#Was meant to add Blade but he would probably leave reader's letter sit in the mailbox for like 3 months 💀

[imaprettygirl]

A drop of ink, a blot spread across time

(Vintage au)

Plot summary: It was 1950s when pen pals were popular and almost everyone had one! You used to have a handful of them but the camaraderie between you and them faded as you got older. One day, you found a newspaper on your late great-grandpa's shelves in his bedroom. Excitedly, you flipped the papers to get to a specific page and bingo! There was a section for the addresses of people who are looking for a pen-friend much like yourself. After randomly choosing, you sent out your first letter and he replied back! However, you noticed something weird in the photo he sent...

Crds to @drinkthesky for the divider!

Men I deem fit: Alhaitham, Albedo, Imbibitor Lunae/Dan Heng, Dr Ratio, Diluc, Zhongli, Venti, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Sunday.

(Fck alphabetical order, I can't do that sh*t)

The amber glow of the afternoon sun bathed the room as the open windows situated at the opposite of the door allowed sunlight streams to enter the room as its panes quivered in hushed symphony due to the beckoning of the hot air. If you moved closer to the windows, you could see dust particles illuminated by the natural light. Even after the passing of your great-grandfather, the bookish scent of his cologne still lingers in his bedroom along with his possessions which were either coated with a thin layer of dust or covered with a big white cloth.

The wooden floor creaked beneath you as you walked towards his bookshelves in hopes of finding pieces of classical literature and maybe learn a thing or two from it. You delicately traced your index finger through the long vertical rows of books, leaving a trail of dust on the pads of your digit. As you peruse through countless novels only to be unsatisfied until you saw a newspaper at the edge of the shelf, untouched by the dust that plagues the rest.

'How strange...' you thought to yourself as you rubbed your thumb and index finger against the surface of the paper to determine its texture: it was sandy and rough, definitely ancient but the format was similar to the ones your dad reads in the morning so it must be a freshly produced newspaper, albeit printed in a different quality of paper.

Or so you thought...

The newspapers in your hands gave you a glimmer of hope; it was an opportunity to find a pen friend! You used to have a few ones but stopped writing to them either because they used too much colloquial words or they had at least twenty spelling mistakes in each sentence which gave you a migraine whilst trying to make out if your correspondent was writing in a foreign language or not. But this time, maybe you could hit the jackpot and find an actually nice pen-pal. Excitedly, you flipped through the papers and stopped at the specific page which had a list of names along with their addresses under the bold heading:

'Pen-friends! Make new friends around the world!'

Your eyes scanned across the list of names, allowing your intuition to guess the personality of that stranger based on their names alone. But then, a specific name caught your eye- it was uncommon which was the main reason it stood out from the rest of the names which probably were taken from 'Top 10 best names for children of this year'. You took a closer look of the address below that person's name and turned out, both of you lived in the same area! A surge of enthusiasm rippled throughout your body and immediately tucked the newspaper into the inside pocket of your coat.

~~~~~♡~~~~~♡~~~~~♡~~~~~

The curtains of your living room slowly opened as you peeked your head out and pressed your face against the glass. A day had passed after you had sent your very first letter and heck, you even went a mile far by sending a photograph of your two cats to make a memorable first impression. Then- just like you had anticipated- the postman on his bike suddenly came into view and halted his vehicle by your mail-box and placed a letter inside. You clutched the folds of the curtains unable to contain the happiness blossoming inside you. As soon as the postman disappeared out of your eyesight, you rushed outside to take the letter out of the mailbox. The first thing that greeted your eyes was the immaculate handwriting and the scent emitted from the paper.

'How sweet of him...' you thought as you continued reading the letter in your mind. The paragraphs were neatly organized and made of outdated vocabulary that you wouldn't understand had you not taken an interest in classic literature. You could tell this man practiced utmost eloquence just by his letter alone. Overall, he wrote a few things about himself and asked you about your hobbies, what you like and blablabla.

But then, something struck within you concerning with the photograph he sent and notes written behind it:

"The construction of the mall is making my ears bleed. I cannot stand the constant sounds of the drills and other sounds coming from it. I daresay, you must be experiencing the same disturbance as we are only one street apart from each other. Perhaps we should plan to meet up after the mall opens. What do you think of it?"

The more you stared at the photograph and the note, the more confused you became. The picture showed the mall with the same as the one down the street but it was still in construction according to the photo. 'Huh?' A frown stretched across your face. That specific mall had been going on more nearly a century now to the point that the community had been urging the government to shut it down in order to build a more innovative one. Didn't it finish construction like a hundred years ago? But his photo told a whole new different story.

Suspicions rose inside of you as a spiral of questions revolved around your head- you found it difficult to process it. Not missing a beat, you hurried to your room to find that newspaper you took from your late great-grandfather's shelf. You mumbled in frustration when you couldn't find it; you swore you left it either on the desk or on the bed. Finally, you found it under the bed and oh my...

The letter was published a century back in time which meant that...

"T-The man I just sent a letter...was from the past...." The newspaper dropped from your hands. Your letter had ripped its way out of the fabric of time and went into the mailbox of a man who lived in the same area as you but different time period. He was in the past, you were in the future.

Still, a part of you felt curious about the interaction between two people of different dimensions. So you decided to reply back to his letter. What could go wrong...right?

To people who are more knowledgeable in time travel or parallel universes, pls don't attack me, I know what I wrote may or may not make sense for some of you but pls don't mind me 😭😭😭

And also, not proofread because I wrote this around midnight and I'm literally on the verge of dozing off- (Ik I have such healthy sleep cycles and I have to wake up at 6 am yayyy!! Sleep-deprived-students-core😘🙆🤗)

[akimmito]

I’ll still be with you

First | Prev | AO3 | Next

Master List

Chapter 4: My Way

If it were any other day of any other month in any other year before that, he would have refused, but it's not any other day, it's the day that Damian Wayne has accepted that he's fed up with being, precisely, Damian Wayne.

His world was shaken a lot since he was ten years old and when the earthquakes under his feet finally stopped, an earthquake destroyed everything he suffered to build. The relationship with Grayson was taken from him, all his efforts were ignored and trampled on as if they meant nothing. His title was a lie, his privileged position a mirage and being of the same blood, a chain that hurt them both.

Maybe we should just go our separate ways.

"Damian?"

"Daemon Rothschild."

"Uh." Drake just turns to the computer and starts working.

Damian, no, Daemon sits on the floor and takes one of the thrown papers, looking at it as if it were an object of real interest. It is a letter written in French, a delicate curved handwriting that says a lot about the lady who wrote it.

CN has not been on patrols for the past two weeks, his father exhibiting erratic behavior near the fifth anniversary of his wife's disappearance, increasingly desperate to get the two prodigies. CN mentioned that N made a successful recovery after four years of illness, a little longer and would have had the same end as E.

P has started an investigation against HM in his civilian identity for child exploitation, psychological abuse and illegal use of military weapons. Your tests and what was rescued from MK's memory were weighty, even if we don't arrest them for their crimes as HM, GA will spend a lot of time in prison and with TK and PG we have talked about the curses, I was even in contact with the man who you mentioned to me, JC turned out to know a lot about prodigies and provided important information to achieve the goal I mentioned you.

I know you will continue to investigate until you remove all the dirt that HM hides, I hope some of that can be used in court. It's been five long years and you don't know how grateful I'm that we met that night.

Come visit me soon, MDC.

The date is of ten months ago. Drake kept this woman, his activities with her, and the whole criminal affair a secret. Only someone with knowledge of the matter could understand whose initials are, but from the things of a certain Gabriel Agreste scattered all over the floor, you can assume that HM and GA are the same person. A type of villain? That is probable. And the chances that this woman is the same in the photographs are very great.

"Entertaining?" Drake turns to him, looking at him with an amused expression. Daemon assumes that he had everything ready just to add whatever name he chose.

Drake never does anything without having everything done beforehand. In those moments it's even reassuring, it means that he took the time to think about whether carrying it was a good idea, that he's not just a dead weight that he decided to drag without knowing what to do with him, that he took the trouble to make it as significant as his own depart.

"Who is MDC?"

"The person we're meeting with. Now, do you want to go back to the mansion or would you rather we go to dinner?"

"You're acting suspicious, Drake."

"I'm not going to risk that your built-in tracker has a damn microphone, mine had one and it was annoying as hell to get rid of it without raising suspicions." He gets up from his chair when the AI ​​is heard, Kolia, deliver a report.

Batman requests a meeting. The Joker has escaped from Arkham an hour ago.

Perfect.

I haven't even gotten a damn message.

Daemon takes out his phone, which only has a message from Jon advising that his things were taken by Alfred. Unsurprisingly, all of Arkham could have escaped, but his father would not revoke his punishment even on his deathbed.

"You will go?"

Drake walks over to a drawer and pulls out a gold ring? Some kind of double ring attached by a wire? Or something like that. He can't see it well.

"My old Red Robin suit will looks good on you, I'm sure. Do you want to disobey his orders? "He gives him a knowing smile and there's a crazy desire in his gaze to spread the chaos he'd only seen in Todd in his best days.

Will life with Drake be like this?

It seems he have made the right decision, there is only one question left to ask.

"What suit will you wear?"

"The one I used in Paris."

Drake leaves the matchbox in an unknown direction, Daemon immediately follows him so as not to lose him. He doesn't know the apartment, if he wants to wear that suit, if he wants to fight on his own terms, he's not in his plans to get lost.

The hidden part that is the main base of Red Robin is as modern as the bell tower, although he has a small suspicion that accessing this place is much more difficult than the cave. He has no proof, but no doubts either.

"From today you will no longer be Robin, take the suit as a simple transition between what you were and what you will be. When I took the old Red Robin costume, I did it because Jason had already worn it and that meant he was no longer Robin, but more importantly, I was no longer bound by the rules that Batman had set me... I was willing to go so far as necessary in my search for Bruce. "

"Makes sense."

Daemon always thought that wearing that suit and calling himself Red Robin only spoke of a lack of originality, of preparation, but it seems that he also spoke a lot about what Drake intended to do from that moment on. It took a year for him to put on a suit again and hit the streets, it took him a month to settle in and then it was only a matter of time before he left for three years.

"Change out. We will go around Gotham and wait for the night. We can find out what B is planning from Jason."

Drake sits down and activates the central computer, Kolia starts asking for identity checks, very interesting questions, but only one catches his attention.

Girl or boy?

"Girl."

Daemon looks at him for a moment before heading to the locker room, intrigued.

Look at the Red Robin suit in his hands, the suit that marked the change of direction Drake took so long ago. And now it will also mark his.

If there is a better version of me.

I will reach it.

Red Robin slides into the back of the motorcycle with Solarhahn, whose colors are predominantly red and gold with a little orange. The costume is magical, it's easy to guess just by looking at his eyes: the yellow sclera and orange eyes with red that stare back at him, surrounded by a red mask that fades into yellow near the edges. His cape simulates wings that start from the arms, those, he identified, can be detached to become (1) arrows and (2) small throwing blades, depending on his intentions. The costume is predominantly dark red with gold parts on the thighs, chest, and arms, the gloves a shade of red that doesn't decide whether to remain red or turn orange. But the most interesting thing is his black hair that melts into red and ends in gold towards the ends, as if it were on fire.

He couldn't help but give him a second glance when he saw it, the gold ring on his right ring finger, almost hidden by the shade of the gloves.

Drake showed him a little summary of the whole situation, the heroes and his role, but it was all too superficial, but enough to capture the significance of the event.

A very dangerous magical matter, too delicate and of which only Wonder Woman was aware outside of Paris, until Drake crashed with the whole thing in his search for Bruce. That sounds like something that would happen to him, he have that kind of luck.

"Don't ask questions. We will answer everything, but later."

Daemon nods and Drake instructs Kolia to report anything to the communications. That's when he gives him a very particular one and the same yellow color that he wears in his suit. He takes it and puts it on before putting on his hood, at which point the older man starts the motorcycle and the doors begin to open.

As they race through the streets of Gotham at dusk, Daemon looks up at the orange sky.

I extend my corrupted hand... towards a heaven that will no longer receive me.

But I know this is the way to save myself.

To find my way.

-------

I liked the name Daemon, it's of Greek origin. So, I was looking for names and I found it, I knew it was that. The other name was Demian, after Demian Sinclair from Hernan Hesse's book, but I decided on the other. Also, Daemon can also mean demon if other meanings are looked up and I see it almost as an inside joke that only he and Tim will know.

It was hard for me to write this chapter, I didn't want to make it sad, but I didn't want it to feel out of place either, I hope I made it.

From here it's only a matter of time before Marinette appears on the scene.

What do you think of how the story unfolds so far?

Tag list: @incredulous-reader @dnsakina