tried to get her hand back, yanking and pulling as hard as she could trying to punch Karma over and over as tiny horns began to appear out of the top of the brawlers head until her full transformation was realized.

"I've already achieved Super Vacosian."

Without another moment Karma would open her mouth and release a beam of energy from her core, blasting her Alter away. The hand Karma had held detached from the alternate and soon disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Since WHEN?!" Alter would yell, her hand regenerating as she continued to get angrier. "How long?! And How didn't anyone know?! How didn't I know?!?"

Karma would grin, standing and dusting herself off. "Well, we're both pretty good liar's. I achieved it before I sealed you away. Long story short, call it a very, very late trump card."

"Ready to go another round?"

[pale-opal]

I saw this post yesterday and I have decided that the answer is yes. To all of it. To show you what I mean, I wrote something for it (if that's okay). Also: I have decided to pretend that Cataclysm Theory (the idea that Zero killed off most or all of the original cast before getting sealed away) is canon for this (so there is a content warning for descriptions of death and violence (there's also some religious symbolism)), in order to help me get my point across a little better:

---

Paved With Good Intentions - A Oneshot

It was over.

Thomas Light had, in every sense of the phrase, screwed up.

Not that it was entirely his fault, of course. Even when the world was being torn asunder right before his every eyes, he still knew how to show himself grace. He couldn't have possibly anticipated that the creation of X would have indirectly caused the deaths of his other children.

The monster had gotten to Blues first.

There wasn't much left of him, according to Rock. All that had been found at first was a puddle of yellow blood near the park he was known to frequent. Then Rock had found his scarf. And when he found a pair of broken sunglasses a little further away, that's when he realized something was wrong.

Rock, naturally, had been next. He had always possessed this need to do right, to bring justice. So of course he went to avenge his brother, once he brought what remained of him to Thomas. And of course he didn't surrender to the killer. Not even when he had just about been torn to pieces.

And yet, somehow, the beast wasn't satisfied. It desired more bloodshed, always more. So the other Robot Masters were next. Elec Man, Cut Man, Jewel Man, Splash Woman - every robot created by Dr. Light, gone in an instant. Soon Roll was the only one left.

Thomas thought he could do something different with her - keep her safe, keep her away from all of the suffering somehow. He had made precautions to change her appearance. Blonde hair to brown, blue eyes to gray. He'd bought her a sweater and pants to wear instead of her usual dress. Made her trade in wearing her hair tied up with a bow for pigtails. He'd even made changes to her frame so that she would be taller. But all of that wasn't enough. All it took was her taking a step outside to go to the store, and she was finished.

And now Thomas sat in his living room, held at buster-point on his very own couch. And it was here, in this dire state, that he came face-to-face with the murderer of his children. He wasn't anything like he thought. In fact, he looked no older than X had been designed to be: fifteen years old. And he had the most curious blue eyes and blond hair. Not to mention the way his eyes sparkled when he looked around the room - he was like a child, one who had been taken to an aquarium or to the zoo for the first time. Just like how Roll and Rock and Blues had been when they were first created. But even Lucifer was called an angel of light, Thomas reminded himself. Even if the wretch before him possessed some form of innocence, he had still killed almost every creation of his that he held dear. Thomas could not afford to let his guard down, could not afford to let this demon take anymore from him than he already had. He still had one child left, after all.

"What is it that you want?" Thomas asked finally, staring into the eyes of the creature before him.

At first, the thing looked him up and down, assessing him. No doubt checking to see if he's a threat. Once he'd come to a determination, he spoke: "Mega Man." Thomas blinked, stunned. "What?" "I want to see Mega Man. I was sent to destroy him." Thomas almost checked the little devil in the face at hearing that, but he managed to control himself. "Nonsense. You have already killed him."

The response Thomas got made his blood run cold. "There is another."

X.

He's talking about X. "No," Thomas lied, not knowing what else to do. "There isn't. You are mistaken." The fiend's eyes narrowed, and his buster began to squeal. "I suggest you stop lying to me." "You seem awfully sure of yourself," Thomas commented. "Who told you that there was a second Mega Man?" "My creator."

"And who is that?"

"Dr. Albert Wily."

Ah.

Now that explained everything. It told Thomas everything he needed to know - why this brute of an automaton had been so bent on killing everyone he had ever created, why he wanted nothing more than to destroy Rock and X. "I see."

"So?"

"'So' what?"

"So where is the second Mega Man?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about."

The vermin's voice ran icy. "Liar."

BANG! Thomas hissed as a buster shot grazed his shoulder, and burned a nicely sized hole in his wall. "I suggest you start telling me the truth," the blond demon said. "Or else my next shot will go through your head." "If you kill me," Thomas retorted, "You'll never know where he is. Only I know of his location." The devil pursed his lips. Thomas tried not to grin - now was his chance to get him on the ropes. "Although, I don't think I should tell you. It's for your own good, really."

"How so?"

"Well... what do you think Wily will do, once you've killed the last of my creations?" The monster paused for a moment. Then, he answered in a way that made Thomas want to gag from how innocent it was. "He... he would be proud of me."

"Psh. That isn't the case at all." Thomas couldn't help but shiver with satisfaction when the beast's face fell. Good, he thought. Be disappointed. Feel a fraction of what I have felt because of you. "Are you familiar with the Robot Master 'Clown Man'?" "I don't believe I am." "Well, of course you aren't. When Wily had no need for a clown-based Robot Master, he scrapped him. And... well, you do know Frost Man, don't you? He used his parts to create him." The fiend's eyes grew wide, but the gesture dissolved as quickly as it had taken place. It was soon replaced with a head tilt, a sure sign of confusion. "What are you saying?"

"Once he has no use for you, you'll be disposed of - he'll kill you."

The blond beast sucked in a breath from shock, and for a brief, fleeting instant, Thomas felt bad for scaring him. But he soon remembered what became of his children, and the guilt is then swapped for rage. He didn't sympathize in the slightest when the monster spoke again. "But - but he loves me. He - he said so." "You really are stupid, aren't you?" Thomas snapped, and felt himself glare. "Albert will do anything to get the results he wants. And he's not one to leave loose ends lying around, unless he believes that they will be useful later. And he won't have anything for you to do, once you kill X. And you've swept through all of my other robots - you're too dangerous to keep around." The brute said nothing, at first. He simply lowered and deactivated his buster after about a minute, then told Thomas his next course of action: "Then I will kill him first. And when that's done, I will return and kill the second Mega Man. Then my purpose will be fulfilled, and I can continue to live." Thomas gasped in horror as the wretch began to leave. That wasn't what he had intended! Not at all. "What - no, no! You can't do that - that's a crime. You'll - you'll be hunted down, and killed anyway. You'll just make things worse for yourse--" The Wilybot stopped only to give a brief answer before he left. "Then I will kill those who hunt me." And with that, the monster was gone, out the front door - out the way he came. Thomas' whole body tensed, cold sweat running down his back. He needed to make a phone call.

---

Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up -

A soft click on the other line made Thomas sigh in relief. Finally, after fifteen tries, Albert had gotten to the phone. His familiar dry, nearly hoarse vocal tones soon followed. "Who is this?! What do you want?! I am a very busy man, you know! If I don't pick up three times, that's a sign you should stop calling me! And how did you even get this number?! This is a private line -" "Albert. Albert, it's me. It's Thomas." That put a stop to Albert's rant quickly. A stubborn hmph came from Albert's mouth. "What do you want from me, Light?" "It's about the robot you sent to my home." Albert laughed, shrill and excited. "Ahaha! So Zero made it to you, then? I know he's killed your robots. Are you here to whine and complain about having finally lost? Or perhaps he hasn't gotten to all the disgraces you call 'creations' yet, and you want to beg for mercy. If so, that's fine. Just plead for it and admit that I'm the best, and I might just consider it." Zero, Thomas thought to himself. So that's that thing's name. "No. It's not like that at all." Thomas could just about see Albert's frown. "Then what is it?" "I called to warn you."

"Warn me?" Albert crowed. "Warn me about what? You're the one who's got a killer robot out to have your head, Light." "Not anymore," Thomas stated. "He wants you dead, now." Albert was silent. "Albert? Do you hear me?" "Stop messing with me, Light. Zero has been nothing but obedient-" A sharp scream cut Albert off from his train of thought. "...Shadow Man?"

Another voice could be heard over the phone. "Metal Man! Metal, help me! He wants to get to the Doctor -- AAAAUUGH!"

The sound of Shadow Man screaming as he fought to stay alive seemed to give Albert all the evidence he needed that his life was, in fact, in danger. "BASS!" Thomas jerked his head away from the receiver - he didn't know Wily knew how to yell like that. He returned the phone to his ear when Bass could be heard. "What do you want, old man?" A bark came from somewhere nearby - Treble was with him. "Fuse with Treble so you can fly out of here. You need to go. Do you hear me?"

"What?! Why? What's goin'--" Another loud scream echoed through the receiver, and the sound of a door sliding open came afterward. "Dr. Wily." It was Zero. "I know you are here. I have to speak with you."

Albert's tone took one a thick hint of affection. "About what, son?" Bass made a tch sound in the background.

"I know you intend to kill me, once I kill the second Mega Man."

"What?! No, I wouldn't - one second." Wily spoke harshly into his phone. "What did you tell Zero, Light?"

"I - I wanted to get him to change his mind about killing X. He's all I have left."

"Oh, so it's all well and good if he kills me, then?"

"No! I didn't want any of this to happen, I-"

"So why in the world did you make him think that I would want him dead?!"

"Well maybe," Thomas began, "You shouldn't have stolen X's blueprints. Maybe then none of this would be happening. Did you ever think about that, Albert? That maybe you have a part to play in all this?"

Albert huffed. "Whatever, Light. now if you excuse me, I have to do damage control." His tone became sweet again when he spoke to Zero. "Now, Zero. Think for a moment. Why would I want to hurt you? I spent so much time and effort making you-"

"You did the same for Clown Man, did you not? And yet, you discarded him to create Frost Man."

A little gasp came from Albert's mouth. "That's - I - That's not..!"

"Silence." Zero's voice sounded closer. "I will not allow you to dispose of me. You will die before I permit that."

Albert's voice was far from the phone now, and Thomas had to strain to hear him. "Bass, get out of here."

"...I ain't doin' that."

"Don't you understand what's about to happen?! He's going to-" "Not on my watch. C'mon, Treble!" A final bark was heard, and a loud whoosh took its place as Bass and Treble presumably fused. "Hey, oversized slag! Nobody lays a finger on my old man, you hear me?!"

Busters fired off, one after the other. Metal scrapped against metal, and Albert desperately begged his two robots to stop fighting each other - but Zero's name was said the most. It seemed like he was doing the most damage. A horrible, sickening shriek came out of Bass before it was abruptly quieted, and then the sound of a sharp clang. But there was nothing after that. "...Albert?" Thomas asked, hesitant. "Albert are you there?" A low sigh was Albert's response. "You're still here, Light?"

"Yes -what happened? Are you alright?"

Albert snorted. "Well, let's see, Light. One of my sons is dead, and I just knocked my other son out with a piece of rebar. How do you THINK I'm doing?" Thomas could hear Albert swallow, and his voice indicated that he was fighting back tears. "Zero will only be out for a few moments, I need to - how did this even... what am I going to do?"

"Albert," Thomas started again. "I'm so-" But Thomas wasn't given a chance to get the word "sorry" out of his mouth. "Thomas?"

"Yes, Albert?"

"Never call me again."

"...I understand."

Thomas didn't need to be told to hang up.

---

Thomas licked one last envelope closed as he rose from his desk. He had spent the last week writing letters. One for Mikhail, one for Noele, one for Pedro, and even one for Albert.

Now all he had to do was mail them.

But before he left his house, he threw his key to his private lab into the trash. Not the best means of disposal, he knew, but he didn't have any other ideas. At least it bought X some time to finish his thirty years of stasis undisturbed. Thomas had no doubt that Zero would come for X again. He knew, deep down, even though he wasn't entirely sure how he knew, that Albert wouldn't have scrapped his last creation - even if it was abundantly clear to him now that Zero was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing. He made his way to the mailbox outside, letters in hand. He was about to put them in the slot, send out what may very well have been his last words (he had been having the most terrible headaches lately - he suspected that it was nothing but paranoia, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was connected to something worse. He would have to schedule a doctor's appointment) to his longtime friends (or longtime former friends, in Albert's case). Every note contained an apology, a summation of things he would've done differently. The ones to Mikhail and Albert were especially long. What else could he do, for a man who had his daughter kidnapped due a rivalry that Thomas had failed to nip in the bud long ago. And what else could he do for a man who had lost both of his sons because of his unhindered need to push the limits of robots could do? That was how all of this had happened, right? Who did Thomas think he was, playing God? Giving life when there was none? Giving free will to machines? And at the same time, he couldn't firmly say that he would take any of what he had done back. So all he could do was say that he was sorry, in every sense of the word, and talk about how he wished things had been different.

But then, he recalled the tears he had shed while he had been writing, how the drops of saline had stained the pages. He couldn't send those letters. The last thing he wanted to do was give his friends something to worry about. Thomas turned and went back inside. He would rewrite the letters in the next day - it was getting late, and he was tired. He slid the envelopes back into his desk drawer, showered, and changed into his nightclothes before heading to bed. But the letters were never sent out.

Because in the morning, he did not wake.

---

And... yeah, that's about it! This was my first time writing a sympathetic Dr. Wily, so I hope that it turned out okay. But I'm feeling pretty good about this one. What I was trying to say here is that Dr. Light definitely had a sense that things were going south, and that he had something to do with it. He would probably try to right his wrongs where he could, and for what he couldn't change... well, I suppose we have the X series to answer that. (Also, I suspect that I was subconsciously inspired by "Double-Cross" by kaguys2pt0 (via ao3), so check that out as well (heads up before reading, though: there is strong language present in that fic. A lot of strong language).)

do you think light could feel the impending chaos in his bones? do you think he sat in his lab and cried from time to time? do you think he dreamed of times long gone, of regrets he'd moved on from but still lingered in the back of his mind? do you think he wrote unsent letters to everyone he ever loved? did he die scared? alone? relieved? at peace?

[nevermore-the-kitsune]

Pokemon Teams for Fictional Characters pt. 2

Damian Wayne

(Also, I'm not including move sets because in my headcannon Pokemon do remember all their old moves. But humans choose to only use four)

For this AU I'm having the Wayne's own the Gotham City Gym, which specializes in Dark types. Most of the cannon events still happened. Just with a few tweaks here and there. (Dick's 20, Jason's 16, Cass is 15 Tim's 15 but younger than Cass and Damian's 13 because I love AUs where there closer in age).

Anyway here we go!

First things first in the Pokemon Universe his alias wouldn't be Robin since they don't exist. Instead I think it would be Rookidee, since thats the closest Pokemon to a Robin.

His Partner Pokemon and ace would be a Gligar

Name: Goliath

Gender: Male

Why: Gligar screams Goliath (his Batdragon) plus the coloring of his evolutions matches with Dami's Robin and Batman outfits

Story: He found Goliath while climbing a mountain for his training. At the time he was four and Goliath was a hatching. Damian ended up giving him some food, seeing that the hatching was hungry.

Grateful, the Gligar followed him hoping to return the favor.

When Damian's hand got broken on that same trip, Goliath was the one to help him finish his mission and get home safely.

Talia was impressed that Damian could tame a wild Pokemon without catching it, so she allowed him to keep him as his first Pokemon.

-----

Next he would have a Meowth

Name: Alfred

Gender: Female

Why: This one has to do with its evolution. Persian are said to only be loyal to trainers it likes and that it takes a lot to get them to like you. Their also said to be prissy and uptight. This reminded me of Damian. How it took forever for him to trust his brothers and his own snobby attitude. Thus I think it fits.

Story: After coming to live with his father Damian didn't know how to act. He saw his "brothers" and father treating their Pokemon so different than how the League did. They all trained hard. But, there was something eles: warm praise for a job well done, asking for insight on a case (they had taught their bipedal pokemon sighn language) and comfort on a bad day. His father and brothers treated their Pokemon like... people

In the League Pokemon where the lowest soldier, lower than the slaves or concubines. They trained, ate then they had to and got in their ball.

He had been a little more lenient in his training with Goliath. When asked he said that he was still a baby and he had to take things slow in this stage or he might develop too much muscle mass and be unable to fly.

He had kept him out of his ball with the excuse of developing muscle mass at a proper pace.

He liked Goliath's company. The Gligar was a good companion. But on the same level as another person?

He had expressed these thoughts to Pennyworth, the only person in the house to give him a straight answer when he needed it.

Pennyworth had explained to him that some people love to hold power over others and that Pokemon where an easy target, since they couldn't communicate their emotions as clearly as people could.

"Think of Mistress Cain. She sometimes cannot communicate with words, but we know that she's intelligent. But some people see her as less than intelligent and treat her as such because of the power it gives them."

Two weeks later Damian would come across a group of teenagers attempting to shave a Meowth. The Pokemon was little more than skin and bone and crying out on pain. So, Damian broke their fingers and shaved part of their heads for good measure.

He kept the Meowth and named her after the man who taught him about the abuse of power.

---

Next, a Poochyena

Name: Titus

Gender: Male

Why: These Pokemon and their evolution are ruthless with their pray, and only obey trainers with external skill.

Story: Raven gave Damian Titus as a gift. She said that she rescued him from an underground fighting ring (where the battles are to the death). He was still to young to battle so he didn't need much rehabilitation. The other Pokemon there though...

---

Now we have a Type Null

Name: Heretic

Gender: ???

Why: This Pokemon was created in lab, and artificial designed for the purpose of fighting, just like Damian. True I could have given him Mewtwo, but that cat seems to fit Kon more.

Story: Damian's mother had spent years creating Type: Null with the purpose of being able to kill any target. As a last test she wanted to see which of her creations was suppirrior. So she sent the Type Null out to (try and) kill her son.

Damian, with the rest of his team, beat the Pokemon but couldn't kill it. He had long since vowed to wash the blood from his hands. Instead he offered his hand to it and asked it to join him.

---

Here we have the hardest to explain... Mimikyu

Name: Habibi (I hope I spelled that right)

Gender: Female

Why: Damian is complex, he wants to be accepted and loved just like Mimikyu but dosent know how. Both try to mimic others in order to get that love, Damian his father and Mimikyu Pikachu. So I see this as Damian's spirit Pokemon in a way.

Story: He didn't know why it was so hard to fit in. Gods know he tried. But... little things confused him. Like how eveyone could understand each other without words or singhing. He had no problems with that on a battlefield, but in day to day life; it felt like he was on a separate server.

Like how Todd knew at breakfast with just a look that Drake was in a bad mood and how to help. Or how Grayson could audomadicly tell what kind of day at school the rest of them had withen a few minutes. Hell even Drake could tell what grunts ment what from father! Which ment good job, Which ment I'm glade your okay, or frustration either at them or at a case (Cass didn't surprise him, she had to learn how to communicate without words and watch body language and micro expressions).

School was no better; sometimes it was to load or bright othertimes, when everyone was doing a test, it felt to quiet. But, to much or to little, Damian was always aware of every movement, every sound. It was like the very instincts that saved his life every night where turned against him.

He turned to his nearly forgotten childhood habits to distract himself from everything around him. That only led to more whisper shouting and what even he could tell where displeased glares with a grunt of "fucking tapping" or a snap of "stop!" He knew it was disrupting but it was all be could do to drown out the noise or silence.

On one particularly bad day at school; apparently during one of their tests one of his classmates had had enough of Damian's tapping and decided to make a scene.

There was some yelling from the kid. A few cries in agreement. Before the teacher had gotten hem to settle down. He had demanded that Damian look him in the eye and when he finally did told him to stop with the tapping or else he would be sent to the office, Gym Leaders son or not.

He was the last to finish that test where he normally finished first. The silence had been to load!!

After that clusterfuck Damian finally headed home. He had texted Grayson saying that he was meeting a friend somewhere to work on a project and to not pick him up. In truth he didn't want his brother reading what kind of day he had had. He needed some time to himself.

That was how he found himself in a nearby park. It was filled with plenty of sounds that didn't suffocate him and the fall leaves where soothing to his eyes. Damian had Titus out of his ball as company, knowing that the pup loved park walks.

They had been walking for an hour when they came across a box set off just on the edge of the trail. "Free to Good Homes" was written on the side in black sharpie.

No sound was coming from inside, so he assumed that the had all been taken. Until Titus went closer sniffing at the seemingly empty box.

"Pooch Pooch"

"Hmmm... what is is it boy?" He asked as he walked closer to his Pokemon and the Box. Damian hoped he was wrong. It was cruel to leave a baby Pokemon all alone, especially since the weather was getting colder by the day.

Inside the box was in fact a lone Pokemon. At first glance it looked like a Pikachu. But something was off. It looked more like a doll than a living creature. If it wasn't for the small chirps it let out and slight way that it was shivering from the cold Damian would have written it off as a toy. No wonder it got left behind...

Damian reached down and picked up the mystery Pokemon as gently as he could.

"Come on beloved, lets go home."

He tucked the Pokemon in his jacket to warm it up before reaching for his phone to call Grayson for a ride home.

That night Damian locked himself away, even skipped patrol, and spent a sleepless night learning everything he could about his newest Pokemon.

---

That was inspired by this comic

---

Finaly, for his last spot Eevee!!

Name: Omni

Gender: Female

Why: I'm going to have all the Batfam members have an Eeveelution. This branch and the Batfam are both growing consistently. We all have our favorites but we love them all the same. So I think it fits.

Story: Everyone in the family had an Eevee or one of its evolutions. Damian's Father said that Eevee was the Wayne family symbol, it was potential, the ability to become whatever you wanted.

Though it surprised Damian that the Wayne symbol wasn't a Noibat or Noivern (Batman's ace) at first he eventually understood the logic in choosing such a Pokemon to represent the family name. That only made things harder for him being the only one not having one. Did they not truly see him as family?

On the one year anniversary of Damian arriving at The Mannor, his family through a small party. Pennyworth made his favorite foods, The Mannor was decorated in tacky streamers (Graysons' idea) and they watched some of Damian's favorite fims, their Pokemon curled up with them. His father had offered to take the day off from the gym. Until Todd suggested that Damian take on the challengers.

The Gotham gym was part of his heritage. Damian had been training for the day that he could finally help weed out the weak challengers just like his siblings sometimes did (think the battles you do before challenging a gym leader in the games).

On that day, if the challengers agreed to it, their final battle wasn't with Bruce Wayne the Dark Knight but instead his son. Most accepted thinking that it would be an easy win, that they had lucked out in not having to battle one of the stongest Gym Leaders in the League and could still get the Shadow Badge.

Those poor fools.

Damian was only allowed to use Alfred, Titus and Habibi since he used Goliath and Heretic primarily as Rookidee.

Damian fought seven trainers that day in 3v3 fights. Only two of them got the badge.

With the day overwith and the night rising, so did Gothams' protecters.

The night ended with exhausted body's and adrenaline crashes. Damian was ready to slip into a mini coma from the day he had but before he could head upstairs to The Mannor...

"Not so fast baby bat." Graysons' voice called out to him. "We got one more surprise for you."

Damian raised his eyebrow at that. What else could they do? His father came back from the locker rooms where he had been desuiting, it always took him the longest because of his "old man bones" as Todd said.

"Son," his father said "its Wayne tradition to get your first Pokemon when you turn ten years old. I missed that with you." He paused, eyes briefly shifting to the floor before they snapped back on Damian's face. "Luckily there's one tradition we didn't miss. When you've lived at The Mannor for a year or the adoption papers get finalized, I give my children this..."

He pulled a Poke'ball out of his poket and handed to Damian. "Go on son, let them out."

He did

Staring at him was his own Eevee.

---

AN: All of Damian's Pokemon (sans maybe Omni, I'm thinking of leaving her as an Eevee) will eventually evolve. Eventually.

[lachalaine]

❥ 💓 💘 💛 💚

Heart of Hearts ❤

❥: what is my muse’s ideal date?

so many people ended up asking about this one, i was so surprisedtbh hahah !! okay but honestly !! it was actually sort of hard to think of whather ideal date would be like because it’s not necessarily something she’sthought about too much, thus also meaning i haven’t really thought about it toomuch either. she’s really low maintenance that way. i can tell you what herideal date isn’t – which is anything close to resembling champagne and a placethat she has to wear heels and a dress. anything too rich and fancy makes herfeel uncomfortable, so staying away from that is a good bet. unless it’s like…a very, very special moment, but even then, she’d appreciate the moment more ifshe was somewhere where she felt free to be herself.

i guess specifically, jackie’s ideal date would be anythingfrom a night by the beach with a campfire, to a surprise trip out of town to ahot spring or a hotel, to even just a night on a cold rooftop watching thestars and the skyline glimmer in the distance. and i mean specifically arooftop – not a park; silly as it may be but that’s important. hell, she’lleven appreciate a bridge that she can sit on the railings of, to be honest,just so she can watch the moon shimmer over the water’s surface in a locationthat’s free from foot traffic.

now i say that because that sense of solitude is significantto her whilst on dates, because then she feels like she’s able to connect morewith the person she’s with, rather than being distracted by noise or otherpeople that can tend to make the moment feel a little less special. the moreattention you can give her without necessarily being distracted by someone elseis an A++ in her book.

if you’re planning on bringing a picnic of sorts, sheappreciates corn dogs, pizza and soda more than she appreciates strawberriesand cream. slurpies from 7-11 are the best. build a campfire on the beach withher where you can roast marshmallows, bring a thick blanket you both can cuddleunder, light up fireworks for her for a private show, or even just spoil her bykidnapping her for a weekend trip away to a place that’s meant to relax her,giving her a blissful moment in time that she doesn’t have to spend thinkingabout work.

because you know, she loves her job. but she loves it too much and that’s a problemtruthfully. anywho –

if you can give her a space where she feels most at peace toappreciate both the natural beauty of the world and appreciate every aspect ofthe person she’s enjoying it with, enough that she can get to know you on a deeperlevel than what most people are used to, you’ll very likely leave a lastingimpression that’ll keep you in her mind for days and weeks and most likelymonths.

honestly, she’ll just be really, really fucking happy.

💓: how does my muse feelabout physical intimacy?

claps a lot because i love this question !!

she loves physical intimacy !! the most tbh !! even if she—- doesn’t partake in it too much. like, she’s the type of person who lovesaffection. loves to give affection and loves to receive it. from holding handsto kissing to sex, she’s just ?? very pleased whenever she can get it from hersignificant other????? but as comfortable as she is with physical intimacy, she’salso very, very shy about being the one to start the first few kisses.

usually when she’s in the flirtation stage, she sort oftries to see how they’ll react to her small acts of affection. she’s shy aboutit though !! but she’ll like, do these little things like lace their pinkiestogether when they’re sitting next to each other, or knock her head againsttheir shoulder and sort of go for a hug. if they haven’t kissed yet, she’ll bea lot shyer with things, but once either of them have made the first move forthat part (honestly you probably have to kiss her first) it sort of unlocks everythingelse after that.

she’ll gets really, really affectionate after that, and willalways seem to want a kiss. she’ll be more comfortable being in close contactand even doing more intimate things (like sitting on his lap and stuff), willalways be really pleased when he gives her attention, but she won’t ever get tothe point where it gets really clingy like… overtly attached girlfriend style.sort of just like, she’ll always take notice of you when you’re around.

she’s also the type that when she sort of feels like she’scome to a comfortable part of the relationship with you, the sexual thoughtssort of……….. start……… like…… she’s actually like……. very sexually active whenshe’s in a relationship tbh ??? she won’t do anything unless she knows the otherone is ready but, like – i don’t know, her thoughts tend to go south kind ofquickly like she’s not like ‘i want roses and wine for my first time with thisguy’, she’s just ——– if there’s any real indication that the guy is sortof up for it (given she’s at that stage where she’s comfortable with him andhas thought of it herself – and trust me, you will know) she’ll just……………………. sortof indicate that she’s ready to and just……………………………………go for it.

so basically, very comfortable with anything physical. justshy. at first. not after.

💘: how does my museact/react when they first realize that they had a crush on somebody?

usually her first thought is always going to be ‘oh fuck’,to be honest.

but as far as her first reaction goes, she tends to deny it.some serious and hardcore ‘oh my god, stop acting like this, he’s just beingnice to me, stop acting like an idiot, you’re just friends’ denial. usually hercrushes start pretty small, and they always only ever seriously develop on peopleshe would consider friends so she doesn’t even recognize it when it does start– which is what creates the brunt of her problems – because most often italways only ever begins as interest in the guy as a person, and that’s all shetends to think it is for the rest of the time that she’s with them. she mightsometimes be attracted to someone based on their physical attributes, but thosecrushes are very, very quick to fade, so it’s easy for her to relegate thosethoughts to the back of her mind; enough that she doesn’t really think about ituntil her crush is at its peak.

from that point on, her thoughts just sort of tend to go ‘uhoh’, and she begins the process of relegating her sorry ass to the‘friendzone’, even if the guy has shown some small amount of interest in herbefore. literally, she will plop herself in that corner and pretend nothing is happening. she will do herbest to avoid thinking about them, do her best to avoid being in physicalcontact with them, sometimes even try to deflect any of her obvious signs of acrush by pointing them in another girl’s direction. or even finding ways not tobe around them, if she feels like her attraction is getting out of hand and sheknows it will only cause problems for her if she were to show it.

she will do her best to act completely and utterly normalwhenever possible at first, only just possibly be a hell of a lot more absentas she tries to come to terms with it.

💛: does my muse believein love-at-first-sight? in soulmates? in fate?

no, not after her last relationship she doesn’t. jackie hashad that ‘love at first sight’ sort of attraction before, and it had turned outvery badly for her.

in cases like that, she tends to consider those moments asmore pure infatuation than she does believe it to be anything remotely likelove. she still somewhat believes in soulmates and somewhat still believes infate as well, but only to a point, and never really in accordance with anythinglike romance.

more like… she wantsto believe those concepts still exist, however she’s also seen the dark side ofit and adamantly refuses to allow herself to be thrown under that rock againjust because she was tugged along by the childish fantasy that she was meant to meet a certain someone. that love was ever truly that easy.

she tends to believe more in her first-hand knowledge thatit will never actually be that simple. it’s not suddenly meeting someone andthinking that you’re absolutely compatible in every single way. it’s not evergoing to be uncomplicated, it’s not ever going to not be difficult. it’s notgoing to be a fairytale, and he’s never going to be your perfect prince, justlike she’s never going to be his perfect princess. it’s not ever going to be ahappily ever after, just because something as whimsical as fate decided it would be.

to her, true love takes work. it takes effort that goes farbeyond just a chance meeting. and if she ever does allow herself to trust inthose ideals again, it will be because whoever she has truly fallen in lovewith would have taught her that those concepts could actually exist – for allthe right reasons that she’d missed the first time around.

💚: how does my muse feelabout love? about falling in love? about being in love?

she’s terrified of love. whether platonic or romantic, themere thought of it is usually enough to send her running for the hills andcontemplate getting an identity change and moving to mexico. the only reason ithasn’t yet is because she sort oftends to fool herself into thinking that the love people feel for her isn’tthat deep, that they couldn’t seriously care about her that much – until sherealizes that they actually do, and suddenly she cares about them just as much,and now she just can’t force herself to leave anymore and pretend none of itmatters.

deep down beneath all those layers of fear, she doesactually want to be in love. she wants to be that close to someone again, to beable to free herself of all the things holding her back, to be able to letherself trust and give someone that part of her that she’s truly terrified ofletting anyone have control over again. mostly because she knows how badlyswayed she is by love, how truly blinded she is when she gets to that stage,that she ends up giving up whole parts of herself in the process withoutmeaning to. even if… their own feelings for her don’t resonate with them asstrongly as her own do.

falling in love sort of makes her feel torn, between runningaway and letting herself stay to see how it all pans out. the truth is, even ifshe tells herself she’s not that desperate for affection anymore, she kind ofstill is. enough that she’s willing to risk putting her trust in whoever it isher heart can’t seem to let go of, if she wantsthem badly enough. it would depend on how they made her feel, how they’dmanage to convince her that they truly cared for her, and if she felt like shecould trust them to love her back as completely as she did them.

being in love feels like a dream, but not one she’s confidentshe’ll ever truly have. she’s sort of written that thought away, and that’s whyshe’s thrown all of herself into her career instead. that’s why she doesn’t think about love so much, and why it catches her off guard when it arrives. because for her to becompletely in love with someone, she has to be able to show them the parts ofher that are bad and not at all perfect, and they have to be able to accept it andnot throw her away for it. and if in case those parts are actually verytroublesome and detrimental to her own well being, that they do try to change it mostlybecause they want her to be better for herself.because they honestly truly care about her and want her to be okay, and notjust because they just couldn’t handle it,or they didn’t want it, or justbecause they thought it was just ‘toomuch work to deal with’ thereby forcing her to pretend it doesn’t exist. she’s willing to work on herself, but she needs that support, that guidance - that knowledge that even if it takes a while for her to get there, that they won’t grow to hate her for not being perfect. that they won’t abandon her when the going gets too rough. 

if she’s going to allow herself to be in love withsomeone again, she has to be able to grow in the relationship – to learn how to be good for both herself,and for the man she’s in love with, so they can accept her for herself as she is and who she could be, and not because they just want her to be entirely someone else.

// @luseron

[yuvon-writes-letters]

Hey Yu,

Here I am again.

Sorry again I took so long to answer, at least it was 3 days for me. I didn't really It wasn't [the next part is harshly blacked out, you can only make out the word 'problem' and three letters that seem to be 'M_AF']

I just hadn't had much time to answer. But I'm fine I guess. No new answers. [the sentence seems a little shaky] That sadly means nothing new from my Jake, either.

It's fine, thank you that you answered so truthfully now, really. I really appreciate it!

If you ever find the courage to tell us (if Rai reads the letters) about the inside of the north room, then do it. We want to help you (at least I do).

So there are ways out...But nothing you want to try and I can totally understand that. I mean, I wouldn't want to go in a room, created by an entity and filled with symbols of death either.

And even to protect the others, the price you'd need to pay..I fully understand yours and your Jakes' opinion!

I really hope I didn't miss anything..And hopefully I'll get your next letter. [This part seems to be a bit shaky again]

Lis Liska🐾🔥[the first try of the name is so shaky that it's almost unreadable]

Ps. Haha oups, it seems sometimes writing your own name is more difficult than you think :)

Here, too, is the real person behind Liska :) I think you already realised that I, too, now have some story for Liska that I really brought in. There is a reason I ignored your other letters, I still read 'em though! ^^ Like I already said my vacation started but I try to answer at LEAST once a day now. I also tried to make the time passing for Liska like our real time now, but it maybe doesn't always work with the story and less time I have :P AAAAND thanks guys! This is real fun!

Lis,

So, to be blunt, you didn't black out the entirety of what you wanted to in that first paragraph. Has the MWAF sent you another message, and did it have to do with these letters? You do not have to respond to this question. Vs lbh ner orvat jngpurq, qenj n fzvyrl jvgu na bcra zbhgu. (The first word is “if”.)

Hmm. It seems like this entity is cleverer than I am, if that idea didn't work. Not that that's hard XD

You’ll be able to talk to your Jake eventually. I promise. Even if I’m not the one to help you make it happen.

...Interesting. Rai JUST sent in another letter (it doesn’t sound like they’re doing so great :( ) and I JUST, in that letter, gave a more thorough description of the north room. Plus, I sent one earlier with an update on something going on with my Jake I think you might not have gotten either (we’re having a fight at the moment and I’m not speaking to him until I calm down a little.) Are you now missing letters...? I hope not. In any case, in hopes it gets back to you, I’ll

Huh. You know, instead of copying all that, I’ve got a dumb idea.

(There’s a ragged piece of paper obviously ripped out of something, with the paragraph on the north room from the last letter on it. It seems to be glued on with something vaguely amber colored. It’s bled through the paper in places, but everything is still pretty much legible.)

Hope that stays on in cosmic transit. Also, apparently, this knife can cut trees. Somehow. Eww, I have sap all over my hands now. I’ll try to keep any from dripping onto the page.

And, yes, my copy of the letter fucking regenerated. I don’t even know anymore.

I’m getting sidetracked.

Yeah, I am NOT paying that price. I might try to be a good person, but like hell am I being a martyr.

“Hopefully I’ll get your next letter”? Lis. Are you in danger? I don’t mean the constant “MWAF is threatening us” danger. Do you think you are ACTIVELY in danger? If you do something special I mentioned, cebonoyl abg vf ab naq ab vf lrf.

—A very concerned Yu

ps. Oh for fuck’s sake. The pen is stuck to my hand now.

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others. Luckily, it doesn’t stick to any of them.)

[iphoenixrising]

Justice is Blind AU: V

I’m alive, I swear. This is the next thing in the Blind!Tim au @satire-please started.

**

The Black Bird is a rough and tumble design. Close to a year and a half of work into making the car his new ride (because, you know, not that Robin anymore). It's the biggest pre-Iraq project, started shortly after he left Gotham and realized he'd probably never be welcome in the Cave, the Manor, or in with the Bats again (it wasn't…fine at the time. Fuck it was a painful realization, one hovering in the back of his brain pan while adapted to the nefarious side of the Force—stealing and then returning Bat-shaped artifacts and such).

Naturally, it’s the first project he picked-up in the transition period—the one after the Mission: prove the Bruce was still alive and fucking find him. After he’d done the job, sent Bruce back to Gotham to recover, to get his own orientation, Tim had packed up the Red Robin costume and returned to Gotham City. While adjusting to his ever-sharpening senses (and yes, Tam even toned down the light but cloying perfume once she realized it gave him migraines within the first five minutes) and trying to determine his next steps in the whirlwind of holy shit his life had become (who was he kidding? When was his life not a shit storm of ‘what next’?), he’d put up the suit until he made his choice about where to go from there.

Of course, once he had nothing to focus on, no reason to keep moving, the eventual fallout of oh God, how can I do this? Fuck that, I am doing this. I’m going to figure out how the fuck to do this came with the determination to finish the half-assed projects he’d left the night Dick took Robin and handed it over to Damian. The projects became something important, something so crucial to proving he could still get his shit together.

The Black Bird was the first on the list.

He’d originally worked on the specs, did the heavy lifting between finding frustrating clue after clue (the Bat symbol on a cavern wall, made into an earthen pot, a wax stamp to mark documents). He’d even been mid-way through programming the massive computer system, one similar to the one in the Batmobile (the last one he’d actually ridden in that is) so he could calibrate it to lock on to his homing signal in the utility belt and auto-pilot itself to his location.  The coding alone had been extensive, especially considering he’d started from literally scratch, refusing to access the Batcomputer to get the initial set-up from Bruce’s mainframe. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to trip any of Dick’s instincts, hadn’t wanted to give himself away, hadn’t wanted to talk or swing or what-the-fuck-ever (but secretly he’d been pretty damn sure all his access had been revoked from the big system anyway, he just hadn’t wanted to face that finality, the proof of ‘you don’t belong here anymore.’ Fuck, he’d already gotten that message loud and clear.)

Working on the Black Bird was the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him from running further away, from believing Dick had a fucking point and maybe he might just be having some kind of psychological break. When none of them believed in him, it's the only thing that kept him moving.

He'd only finished the body work and undercarriage before he'd been blinded and going back to it immediately had been... a reminder of what he’d lost (another thing he’d had to sacrifice). The damn car sat up on the automatic lift until he came back to Gotham a month after he’d sent B back to Dick, Damian, and Alfred, getting through that little meet-and-greet without giving out too many details but satisfied and terrified at the same time since, well, Mission accomplished. Now what?

Finding B lost in time had been the real clincher in the whole should I stick with it? mentality. Even though no one but Ra's, Shiva, and Tam knew, it was always on the tip of his tongue, in a puddle at the bottom of his brain pan when the rest of his contingencies mapped out exactly how to get through things like space/time.

Find Bruce, get him back, and then what?

Safe answer: go to college, say “fuck this lifestyle.”

But…but—

Instead of feeling like his last action as a crime fighter would be a big send-off, a final win for their side, and the last blast before he gave up the cape, the part of him, the part that pushed him to be ROBIN rose up to sneer Give up? Be a normal guy? College? A 9-5 job? What the utter fuck, dude?

So, he'd taken the time, jumped in with both hands all over again (and it’s just like when he was on a train to Haley’s Circus at twelve years old, hoping to convince Dick Grayson to take up the Robin mantle again and save Batman. Welp, we all know how that little situation panned out, don’t we?). Getting his projects done, getting the tools he’d need to function, getting a network established, setting up shop again so Red Robin could throw out his own safety net in the instance of shit, shit, Plan X failed (thus, the Black Bird). Honestly, he’d made the decision before he’d even realized it himself.

And nope, he hasn't regretted it yet.

Well, once he realizes someone breached the upstairs of the Perch, there might be just a small smidge after all since very, very few people knew how to find him and, even better, how to get in.

Straightening from his place at the hidden workbench in the sub-basement level, several vertebrae in his spine crack sharply, telling him how long he’d been bent over the stack of whirlybirds, taking his time to solder new microchips under the insignia and Plexiglas casing. These were marked with a niche on the bottom, a groove deep enough for his gloves to catch when he’s in the suit; he’d also made them much smaller than the usual palm-sized— rather, almost the size of a silver dollar and with a low-frequency output most people wouldn’t even detect, but could give him placement in places with high ceilings or echoes (you know, when the baddies hold up in shitty warehouses and such). He stands up to stretch while his phone gives off a specific beep, one to indicate the Perch’s motion detectors had been set off. Snagging the device, he leaves his progress where it is, minutely adjusting the tools so he could come back to it. Barefoot, he pads out through the hidden door of the inner workshop and onto the plush, vinyl mats of the functional gym, takes 36 steps to the side area with workbenches along one wall to keep his suit stocked with the usual toys. Finally another 18 to the hidden staircase and up the back passage to the penthouse apartment.

It took him long enough for the smell of fresh coffee to waft halfway down the stairs and set off his inner caffeine sense. While the fingertips of one hand run along the wall absently, automatically, his stomach rumbles in reminder of how long it’s been since he’s tried to do, you know, real people things like sleep and eat.

(It’s fine, his guest probably already knows)

And it’s finely honed instincts that allow him to backbend slightly before he’s even a step through the hidden staircase to avoid the hot mug of coffee being shoved directly in his face.

“I’m going to need you,” Tamara Fox starts out in that patiently irritated tone, “to get Bruce Wayne the hell out of my office. And I need you to do it yesterday.”

Well. Shit.

“Hi Tam. Nice to see you too,” he takes the mug gratefully as he straightens up, steps out to allow the wall to slide closed and hide the stairs again. He checks the level of liquid pointlessly while the rim is already at his mouth and just perfect. Of course it is because Tam is the quintessential perfectionist (and nope, she can argue all she wants about reckless decisions and such—again, sorry you almost died. Really, it’s my life, so I can totally sympathize). But he smiles around the first mouthful and moves to the kitchen table so she can pace and rant at her leisure and he can enjoy a few minutes of sitting upright.

“Bruce has been at WE I take it?” He starts the train rolling even as he pulls out a chair to make himself comfortable.

“Has Bruce been—are you kidding me?”

Choo-choo, allll aboard

“He’s been there all week, Tim. Not in his office, not with my dad, not with the board. He’s been literally in my office. I’ve given him stacks of paperwork for the last three days and he still isn’t leaving. Monday? He had a champagne fountain in the middle of the office and invited everyone from Accounting to come up for a drink.”

Oh. Oh no.

He makes a positive noise for go on while the coffee sits warm in his stomach and he cracks the knuckles of one hand absently.

“Tuesday? He brought two models up for a photo shoot, including equipment, backdrop, and whatever the hell they needed for a magazine cover!”

And Tam takes six long strides to cover the kitchen before she turns and takes six back, always more at ease to talk while she’s doing something. That’s her, someone who is in perpetual motion. Slight sighs are her hands and arms moving to gesture without a hitch in her step.

“And it was for Forbes, Tim. He had half-naked models posing with him for the cover of Forbes.”

He enjoys breathing enough that he doesn’t snicker, he might choke a little on his coffee, but really, not laughing here at all.

“Bruce was always a little…quirky. All rich guys are.”

She pauses long enough to face him, gritting her teeth, “most rich guys don’t do their own brand of crazy in the middle of my office, Tim.”

Just a slight wince, but, well, Tam. “Well, he’s also Batman, so that should factor in to his brand of crazy.”

A slight noise is a wave of her hand, “I’m not worried about the scary man that breaks faces for a living. I’m worried about the former-CEO who is going to be back in my office Monday morning with God know what else unless he gets some information on how you’re doing.”

Damn. He’d hoped B would leave Tam out of anything unrelated to WE—

Wait. What now?

“Wait. You’re telling me he didn’t come to you to get his company back?”

His mug makes a sharp noise on the table from force because he had certain expectations on how that little situation was going to pan out for everyone.

The chair across from him pulls out with a soft scratch, and his spine straightens when she slides into the chair. Papers flutter and clack when they’re straightened, slide across the table in front of him.

Tam not talking means not good.

His fingertips are already moving over the soft line of dots across the top of the pages, moving from the usual WE headers and down to the bulk of content:

I, Bruce Thomas Wayne, assign all duties and responsibilities of Chief Executive Officer of Wayne Industries and Wayne International to Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne—

His jaw drops, hand stutters across the braille line.

Tam hums just slightly and the sound of her drinking her own mug (and it’s probably the special one he keeps for her, the whole You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps one).

His fingers skip down, move across the page slowly in shock, his brain coming up with what fucking reason Bruce would just—

“He did that playboy moron thing he’s got going on for a while, but—and I’m not sure where he got the right forms—but, he brought them to me signed and notarized on Friday. We…well, we talked a little. I mean, like people, not like you kind of people about bad guys and fighting, but like real people. The real guy is kind of…intense?” Tam sighs a little and the noise is heavy in his ears, stressed. Without thinking, he raises his head slightly and slides his free hand across the table, seeking until he gets the bump of her knuckles, wraps his hand around hers, runs his thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing gesture. It did wonders to calm her down when they were in the belly of the proverbial beast, the League of Assassins’ Cradle.

Okay. This could be not good.

“He wants you to stay as CEO and for me to be your I don’t know second-in-command or something? Dad wants R&D back because he says he’s getting too old to keep up with running the company, and Mr. Wayne doesn’t seem to want the controlling interest in his company back, so I don’t know what else to tell you to do, Tim. Only that you have to address the company in person eventually, do a formal introduction to the Board. Start coming into an office somewhere so people can see you once in a while.”

He has nothing but changing thoughts and motivations running through his brain at high speeds and keeps listening, his reading hand absently skimming through the rest of the page, turning it over to start scanning the next. He takes everything into account since Tam must have already started planning the next steps in what was supposed to be a strategic move to keep the company from falling into Ra’s al Ghuls’ grubby, immortal hands. He wasn’t really supposed to run Wayne Industries.

Just, nope. (Bruce really doesn’t expect him to do this, right?)

“He did…He asked for you to call him. Soon. Just to talk, he said.” And she sighs a little, gripping his hand back when he hadn’t realized he was squeezing a little tight.

Next page. Job description. Pfft.

“I think…” it’s a pause where her eyes are probably on his, where she’s probably biting down on her lower lip before she comes out with it. “I think he misses you, Tim.”

He stops reading long enough to pick up his coffee again and drain it to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“He has a Robin,” is the right response (or, well, it was). “Now he wants a CEO. I get it. It’ll take the pressure off of him to be a constant figure. He can still do the ‘Bruce Wayne’ things for the society sections without being tied down to the company. It’s…a smart move for a caped crime fighter.”

And then something she said resonates in his brain, makes him perk slightly.

“Wait. He said he wants to talk?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, he said he wanted to have a talk. Maybe about the company—”

“Where’s your purse?” And he’s already half-standing, reaching out a hand.

Tam (who got a first-hand view of his inner vigilante sense during go-time) goes with it, the noise of it coming off the back of another chair and delivered right into his hands.

Tim sets the heavy thing between them on the table, fingers moving to the delicate stitching all over the thing (and it’s one of those ridiculously expensive ones, a Marc Jacobs or something), and—

Yup. Fuck.

Few, if anyone, would be able to pick out the slight bulge of fabric on the underside, but he picks the seam with a fingernail because, of course, the tiny, Bat-shaped device is just right there.

“That is a Four. Hundred. Dollar bag, just so you’re aware.”

He holds out the device in the center of his palm, and deadpans, “I’ll buy you a new one. Apparently, I’m a CEO now.”

Tam blinks down at the blinking red device and back up at Tim’s grim expression and off-focus gaze when the realization sets in. “He played me? I got played by Bruce Wayne?”

“Technically, you got played by Batman. That should actually make you feel better.” And he gets only slightly pissed off that B went there. He’s more concerned knowing B is aware of their connection—his and Tam’s—since he’s never been necessarily happy when civilians find out their identities.

“This is a little much, isn’t it?” And yup, someone messing with Tam’s one obsession. Now he’s really hoping B shows up in her office on Monday so she can chew his ass right the fuck out (mental note: check the live feed from her office while that little discussion is going down. Also, make popcorn)—that is, if he can get out of Gotham before a whole bunch of crime fighting wingnuts decide to descend on his Perch.

“I…haven’t talked to him since I left the Manor last week.”

“Really? You don’t say? Well, isn’t that a perfectly reasonable justification to cut a hole in my Chanel handbag?”

Tim blinks as his inner sense kicks the tension in his shoulders and back up a notch just before his phone chirps again with the motion detector warning, this one outside the front door.

“I may or may not have mentioned,” he deadpans, waiting for it, “he’s Batman.”

The doorbell is unassuming while he’s already moving on silent feet. He doesn’t bother with glasses because he already knows who’s out there anyway.

He cracks the front door just slightly, frowning. “Sorry. We’re not buying Girl Scout Cookies today. Thanks.”

“Not even coconut ones?” Bruce’s voice is only slightly deep, so probably in his day ware, not the nightfall outfit (so…not a case?).

“Not from cheaters,” he returns while still opening the door. After the effort, Bruce isn’t just going to go away, that much is pretty damn clear.

“It’s not cheating. I worked for it fair and square since you won’t pick up a phone, Tim.”

He closes the door behind Bruce’s massive figure, closing his eyes for a second to steel himself for whatever this might be.

A plastic noise from Bruce’s right hand, “Nice to see you again, Miss Fox. I hope Prada is to your liking?”

**

More coffee is made and consumed until Tam (the traitor) leaves the penthouse with her new bag in tow and a litany of praises for Bruce’s sense of style. The Chanel is still a point of contention, though, he can hear it in her voice when she thanks Mr. Wayne for his thoughtfulness (like she’s saying you ass hat instead…and will always be why Tam is one of his Top 5 favorite people of all time).

They’d (B and Tam) spent a little over an hour discussing the state of the company with B giving him some surprised kudos when she mentions a few of the projects he’d initiated in his first few months of being a CEO; the reality of the situation (of which he failed to mention) is he’d given their engineers and scientists a few inventions and software designs to tinker with to cement himself in the role, so as few questions as possible would be posed as to why is that guy up in this business? At the time, he was just seventeen, barely managed to get his GED, and was an adopted son—the backlash from the media had been enough to keep him moving between trying to find Bruce, stay out of Dick’s Bat-Radar, and keep the stocks from literally plummeting.

The first MedPod had hit the market, and all those critics started to take fucking note.

(Because really LexCorp’s Medical Supply line was absolute shit, so a self-sustaining medical pod for emergency transports was really just the way to go for the Armed Forces—considering they’d beaten out several other big names for the contract was enough to prove he might just be all right for this job other than, you know, keeping it out of the hands of bad guys.)

Through the back-and-forth about the company, he’d kept his opinions to himself, waiting for something to catch him up; something like “that’s amazing. I’ll know when I’m getting back into.” Or “Once I’m back in the saddle, we’ll keep that project going.” Or, “You’ve done some amazing things, Tim, thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

He gets nada. Absolute fuck all.

Sitting on his left with Bruce across from them, Tam had nudged his knee, her way of telling him to please say something or I’m burying you in paperwork hell, but honestly? He’s pretty much at a loss.

Making non-committal noises around a fresh cup of coffee is really all he’s got at this point.

He shows Tam to the door leaning in slightly out of the doorframe to assure her in a low voice he’d already checked the Prada bag and it seems clean enough.

She sighs at him (again) and makes the usual demands, “Eat something. Sleep for God’s sake. I’ll…see you at work, boss.”

He feels his face pull with the automatic smile (because it’s Tam) and has another moment of regret when they couldn’t make it work—the two of them would have been good together. Too bad for things that had never-been (too many, he’s lost too damn many to make that leap again).

Coming back to the table is the hardest part of his day, knowing Bruce is probably watching him for all possible ticks, is probably staring at his dead eyes with that shitty self-recrimination happening in the background, that the Dark Knight can find him now (and fuck, he doesn’t want to have to move his things to a new safe house. Dammit, he likes it here).

And once they’re alone, he gets the first one in, “tagging Tam was shitty, you know.”

A shift of movement, a nod while a heavy sigh probably lifts Bruce’s shoulders and chest, and he can remember the moments when the Bat needed to be called back, reigned in so the man behind the cowl didn’t drop from exhaustion and injuries, from the sheer weight of things he’d taken on his shoulders to bare. The noises, even without the visuals, are so damn familiar, a basis for the layer of Robin instincts that are honestly a part of his chemical make-up at this point. His instincts to pull B back from the edge of the abyss when the Dark Knight was taking him farther than any human being (ever Bruce Wayne) could handle…and stay sane.

He hadn’t been fucking kidding when he told B “Batman needs a Robin” all those years ago.

“I know.”

“There some kind of unstated rule we have about not treating other Bats like—” criminals but oh yeah, forgot for a second, didn’t you?

His mouth shuts with a sharp clack of his teeth coming together before the sentence gets out (and yes, Bruce caught it).

“If you stayed anywhere near the radar, or had at least picked up the phone, I would have left Tam alone, I swear.” Bruce fills in smoothly, filing away the aborted statement.

“Emails have been fine up until now, you know.”

And just like the usual, B has something to keep him on his toes. “Just emails have never been fine, Tim.”

So…maybe the undercurrent of it would be nice to see you back in Gotham once and a while, you know, when you have time and shit might not have all been lip service after all (but he already has a Robin, right?)

Instead of voicing it, giving old hurts a space in reality, he goes with the automatic defense, “the accident didn’t make me an invalid, B. I’ve still been vigilantie-ing it up, blind or not.” The hard edge to his tone implies no one else picked up on it so I must be doing something right.

Another shift, a shrug, and just like Batman, he drops something completely fucking unexpected, “I never stopped keeping track of you, you know.”

Is…not what he expected to hear, just like with the CEO thing.

In true Bat form, B starts rattling off longitude and latitude, one set, two sets, three sets, four sets (and fuck, apparently he had been keeping track. The realization is jarring, a bucket of cold water over some of his previous notions of not a Bat anymore).

“Those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.”

“I…”

“The point of this is the same one I gave you at the Manor.” Bruce tries to say it softly, take the hard punch out of his words. “You’re one of my Robins. You always will be. That’s what happens when you agree to take up the mask.”

He draws himself up a little because the implications (the I’ll have your back, all you need to do is call and I’ll come). And just like he was still that teenager in the tunic, Tim feels the heat in his chest, the undeniable feel of comfort, safety B has always brought forth in him. Even when they worked their own cases, were continents away, he knew, had believed, B would come running, B would still need him—

His face turns away, scarred fingers tapping lightly against his coffee cup, an automatic response (and he doesn’t even realize he’s tapping out R-O-B-I-N in Morse code) to keep motion while his brain works.

“I appreciate it,” is finally what he can give back, soft and firm. “It’s…it hasn’t been… easy. Acclimating, I mean, to this,” and a general wave at his face. “But, I’m…better now. Better than I was. It’s—” and he almost, almost falls back on his usual diversion, his absolutely bullshit when he’s got nothing left.

It feels out of place here, in the space of his sanctuary, the place he had to make useable without the Manor, the Cave, Titans Tower to fall back on— it feels out of place because Bruce…still doesn’t pull any punches.

The hand, that hand, the one that’s caught him countless times over the years, pulled him back in so fucking many ways—from over the edge of buildings, from his own recriminations, his own failures, from blood loss and sleep dep, from working himself into a coma, from—

That hand can still wrap around his wrist with room to spare, a thumb rubbing easy circles over his pulse, a reminder.

When he swallows, his throat is thick again, his eyes heating up just a little, just enough for him to chuff a laugh, a half-hoarse, rusty sound.

If there’s one thing the Batman and the real Bruce have in common? They don’t bullshit the good guys about the important things. If B came here to say it, went through the trouble of finding the Tim’s rabbit hole, he meant every damn word.

The litany of things he might have said fades down with the realization, and Tim raises his eyes, tries to make sure he’s looking at Bruce when the genuine half-smile is almost a wince.

“Do you…do you want to come downstairs and see the set-up?” (And no, his voice doesn’t break a little, his chest doesn’t lurch with the familiarity of it all.)

But he can hear it in Bruce’s tone, stark relief. “Yes actually, I do. Very much so, Tim.”

**

And outside, Gotham City breathes as day gives way to night; the Birds of Prey step out, taking their time to work. Nightwing and Robin fill in the gaps, moving like they’ve fought together their whole lives, and it gives the Batman time, time he so obviously needs.

Once N splits up with him, plans to meet back at the Mylar Building at two-thirty, Robin makes an impressive leap, launching himself through the sky.

Robin ends up in the Narrows, jumping around the old theatre where O used to make herself comfortable. He grapples up to the Queen & Sons headquarters, the tallest building in this part of the city, and makes himself comfortable between the feet of his favorite gargoyle. He idly listens to the back and forth between O and N, O and Batgirl, Black Canary and the thug she’s beating the shit out of, Black Bat and O, all the sounds of family.

(Speaking of which)

All-in-all, he does not have to wait very long for his next appointment of the night.

Anyone else not in the cape and cowls would have missed the soft boots striding across the roof, but Robin has been meeting here the last few months, attempting to make something in their world right again—to give something back.

And perhaps because he is no longer under the delusions of the League, perhaps because he is getting older, perhaps because he is Robin and the symbol of his chest means so much more than it meant when he first desired it, perhaps because now he better understands making the right choices for the right reasons, he has continued to attempt these interactions.

The taller vigilante ducks under the wing of the gargoyle, sitting on the ledge of the building rather than back under the statue. A careless toss of the greasy paper bag lands the offering right in Robin’s lap, and the smell is not…necessarily terrible.

A bottle of his preferred Vitamin Water is tossed at him as well, and he has it open, drinking it down while his eyes slide to the side behind the whiteouts. The soft noises, metal on metal, are indeed a testament to how far they have come in the last few weeks.

The red helmet is left on the roof between them and a small flame flickers behind a gloved hand, lighting a casual cigarette while Robin hands over the chicken burrito and takes the veggie one for himself.

“I call this meeting a’ the Dead Robins Club ta order,” the Red Hood smirks at him through the shadows, lenses up on his domino so his eyes are just as jade as the waters of the Pit, “all right Demon. Gimmie the skinny, yeah?”