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dailycass-cain · 2 years ago

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So on January 26th yesterday, I looked into how the comics had Cass combat her disability in Dyslexia being not able to read and relate words vocally.

What worked, what didn't, and which era handled the progression better.

At the very core of her very first appearance in Batman #567 by Kelley Puckett and Damion Scott, Barbara Gordon is trying to help Cassandra overcome her disability. And it is her first words spoken that give her father David Cain pause.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #2 gives us the first look into how Cass really doesn't fully care about learning in either study instead focusing on her new vigilante life. That is until running into Robinson and learning WHY words and writing truly matter.

#5 has her run across a metahuman who has mental abilities and because of those rewires her brain to have the capacity to understand.

It's a cheap copout for sure. But it gives Cass a voice in her mind along with the capacity to speak better. Bad news? It screws up her abilities and how her mind was originally wired.

This leads into #6-9 basically being how Cass can get her ability to read body language and learn with the added bonus of her mind continuing to be the way it is. Enter Lady Shiva who gives her this, but at a price aka the crux of what will lead into Batgirl #25.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #20 written by Chuck Dixon (art still by Scott). Where Cass comes to a drop man who's murdered before he can deliver a ransom. Her lack of being able to read leads her to seek out--

-- one Stephanie Brown aka Spoiler. I think at this point the reason Cass went to Steph was that she was afraid Babs would lecture her on neglecting her reading lessons (which she would later on).

Tim Drake, she had just fully befriended (#18), but he was close to Babs. So Cass probably figured he accidentally let slip this and she'd be in trouble. Steph wouldn't she was on the outside from the Bat Family (at this time).

The issue does promise of Cass in attaining another reading teacher (which pays off in the most weirdest place, Convergence: Batgirl #1), but this plot point goes nowhere here. Cass/Steph's friendship would intensify for the next ten issues (#21, 26-28).

For the most part, we don't really get to see fully Cass try and fight her Dyslexia again until the Dylan Horrocks' run with #51 where we learn HOW Cass is expanding her word vocabulary via TV but neglecting on reading.

This bit reads its crux with the infamous #54 (i.e. the one that causes Cass/Babs to fracture away from one another).

In the issue, Cass has to deal with a killer robot that's taking out any place that has a copy of a book that has the codeword to shut it down. We learn during the fight, Cass has been neglecting her studies in reading. Again with the infamous page:

Now Horrocks did this because he was ordered to write Babs off this title (Birds of Prey, the comic Babs was primarily in would be eventually moving away from Gotham). It was the first of that would make the writer leave the comic (and DC Comics altogether).

Regardless again the way the case rattled Cass enough to think about it all and work back into trying to read.

If there was instant positive of writer Andersen Gabrych when he began his run. He made sure this was a reoccurring plot point THROUGHOUT his run starting with #58.

By giving Cass her own diary it enables her better way to try and combat her disability. Along with in the very same issue, Cass trying to actively read a book for the first time on page.

The diary motif would be a hallmark of Gabrych's entire run with the book. So I'm not gonna post every entry. But I think that's why I really loved those first few issues because he covered ALL corners with the character.

You saw it all.

Never once did Gabrych use behind the issues trick. This was a struggle for Cass. I think it better helped resonate the character with readers by doing so. It also went down an angle that was different than Puckett and felt like the better next step from what was built on prior.

Course Cass would still have her bad habits of being an avid TV watcher. So the balance of her trying and struggling was a nice touch.

This came to an ironic fully circle with #67 with Babs returning (for one issue) in the comic and the pair hashing out their differences and mending. But it also reveals a further reason why Babs really wants Cass to learn to read. Again, this is probably the best reason.

She knows Cass wants to be Bruce's heir and be Batman. She knows the only way to fully be that is to get fully conquer her disability. And for the second time in her ongoing we get a look in how Cass's brain was wired from her learning from her father and the metahuman.

And we get the clearest answer how Cass's brain truly operates and why the usual methods in overcoming her disability in reading.

That's the final gift Gabrych gave us.

A hope.

A small faint hope that maybe Cass could learn with whatever writer would take on the character next. The only thing is even he couldn't anticipate what was to come...

Batgirl was canceled with #73 and well the next time we saw Cass and how this disability was handled came in Robin #148.

Alright, before I go into this portion. Newly minted Robin writer (this was his first issue) Adam Beechen came into comics had zero idea of the character of Cassandra Cain, other than what he was told and found.

The DC Editors on Robin did not help him or assist him. They gave him an edict... and he did that edict without question. The result....

Was this INFAMOUS page from Robin #149. Cassandra Cain the character who had the disability of Dyslexia somehow was able to learn another entire language.

That's not even going with the OTHER problem Robin OYL gave us with Cass (but that's an entirely ANOTHER issue). Regardless after the story arc, Beechen (and DC) realized just how badly he screwed up.

Course, the entirety on HOW Cass was suddenly able to learn an entire language with how her brain understood information. Yeah, this was a plot thread nobody truly wanted to answer when the retcons began dropping after Cass's "EVIL" phase to fix it.

In fact, it was Beechen himself who addressed the issue in Batgirl Vol. 2 #1 amongst the CHUNKS of well exposition and history that was the mess DC made of the character from 2006-2007.

So all those issues Babs mentioned in #67? Cass and Alfred fixed them and for the entire MISSING YEAR Cass made great strides to overcome her disability. THAT'S how she was able to understand the Navajo language.

Look I get what Beechen was doing and I also get we were NEVER gonna get the missing stories to showcase that. But to see an entire character's journey in overcoming her disability fixed overnight?

Even with Beechen giving us a classmate in Sal (who's last name we NEVER learn, and is forgettable male love interest #3 for Cass) who gives us the promise of something we never get from the Vol. 1 ongoing. Because DC was gonna DC.

That's basically it for the original run for Cass. That it was a nice harrowing journey that had its bumps but the character was making great strides to be better. Then well the road bumps began to occur and yeah...

I'll give it to Beechen that he tried at the very least to fix the holes he himself caused. But... in the format given it's just crushing how this was fully handled in the end.

Sadly we got nothing more as DC really did a meh job for about five years? We did get this little nugget in Convergence: Batgirl #1 though (somehow connecting that line from waaaaaay back in Batgirl Vol. 1 #20)...

Which is shocking of all places for Cass trying to overcome her disability, Convergence: Batgirl #1 was not the place one ever would think to find that, but we had that surprisingly.

So when Cass was "reintroduced" into the DCU with Batman & Robin Eternal. A reset was in order and writers were allowed back to square one in how to deal with Cass handling her Dyslexia disability.

I will say this for James Tynion IV and Scott Snyder on how they handle putting a metahuman with mental abilities they just slot that character in #11 by introducing the Sculptor who basically fills the same void the meta in Batgirl Vol. 1 #5 did.

Much like the original metahuman, once this link is established Sculptor nopes her way out of the story and is never heard from again.

Which kind of surprises me, because it's something I figured Tynion would maybe address during his Detective Comics run (that had Cass in it) given how much in #11 and 12 establish the character and her origins.

But nope. Nothing further.

So yeah, after this we got James Tynion IV's Detective Comics run that had Cass in it starting from #934-981.

Not surprisingly, Tynion really handled the whole disability issue well than those in the past with the constraints he had. Even more so Juggling multiple characters in this book and going down a better avenue than his predecessors.

And that all begins with #953 with Clayface (Basil Karlo) trying to comfort Cass after learning her mom is Lady Shiva.

By doing this. Tynion lays the seeds on how he'll deal with the issue on Cass combating her disability while also cementing the hallmark of this run, Clayface's rehabilitation and friendship with Cass.

#958 we see Basil teaching Cass Shakespeare by playing audio and having her learn to read and increase her vocabulary via that.

It's probably the best thing Tynion did character-wise with Cass by briefly showing us this but fully giving us a more plausible method than prior on how to deal with her disability.

The fact that this hits throughout this arc (as Cass quotes Shakespeare at a good moment) and is carried over until the very end of his run when Cass meets Barbara in #981.

This version of Cass is actively trying to combat her Dyslexia more than her prior versions, and this Cass is actively doing a better job. Even though we don’t get much Babs teaching Cass (though they do work together in the next arc after this that sets up Batman & the Outsiders). But that run doesn’t dig into Cass’s progress instead going into other routes to touch on with the character.

Unlike what was carried over from Batgirl Vol. 1 to 2 (and between that) Cass has a more concrete subplot here. Where we can SEE and are TOLD of her progress.

That leads us into the current Batgirls ongoing. In #1. where this is a little bit lampshaded. As Cass uses a reading bag to combat criminals to retain stuff she/Steph had that was stolen.

A further bit of subplot is continued throughout and in #4 with Cass now ACTIVELY being a bookworm and reading works of Edgar Allen Poe.

Like it astonishes me that this element of the character has remained actually consistent from point A to B. But it's a nice contrast of things that creators at DC worked on better here than prior.

And no issue highlights that fight of Cass actively wanting to combat her dyslexia then "Sounds" from DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration #1 by Mariko Tamaki and Marcus To.

It's why Tamaki just fully GETS the character of Cass not in every corner of the character. Why many want the writer to handle the character again.

But Tamaki isn't the only one who did a good job in showcasing Cass fighting her disability and the one that does the best job is Shadow of the Batgirl graphic novel. Where writer Sarah Kuhn and artist Nicole Goux go both literally fighting her disability.

And her actively learning to read and increasing her vocabulary by hiding in the library was absolute perfection.

But it also is a nice avenue (and nod to the past) by focusing on a library since that's the location where Barbara Gordon teaches (and again a nice nod to that character's history too).

Quite literally...

That's another layer to why I adore that graphic novel. Just the layer of dimension to BOTH characters while it gives that nod to Babs, the story is clearly more Cass.

Again, Kuhn modernizes everything to perfection.

So there you have the history of Cass and her disability. And my final gift on this day (which has now passed) to celebrate the character of Cassandra Cain.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #barbara gordon #clayface #tim drake #stephanie brown

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stealingyourbones · 2 years ago

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Hi! 💙💙💙 How have you been?

*gently hands you a bowl decorated with rat ribs together with a spoon made out of a mammoth's tibia*

Soooooooooooo, you know how when Joker kidnapped Tim Drake in that one movie, he planted some kind of chip that will program Tim to become the Joker when he grows up/when it becomes activated? Like, it wasn't enough he was Joker Junior? The Joker actually had a contingency for when he dies so that The Joker character never actually dies? (holy shittttt)

WHAT IF when Jason came back to Gotham, or goes to Titans Tower to beat Tim up, the ectoplasm that Jason had in him somehow tranfers to Tim when Tim tried to fight back?

AND THEN the ectoplasm activates the chip?

Instead of the chip controlling Tim to act or behave like the Joker, THE CHIP INSTEAD SIZZLES AND PHASES OUT OF TIM, AND CREATES GHOST JOKER INITIALLY MADE UP OF CORRUPTED ECTOPLASM. *EVIL CACKLING*

*ehem*

Of course, it doesn't happen in a day. It takes WEEKS for this ghost to take form, naturally migrating to Gotham and gathering all the ectoplasm it needs to purify its corrupted core, naturally, on its own, and develop its own consciousness/cognition/awareness/whatever it means to develop a sense of self.

First, it felt empty. Without an obsession. A purpose for its existence.

And then, it saw Batman. It saw Nightwing doing a quadruple somersault.

And, it saw Robin trying (and failing) to go on patrol despite his injuries.

This ghost quietly drifts behind them with fascination and wonder, and little bits of an obsession forming. The obsession continues to form the more this ghost watches the little Robin.

(Well, this ghost doesn't know. Even if it was formed from the chip made by OG!Joker, it did come out of little Tim Drake, who had loved the idea of Robin and what it stood for more than the Bat.)

And then, the Red Hood saw him.

"Joker," the Red Hood growls, guns ready in his hands.

Joker. Yes. That sounds right. That sounds exactly what he should be.

"Looks like being dead can't keep you from obsessing over Batman, huh?"

Batman? No. That doesn't sound right. Perhaps he's fascinated. But obsess over the Batman? No, no, no...

The ghost, Joker, tilts his head. He sees the Red Hood stiffen, and he wonders what kind of expression he's making.

"Not Batman." He giggles, and laughs, and pictures a little Robin losing every little piece of light he's supposed to represent.

Light. Robin is the light. A bright light full of laughter, stubborness, and hope.

This ghost has a small memory of this little Robin bleeding beautifully in his own blood... Still stubbornly bright no matter how much pain the little Robin was receiving...

Yes.

The Joker just knows that it was born from that beautiful pain. And he's born to destroy that beautiful light.

One day, he will. He will capture the little Robin and make that light his... Or snuff it out until he's Robin no more! Yes!

Robin grapples past the alley he and Red Hood was in. And, in a blink of an eye, the Joker turns invisible, his laughs continuously echoing even when he's left.

***

For the first time since the incident in the tower, the Red Hood appears in the Batcave, mask off and face grim.

Bruce pushes Tim behind him. Nightwing tenses where he stands. Tim wants violence vengeance to beat Jason up or kick him in the crotch waits quietly behind Bruce with narrowed eyes.

Red Hood-- Jason didn't care.

"The Joker is back."

***

Welp, this got long! 😂 But please have this! 💙💙💙I hope you're doing okay 💙 Drinking lots of water, getting lots of sleep, and eating lots of good food 💙

the movie you're referencing is Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker

how many qualities does this version of Joker retain from Tim? Does he resemble the Joker or does he look like a very young Joker that looks the same age as Tim, the same way he looks relatively the same age as Tim in the BB:RotJ movie? There are so many fun ways to mess around with this prompt. Go ham y'all

#dpxdc #bones replies

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yellowocaballero · 2 years ago

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just rereading your reverse robins au...i have to say, i don't think anyone understands tim drake like you do. by far the most superior reverse robins au to ever exist. and it's not like tim is the only character you understand either! you get them all! it's earthshattering & spectacular.

I would love to demur and go "oh, surely I'm not the only one who understands Tim Drake and writes a suitably unhinged Tim just as unhinged as in the comics -"

No. I am. You guys need to shape up about writing Tim. What is with this sadboy 'I just want a family' 'where's my coffee' woobie stuff. Go back and read the comics. This man is fucking insane.

I've talked before on this blog about how I finagled writing a Tim who is very much unlike any Tim, but who still feels the same. The man REALLY canonically has an addictive/obsessive personality (complete with deeply escapist tendencies and disregard for if the object of addiction is dangerous/bad for him - it is the profile of an addict). We feel that, because it's his personality in the comics, and even though no sane person would write the kid with a coke addiction we still vibe that it fits with what we know of him. Sometimes choosing to write somebody DRASTICALLY out of character can get down into the core of the character better than anything else.

In fanfic people write Tim as perpetually seeking a family, and I think on one level it's true - he LOVED Dick's (guilty.) attention and brotherhood. But I don't think he really had a father relationship with Bruce and I don't think he really wanted it. Man literally tried to falsify an uncle so he wouldn't have to suffer adult supervision. Bruce kept him at an emotional arms length because of Jason. When his dad tried to reconnect with Tim as a teenager, Tim did love him and felt guilty for the discord he caused, but he just straight up wasn't emotionally invested in the relationship(and not really for abuse reasons - comic split between bad parents/abusive parents is uhh ill-done, but I think Jack is almost never written as an abusive parent with authorial intent, which imho is the important thing). Tim holds adults and family figures at arms length. He's close with Young Justice, but they never even know his ID - he loves them, but he's not intimate with them. He is a cold person and he never really tries for anything different, when he has something different he has NO idea what to do with it, and I don't think he really wants it. But like that doesn't fit Batman sad baby adoption narrative soooo

I think at the end of the day what Tim is defined by is loss and absence, and it can never be defined by presence because Tim is no longer a person who can accept that. He is the single most interconnected character in the Batfam (DC was pushing for a lot of #teenheroes at the time and he was buddies with ALL of them), but all of those relationships have an absence where Tim is pathologically incapable of vulnerability. His life is comedically, comic book sad - he has lost a dad, a mom, a step-mom, an adoptive dad (400% PARENTAL MORTALITY RATE), a girlfriend, a best friend, and another best friend. That is NUTS. And cuz comics are kinda whatever about things, he just goes on his way. Comics don't acknowledge these things. But what you end up with is a Tim, who one way or another is always alone, and who always accepts that.

I couldn't quite express everything I wanted to express with Tim in the prophetic spring, but by the Cass story I had improved as a writer enough to show what I wanted to show. Tim is an old character with a lot of stuff going on, so I could basically pick any emotional throughline I wanted, but I picked for me what I think has defined his life. Tim's story was about a child who had been depressed since he could remember. Tim is the story of a lot of victims of emotional neglect and who live their lives in deep depression that is never acknowledged. He is never vulnerable for a second (even with Cass - and that's what Cass struggles with during that story, how vulnerability isn't knowing but saying), and the depression is sublimated/repressed and never acknowledged cuz Bruce does the same damn thing and he didn't notice lol.

In a way, in that story, Tim's mental health and drug addiction spiral is a good thing. Tim loudly and publicly developing a drug addiction was his way of asking for help, his way of finally screaming that he was in pain. Worst possible way. But it was kind of the only way he could, because Tim didn't know how to ask for help, because he didn't know how to be vulnerable. He could only figure out how to be push everybody away and try to violently throw them out of his life and how to be cruel to them, and it's fucked up that it was his way of asking for help - but Cass knew, and Cass understood. And Cass wasn't going to ignore it anymore.

There are a lot of insanely reliable things about me and it is that I CANNOT shut up when I talk about Tim. Thanks for reading this long-ass diatribe jakldfjlasdf.

#my writing #i hate most things i wrote in 2019 #and that's part of the reason why i uploaded the cass thing although i didnt mean to #i rly wanted ppl to walk away with a better tim than i had written in 2019 #redhood!tim is one of my more favorite and more ambitious characters ive done #so im glad i could do a better job and a better deep dive #and just really get into what childhood depression looks like over the course of a life #and how it shapes his life and himself

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emacrow · 21 days ago

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It's would've taken the bats three months to actually get in because Jasmine's paranoia is up to an 11.

Especially if Sam and Tucker are helping her because Jasmine wouldn't be able to afford that manor unless she became temporary Queen of the infinite realm while danny is still in barely the mind of a 6 year old ghostling form as his core is kind of stabilizing.

Danny went through a lot of traumatizing events, so his core regressed into instinct mode while his mind didn't go insane and became another Dan. The unfortunate side is that he is very curious and gets into everything to protect jazz.

Thank God for tucker technology to help Jazz out with keeping Danny from wandering out the Manor unless he wanted to play, but only with Sam supervising with her plants guarding the fences as Sam and tucker play damsel so Danny could protect them clumsily.

Tim's is going through his fifteen major secret mixed concoction of death coffee as the Drake Manor has obviously been reinforced, and security technology was so damn tight that Oracle was screaming about Pharaoh Virus beating her hacking Virus and infecting her own super computer after what seem to be a 7 hours typing battle.

Batman and the robins couldn't get into the manor after Black Bat almost got caught in a glowing net that wouldn't break even with the Baterang. Thankfully, they did flee in time after he got untangled, but the alarm went off.

The only one successful was Damian, who decided to go on this solo in casual clothes. He snuck around the garden fences, which seemed a flourishing amount of blue plants that looked very rare or were about to be extinct but thrived here.

They looked beautiful as Damian got a closer look from the bright blue flowers that seemed to nearly spin and cloud his vision.

He didn't realize he was unable to look away until Damian felt a gentle push tilt his head away and the sound of sounding being thrown. He realized those flowers were entrancing him to come closer.

"...protect..."

He glances at the hand, the small porcelain with golden hand that hums softly with lines of blue. A porcelain boy with glowing blue eyes gently pushed his head away through the fence line, where the large group of blue flowers he was staring at earlier was ravenous ripping and eating apart a odd green medium slab of meat that was thorn at it.

Damian's heart didn't skip a bit when the porcelain boy pulled his glowing hand back and held a finger to his own lip that didn't move, whispering softly.

"...safe..... at.... distance.."

Damian, look at the porcelain boy. Taking a good 5 to 8 step away from the fence was when the illusion broke. The once beautiful large blue flowers right against the fences were bright red with razor-sharp, thin teeths hissing at each other, and puffing out a blue hypnotized gas.

The porcelain boy was nowhere in sight. Only a plate once had the odd colored meat slab laid on the grass over the fence.

~{ Heyyyy, So just watched a horror movie so expect some of that vibe in the story lol anyway to the story! }~

•Living Doll•

The old Drake manner has been moved into.

The house was bought by a man wearing a black suit and a purple hat that covered his face and for the life of anyone who talked with him they can’t remember his name or face but they could remember why he was buying the house, it was for his niece and nephew and as he has to travel around a lot for work they would live alone for the most part.

So when they heard this Bruce and Dick went over to say hello spy on the niece and nephew.

Who opens the door is a tall messy red haired woman who looks like she wants nothing more than to shut the door and pass the fuck out so Bruce puts on “Brucie” and starts talking to her about how he so happy to have a new neighbor and stuff while Dick looks around from where he is standing.

And that’s when he sees it a porcelain face and arm peeking out from behind a wall, the arm has light blue detailing on it and Dick couldn’t get a good look before the figure sees him looking at them and moving behind the wall the rest of the way and it seems the woman hear the figure and saw where Dick was looking and immediately shut the door in Bruce’s and Dicks faces.

This is definitely something for the Bats.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

Jack and Maddie caught Danny changing back from Phantom, they hit him in the back of the head with a Fenton-bat and brought him down to the lab and they started to see what they could do..

Jazz had just came home from the school and looking for colleges to go to when she heard her parents in the basement and she thought nothing of it.

But when she didn’t hear or see Danny when Jazz knew that he was home that’s when she can tell something’s up so Jazz goes up to his room and that’s when she sees it the bloody bat with specks of a so familiar green.

That when Jazz feels her blood go cold and she books it down the stairs to the basement but the door is locked and she can hear Jacks and Maddie s tools cutting into something and Jazz knows what that something is. She starts trying to break down the door until she remembers the bat in the kitchen so she runs to the kitchen.

And thank all of the Ancients that it is still there so she grabs it and runs back and breaks down the door and that’s when she sees it.

Arms cut off and torn to shreds, legs broken beyond repair, muscles and organs removed and put in jars and the dead eyed look in her baby brothers eyes and his core in mother Maddies hand everything gets foggy.

The next time Jazz is presented she is sitting on the bathroom floor covered in blood with Danny’s light blue almost white glowing core in her hands and a very bloody bat next to her.

That’s when she hears it the sound of a string being pulled and Clockwork shows up in front of her and explains that now with Danny original body being torn apart (Which gets a death glare from Jazz) and how with his core still intact Jazz can make a new body for him but how they would need to leave this world as if they don’t this will happen again.

And Jazz immediately agrees.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•Jazz a lot less sane than in the show

•Jazz is protective as hell of Danny

•If you put a ghost core in an object to that is vaguely human they can take over it and over time the objects start to look like the ghost until it has turned into the ghost body!

•In the manner there all the books Jazz could need to make a new body for Danny and really anything Jazz or Danny could want

•Jazz is supposed to have a Fog Core while Danny has a Ice Core

•Jazz always has a gun of her making on her at all times, ALWAYS

•when Clockwork shows up randomly you can hear the sound of a string pulled

•The DCU side of this is inspired by This Au of mine

•Jazz found all of hers and Danny’s clothes already in the manner and she doesn’t want to leave Danny’s core alone so she doesn’t really care about it all to much

•Cores kinda work like the kids ghost eyes from Coraline

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny-

Jazz-

And here’s what Danny’s new body looks like

~{and that’s it! Sorry if the story part is short I am very tired lol so if any of you gremlins want to take it feel free to anyway until next time byeeeeee}~

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volucerrubidus · 2 years ago

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AU: Reverse Robins, written with @avisxe

BACKGROUND: Tim Drake was the second Robin Shadow, a partner to the Big, Bad Bat, trained for stealth and speed, following on the heels of Damian Wayne, and, ironically– getting stuck in his shadow, or, at least, that was how it felt. After all, how does one compete with the person who founded such a legacy, who created such big shoes to fill?

The answer, from Tim’s perspective, is that he didn’t.

Rather than come into his own through safe and healthy means, the universe decided for him that he was to be dragged forcefully into competency.

Only 15 years old at the time, he was slain by The Joker, and he was laid to rest for four years. Until, for reasons that he still doesn’t know to this day, he woke in his coffin. Unable to think, and very much not himself, he wandered Gotham, where Ra’s Al Ghul happened to be stopping by to torment the Bat, when a very interesting opportunity rather fell right into his clutches.

21 years old, now, and affected by a Pit dip and all of the emotional turmoil that comes with that and outright dying, Tim has returned to Gotham as Caligo, an ex-project of the League turned murderous anti-hero.

PRESENT: Caligo now works both in Gotham as a tentative part of the family once more, and globally, with the Core Four of Young Justice, who, through their own tragedies, outgrew the shiny, bright team of the past, and moved forward to form The Outlaws.

MORE INFO + VISUAL REFERENCES BELOW:

Tim's hair does have white streaks in it, thin little lines of white, almost as if he were greying prematurely

Tim can't feel anything on his back due to nerve damage

When he experiences strong emotions, his eyes go a sickly neon green

He and the Outlaws are in... a tentative polycule, by default, though if shipping comes up with him, he can easily be on a break from the polycule; they tend to be very on and off anyway!

Tim's primary weapon of choice is the rifle, due to the long-range advantages it can offer. That said, he fights via multiple disciplines, and still keeps up with the bo. One could say that he misses it, even, though they may get a glare for that

Tim mostly avoids the rest of the hero community outside of the bats and the core four, and he tends to be prickly to those he's unfamiliar with

The only times he's ever fully unarmed are when he's with the core four, and even then, it's rare

His method of being killed by the Joker takes after Batman Beyond, but instead of being successfully reprogrammed as a son, he was instead killed for resisting as long as he did. This results in random bursts of laughter when a particular trigger gets him too deeply. This is incredibly rare, and can really only be triggered by Joker-related trauma

Tim uses he/they pronouns in this AU

Tim's usual control and paranoia issues in canon are turned up to an 11 in this AU, so he's got a lot of character development and growth left to do; your muse does not at all have to let him get away with his controlling or distrusting attitudes

That said, on the positive side, he is far less judgmental than his canon persona, and if one does gain his trust, he is remarkably caring, just in his own sort of way/language. He's rather loyal, and he will do anything to keep others safe

As much as he likes to pretend that he's changed, he is still interested in all the things he was when he was a teen: skateboarding, bugs, video games, DnD, puzzles, forensics, etc. He will deny this, though, because god forbid he show humanity

More details can be discovered via threads and interactions, so come say hi if you're interested!

#[revamp for caligo's info! woo!]#{woke up on the wrong side of paradise – reverse robins}

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

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If All Of The Kings Had Their Queens On The Throne

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst, Mature Themes

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of the previous fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

When the door to The Haunt didn’t immediately open, she frowned and clicked the button. “Hey! Lemme in!”

For a moment, there was nothing, then she heard, “Apologies Miss Wayne. Ghost-Maker is busy training. Shall I alert him?”

She sighed. “Nah, just let me in and I’ll get him.”

“Of course.”

The doors split open, and she walked into the base, immediately rolling her eyes at the colors, or better yet the lack of color at all. She had no idea what spurred him to pick white as one of the main colors in everything he wore and used, but God if it didn’t make him look like a psychopath. A snort passed her lips at her little joke, and she wandered around the desk setup and through one of the curtained areas until she heard boxing gloves meeting a punching bag.

Gently tugging the curtain aside, she paused, leaning against the doorway, and watched his back. He was shirtless and had headphones in, as he usually was and did when he trained alone, and his muscles rippled each time he threw a powerful strike. She couldn’t help but watch him; he’d always been so diligent when it came to his training, and if she hadn’t known him better than she did, she would’ve assumed all he did was train. She was very fond of it though. Very fond of him.

“You going to stand there or are you going to get a set of gloves and spar with me?”

She shook herself from her thoughts to see him rounding the bag, throwing a devastating kick; she snorted. “No thanks, Ghost. I just got over having a cracked skull.” Walking over, she neared the space, but stayed just far enough that she wouldn’t get struck.

“I’m actually here to invite you over to the manor tonight.” She said, watching as his eyes flitted to hers behind the mask. “I take it you know.”

“About the little pool party Bruce throws for everyone? Yes. I keep hearing about it over the Ghost-Net.”

She smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, Ghost. You’d have fun.”

He scoffed. “What? Being surrounded by every single hero this side of the galaxy? No thank you, (Y/N). I’d rather not.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the punching bag and held it, looking at him. “You’re not going to make any friends if you spend all your time cooped up in here.”

“I’m not looking to make friends,” he retorted, throwing another punch that sent shock-waves through her arms to her core. “I’m here to clean up Gotham.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “Sure I can’t persuade you?”

“Positive.”

She shrugged. “Then you leave me no choice.” Leveling him with a strong expression, she warned, “As the newest member of the Batfamily, you have to attend the pool party. It’s tradition and anyone who doesn’t, has to take patrol routes for everyone for a month straight.”

Ghost-Maker stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “You’re lying.”

(Y/N) sucked in a breath dramatically, “Ghost, I never lie.” She looked to the ceiling. “Icon, run the conversations from my phone named, ‘Bat-Chat’ and tell him I’m not lying.”

After a moment, the AI’s voice came over, clear and positive. “Miss Wayne is correct, sir. Record texts have shown that those who do not attend the parties thrown by the family for the other superheroes are subject to various torture techniques.”

“What!” (Y/N) shouted. “No, we don’t!”

“You said on June eighth that your brother Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be swirlied for missing the party.”

She sputtered. “I was joking! We don’t swirly each other. We just force our patrol routes on each other.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “If you don’t come, you’re going to take patrol from me, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian. You really wanna patrol all month by yourself? All that territory? Think of the time and energy it’ll take, Ghost.”

Ghost-Maker stared her down for a minute, mulling over his choices, then he finally sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. I’ll come over tonight.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope, you gotta get ready now. We’re arriving together.”

“You annoy me.” He griped, bypassing her to the doorway, and she followed him towards the stairs and to his bedroom where he entered the bathroom and got in the shower. She waited on the bed, gazing around his room while he showered.

“Who all is attending this party? That you know for sure.”

(Y/N) blinked, taking a moment to think. “Uh, all of the Justice League, the Titans and Teen Titans, the Outlaws, a few Green Lanterns…and probably a few anti-heroes but we’ll see.” She shrugged. “So pretty much everyone we interact with on a normal basis.”

“I heard Harley is coming too.”

“Yeah, she’s technically part of the family at this point.” (Y/N) said. “She’d be upset if we didn’t invite her over.”

Ghost-Maker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and she stood from the bed, wandering in behind him as he lathered his face in shaving cream.

“Trying to show out in front of everyone, Ghost?” she joked, leaving back against the door-frame of the small cabinet behind them.

“Bruce doesn’t keep himself kempt all the time. I do,” he remarked, flicking out the straight razor; he raised it to his jaw, and she hummed warningly, causing his brown eyes to meet hers in the mirror. “What?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just worried you’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ve been shaving my face since I was fifteen, (Y/N).”

“So that scar on your cheekbone isn’t from cutting yourself?”

He gazed at her. “You know why I have that scar.”

“I do.” She answered, then leaned away from the wall, shifting until she was sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. Taking the razor, she tilted his chin up and carefully, scraped it down his cheek before rinsing it. “I gave it to you when you called me a coward.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to hit me that hard.” Ghost-Maker replied, coffee eyes focused on her face; she felt exposed under his knowing gaze.

She chuckled. “I think that was the first time I really surprised you that I wasn’t just my brother’s twin sister following him around to make sure he was safe.”

“You can’t blame me for thinking you were. You never joined in the training.”

“I learned better watching then doing.” (Y/N) rinsed the razor and tipped his head back as she drug the instrument down the exposed skin of his throat. “Most people are fearful when someone holds a razor to their neck,” she murmured, carefully shaving his Adam’s apple.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Her hands stilled ever so slightly as she gaped at him. Normally he would’ve said, “I don’t feel fear” but now he said he wasn’t afraid of her. She wanted to hope it was because of what had occurred the last month, her confessing her feelings, him replying that he couldn’t love her like she did him—he’d not totally ruled out caring for her, at least that’s what she saw his words being. They’d not talked about it more than that night, merely going back to work, but she could tell that Ghost-Maker’s demeanor towards her had changed a minute amount. He watched her more. Was…softer with her.

(Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She rinsed the razor and looked over his face for a moment, then she grabbed the towel and wet it, gently brushing over the shaving cream still on his face. Patting his face dry, she nodded. “Looks good. No nicks.”

“Thank you,” he approved, but didn’t move, keeping his eyes on her and she couldn’t help but look down, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

Her eyes widened when she saw the expanse of his chest though and she reached up, fingers delicately tracing a jagged and raised scar in the middle of his chest. Even healed it looked angry and a bolt of sadness hit her in the heart.

“You’re sad.” He noted. For a psychopath who didn’t feel empathy, he was actually good at discerning when people felt sad—or maybe it was just because he’d known her so long.

(Y/N) nodded, whispering, “There aren’t many scars on mine and Bruce’s bodies that look like this one.” Her fingers moved to one on the right side of his ribs and she frowned. “We’ve always had someone to stitch us up, or we did it for one another. But I can’t help but wonder…” her eyes met his. “Who did it for you? Who stitched the ones you couldn’t reach and do yourself?”

Her chest hurt. “Who was there for you when I wasn’t?” she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. He was so warm, and she sighed, willing herself to not tear up. “I’m sorry, K.”

“For what?” he questioned, a hand coming up behind her, palm resting against the back of her neck.

“For leaving you behind,” (Y/N) answered, deciding then to wrap her arms around his waist, turning her face so her cheek rested to his chest. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

Ghost-Maker made a noise in his throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or bitterness. “And if you had, you wouldn’t have raised your family.”

She sighed. “Yeah…I know…but even during that time I couldn’t help but wonder how your journey was going. How you and your tech were evolving throughout the years.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I used to imagine what it’d be like to be there with you. To fight beside you. To live out your dream with you.”

His hand shifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek and he tilted her head up, leaning down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, arms shifting from around his waist to wrap around his neck and his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Ghost-Maker shifted, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw as his fingers dipped under her thigh, pulling it up until (Y/N) got the hint to cock it around his hip.

“K,” she breathed as he sunk his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough that it had her inhaling sharply, fingers twisting in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin.

“What do you want?” he asked, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to where he’d bit as the hand that was on her cheek lowered to push up the blouse that stopped at her waist. His fingers dipped underneath, rubbing against her skin and he asked again, this time firmer, “(Y/N), what do you want?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely think, could barely form words. “I—”

A shrill beeping startled the two of them, well, her more than him, and she finally got herself to breathe. “That’s Bruce calling.” She uncurled one of her hands from his neck to reach for the phone in her pocket, but he caught it.

“Call him back.” Ghost-Maker said, grabbing a fistful of her blouse, starting to pull up.

(Y/N) shrugged his hand off. “If Bruce’s calling, it means he needs my help.” He pulled away and giving her a look, one she met firmly. “I need to take it.”

They gazed at each other for a moment and then he harrumphed, pulling away from her, and walked from the bathroom to his closest.

She sighed and pulled out her phone, answering it. “Hello?”

Are you on your way yet? The party’s already started and everyone’s asking where you both are.

Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, he’s getting his swim trunks.” She glanced out the doorway. “You own trunks, don’t you, Ghost?”

“Do I somehow give you the impression that I’m incompetent?” he shot back, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ass.” She put the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

Be careful. Love you.

“We will. And I love you too.” She ended the call and hopped off the bathroom counter, flicking off the lights as she walked out, seeing him throwing a bag over his shoulder.

“I’m ready to be bored out of my mind.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes again.

“Oh, shut up. You’re going to have a great time. I promise.”

Ghost-Maker glared at her as he pulled the white and black mask over his eyes and nose. “And how do you know?”

(Y/N) grinned, shoving him in the stomach as she walked past him. “Because I’m going to be there all night.”

***

“See!” she chirped as he sunk into the hot tub. “This isn’t so bad.” She handed him a drink. “Free drinks, laughter, and swimming. Fun, huh?”

He grunted, sipping the margarita she’d given him. “Your family and their friends are loud.”

(Y/N) looked over his head towards the other pool, grinning as her eldest nephew threw her youngest into the pool, then turned and threw his best friend. Laughter peeled from the entire group in the pool.

“Yeah…but that’s how you know they’re having a good time.” Her eyes drifted to Bruce who was fondly watching Jason and Roy grill, occasionally laughing as one of them told a joke. “Feelin’ good, Bruce?”

He took a sip of his brandy, sinking until his shoulders were covered by the running hot water. “Feeling great, (Y/N).” he held out his drink. “Put some ice in there? Please?”

She smiled and pulled her legs out of the hot tub, and really, it wasn’t exactly a hot tub because most were above ground, but Bruce being who he was, had redesigned it so that it and the pool were both in ground and connected.

Taking his glass, she rose and wandered over to the bar where a few of her friends were pouring drinks and chatting. “Hey Clark. Diana. How are you both tonight?”

Diana smiled and raised her wine glass. “I am well, (Y/N). How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” She said. “Clark, put an ice cube in here, would you?”

He did as she asked and dropped one in with the tongs. “I’m still surprised you got Ghost-Maker here. I assumed he wasn’t going to come.”

Her eyes flicked back over to the hot tub, and she watched Bruce tip his head back as he laughed, Ghost-Maker chuckling too; she smiled. “He’d never admit it, but he’s glad he came tonight. Anti-social as he usually is, he likes being included in things.” (Y/N) smiled at them and winked, walking back over.

She took her seat back on the side in the middle between Bruce and Ghost-Maker, handing her brother his brandy. “Clark licked all over the rim of your glass, Bruce. Just letting you know.” Feeling particularly childish, Bruce raised the glass to his lips and licked all around the glass. “You’re a child.” She remarked, then glanced to her side, seeing one of the Green Lanterns coming down the way.

“Kyle!” she greeted. “Join the fray!”

The artist smiled, then looked at the men in the hot tub. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, and Bruce waved.

“Come on in.”

(Y/N) patted the wall between her legs and Kyle walked down the steps, shifting until his back pressed against the wall and she dropped her legs over his shoulders, fingers carding in his hair. “How’s it been going on Oa?”

He shrugged, sipping his beer. “It’s good. Can’t complain too much about saving the universe.”

She smirked. “Uh huh…and what’s this about you and Soranik?”

Kyle choked a bit on his beer, coughing slightly as she giggled. “It’s uh—complicated.” He tipped his head back, resting on her thighs so he could look up at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

(Y/N) sighed wistfully, combing back his hair. “Ain’t nothing changin’ but the weather…and the usual telling off the men in front of you for continually betting each other who can do the more stupid shit.”

At that, Kyle’s head tipped up and he first looked at Bruce, then to Ghost-Maker who merely drank from his margarita. “Uh…who’s that?” he asked quietly, and she snorted.

“Kyle, this is Ghost-Maker. Ghost, this is Kyle Rayner, the torch bearing Green Lantern.” She smushed his cheeks. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Ghost-Maker gave her an amused puff. “He is handsome, I’ll give you that.”

Kyle was glad the water had already flushed his skin because the way the man had flirted had made his cheeks warm. “Thank you.” He glanced back at her. “Is his name…?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he takes anonymity to a whole new level.” She tugged at a strand of his hair. “Did you know that only me, Bruce, and a few others know what he looks like and what his entire name is?”

He blinked in response. “That’s…hardcore secret identity, right there.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have any friends.” (Y/N) shot Ghost-Maker a grin. “But you can call him Ghost for short. It’s easier than the mouthful of Ghost-Maker.” The vigilante in return merely rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. “So, Kyle, have any new graphic novels in the works?”

“I do actually. Haven’t written them down but here’s an idea.” He brought up his hand out of the water and a green flash appeared in everyone’s vision. “See how you like it so far?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh in disbelief. “This is so cool.” She grabbed the construct comic book and flipped through it. “Who’s the main?”

“Haven’t named her yet. But she’s a transgender, pansexual Native American who solves crimes as a superhero.” His cheeks flushed. “I know it’s ironic because we’re superheroes, but I couldn’t help it, you know?”

She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Figured out which tribe yet?”

“I was thinking possibly Cherokee. Or Mohawk.”

“I’ve got a MTF Kanienʼkehá꞉ka friend who lives in Quebec.” She said. “I’ll give her a call about working with you on this.”

Kyle lit up like the morning sun. “Really, (Y/N)? You’d do that?”

She looked down at him and shifted her thighs a bit, bumping his head. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” he grinned, and she chuckled.

“I love you too, loser.”

Suddenly the speakers thumped, and her head shot up, looking towards Tim and Bart who were giggling. She pointed at them. “HEY! THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG!”

They merely giggled more and suddenly everyone was singing along to the raunchy song, well, the teens and young adults were but not her and the older people.

(Y/N) shoved Kyle off as she got up and ran towards the speakers. “WAP IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG TO PLAY AT A POOL PARTY! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! TIMOTHY JACKSON, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THAT IPHONE! TURN IT OFF!”

***

She smiled sweetly at her family and friends passed out in the living room, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere, arms slung over bodies, heads on stomachs and backs. It was nice to see them all so comfortable with each other, so tightly knit; it reminded her of a better time.

Most of the adults had gone home though some had stayed in extra rooms. She was sure that her brother and him had gone down to the cave to have it out just for the hell of it, but she was rather tired and decided to call it a night—though it was actually one am.

Closing the door behind her, she didn’t bother to go shower, planning to do it in the morning as she started stripping. First went the swimsuit cover, then the top and bottoms. She kicked her flip-flops off into the corner of the room and stretched her arms above her head, a quiet groan passing her lips as her joints and bones popped.

As she lowered her hands, a hand clamped around her mouth and another wound around her waist, tugging her back and she gasped against their palm, starting to struggle when she heard them chuckle. The sound, combined with the familiar smell of sandalwood wafting up her nose told her who it was, and they smiled against her ear. “Worried?”

She reached up and yanked his hand from her mouth, hissing, “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and punch the shit out of you, K.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind her ear and she shivered against his chest.

“What are you doing in here? I thought you and Bruce went to go spar?”

Ghost-Maker hummed, the hand around her waist starting to squeeze the flesh of her side. “We did. He said he was tired and went to bed.”

“And you didn’t go home?” her voice kicked up a notch when his other hand slipped from her grip and slid down her front.

“I didn’t want to go home.” He pressed his front against her rear and she gasped, one of her hands coming back to grab at his thigh, digging her nails in to keep him there. He smirked as she ground back against him. “Seems like you don’t want me going home either.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “Something’s up with you tonight. You’re being a lot more…passionate than usual.”

He nipped at her neck, fingers delicately dancing over her abdomen. “I don’t like that Green Lantern friend of yours.”

“Who? Kyle?” she questioned confusedly. “Why?”

“He’s very free with himself towards you.”

At that, it was crystal clear, and she spun in his arms, looking at him, though she had to strain to see his face. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” He griped, though the way his jaw set, told her the truth.

“You are!” she laughed. “You’re jealous that I’m close with other men. That’s adorable.”

Ghost-Maker stared at her for a split moment, then he bent down and grabbed her legs, throwing her over his shoulder. (Y/N)’s gasp turned into a laugh as he marched towards the bed and tossed her onto it, watching as she rolled onto her back and laughed some more at him.

“God, you’re green, K.” she giggled, watching with hooded eyes as he shucked the swim trunks down to his feet and crawled onto the bed.

“I’m not envious of a glow-stick who’s never gotten this far with you.” He countered, grabbing her ankles; he yanked her down the bed and underneath him and she gazed up at him.

“Do you wanna know how many men have gotten this far with me?” (Y/N) challenged and Ghost-Maker stared into her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter how many because once I’m done with you, you won’t remember anyone but me.” He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, trailing downwards and she panted in anticipation when,

CRASH!

They started, and this time, he did too, both turning to the door, then to each other.

“What the hell—”

“OH SHIT! SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE!”

(Y/N) grunted. “Oh my God, what did they do?”

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE! OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! OR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”

“AUNT (Y/N)! DAD!”

She rolled out from underneath Ghost-Maker, ignoring his grabbing for her and she hurried to her door, yanking the bathrobe from the hook on the back. Slinging it on, she turned and pointed at the man. “Once I’m done out here, I’m coming back and you’re not going anywhere for a few hours.”

He smirked as he collapsed onto his back, taking himself in his hand. She almost burst into flames at the sight, and he purred, “You might wish to hurry, (Y/N). Wouldn’t want to miss anything.” His words tipped into a groan as his hand shifted along himself, and she scowled at him as she pulled the door open, his erotic frame illuminating in the hall light.

“You’d better watch it, K. We both know how mean I can get when I miss out.”

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ectonurites · 3 years ago

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if u were a dc writer (bc dc themselves dk what they're doing) would you let tim stay as robin rn or move on to a new identity? would u age him up? dc is just making him blah what do tim stans want to do w him

I mean okay I obviously do not speak for all Tim stans (and I know several off the top of my head who def would disagree with my opinions on this- which is ok! we can all have our own opinions and coexist lmao) but

Rather than like making a point of aging him up i'd just kinda confirm that 'oh yeah he's been aging at a normal rate like everyone else we just didn't mention it' because as I've talked about before- you could pretty easily make a case for him being anywhere between 16-20 based on stuff from canon right now without it being an age-up that needs like an in-story justification/acknowledgement ya know? I'd probably put him at around 19 (because while in my heart 21 to restore the original tim & damian 7 year age difference feels right, that might need a bit more specific explanation since it's such a big jump from his last mentioned 16)

And I'd want to spend some time with him in the process of figuring out a new identity. (like. maybe a 6-issue mini or something where he comes up with that new Identity at the end) I think that him trying to stick to Robin right now because he's going through changes in his personal life and Robin is one thing that's a constant for him makes sense, and is something he'd try to hold onto for a while. But I want him to reach a point of personal discovery where he can try branching out again and making something of his own (I've talked about how Drake was in theory a great core idea but just the execution was terrible) as he transitions into being an adult.

I've very frequently been asked what I think a good new hero title for him would be since I talk a lot about wanting him to move on from Robin, and I usually come up blank! Because god that's an overwhelming choice. And I also think that right now Tim's in a similar headspace to that where the thought of trying to come up with something new while also dealing with "hey holy shit I just realized I'm attracted to men and that changes some things for me” is just a lot to deal with so it gets put on the backburner (especially after his last attempt was so poorly received not only irl but in-universe too).

And so exploring some of that inner conflict he's got going on now (now that he's started solving the sexuality crisis aspect of it) as he maybe has to go up against someone from his past* that could make him re-examine himself... and like by the end he could come to some new conclusions about who he is as a hero/what being a hero means to him outside of just 'Being Robin' and as a result decide to redefine himself as a new hero

*(idk who exactly... my heart says Lonnie because he was one of the earliest ppl Tim went up against back before he even officially became Robin but also Lonnie since the reboot has NOT felt the same... maybe with Infinite Frontier tho he could be more like his old self… could even be a cool thing where at first they’re fighting but slowly Tim & Lonnie both remember more about their partnership in Red Robin and end up working together against someone else entirely)

I also do think it'd like... be nice for a new hero identity for him to be original. Main continuity Tim has taken on mantles that came with a lot of inherent baggage (Robin obviously was in the wake of Jason's death so there's All That To Unpack and Red Robin originally because of being in such a rough spot & using Jason's identity as a form of punishment as speculated by Kon and/or more simply so he could cross lines Robin couldn't) so I think him getting to establish who he is going to be as a young adult by creating something new that doesn't have preconceived notions attached would be really nice.

For ideas I see a lot of people list various bird names and/or names associated with the color red (Cardinal is a pretty popular one, and I had some people saying Scarlet in my inbox a few weeks ago) but idk I feel like even that kinda stuff is so close a tie to Robin & Red Robin, that it feels more like a substitution for his old names rather than a reinvention of his hero identity, if that makes sense? Unless there was a good in-universe justification with something like that it's just not what I gravitate towards. (like how yes Dick went from Robin -> Nightwing so still with bird motifs, but in-universe Dick picked Nightwing because of Superman not because 'oooh gotta stick with a bird motif' even if out-of-universe that may have been a factor)

I think something rooted in old detective novels could be interesting, though I’m not well-versed enough in those to be able to come up with something without doing more research than I have time to right now (but like man if I was actually given an opprotunity to write a Tim story like this you bet I would sgfdhg), but like back from Tim’s early stuff he was involved in two different real life Sherlock Holmes fan clubs (The Sherlock Homes Society [Detective Comics #618] and the Baker Street Irregulars [Robin (1991) #2]) so him drawing inspiration from something he enjoyed in childhood as he reinvents himself now as an adult could be a cool full-circle thing. (Before anyone makes any sort of BBC Sherlock joke or makes me look at that guy’s face I would like to point out the panels abt these societies are from 1990-1991) And in my head when he moves on from Robin he’d definitely be leaning most into detective work over the other aspects of being a hero (like. he’d still be a ‘superhero’- but just that’s his main theme & focus) so it’d be thematically relevant.

IDK I have lots of ideas on this but I just haven't really had the time to put the research into it that I'd want to, so they remain half thought-out.

tl;dr: I'd explore him realizing it's time for a new identity which would then lead into him moving past Robin, and i'd also confirm him as being a little bit older.

#i jst think tim is neat <3 #sam talks about tim too much

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1001aus · 6 months ago

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I don't disagree with you although adding all that stuff would have made a much longer paper, since getting into the weeds generally requires a much higher word count.

Admittedly, I didn't read much of the post-paper stuff beyond skimming the citations (I didn't see the specific tumblr posts there, I noticed) so I don't know much about the context. This seems like a midterm assignment level of research paper, but again I don't know.

What did get me was the lack of acknowledgement for AGIT, which came out over a year ago now. The author says there has been no new content for DP and that's not true. The paper did specifically mention that it was covering through 2024, so timing isn't the issue there.

IDK felt to me like AGIT coming put had a lot to do with revitalizing the fandom and that brought people into dpxdc too.

Edited because I'm home now and still have some thoughts.

This paper read to me like a paper on fandom generally that happened to be focused on pointing out a couple specific trends from our fandom as an example. As a result, I don't suspect the writer did any particularly in depth research on how we operate.

We all know what the tumblr search function is like, yet there's no mention of the fact that dpxdc is majorly influenced by writing prompts as a medium of posting. It's hard to go into our tags without seeing any even if by some miracle @stealingyourbones and @nerdpoe don't show up. Not to mention, it's not very uncommon to see half a dozen similar stories on ao3 that all mention a tumblr prompt as inspiration or even a story without others like it that mentions a prompt on tumblr.

This results in a very collaborative style of interacting with each other that isn't the standard for most fandoms.

And, yes, there's a lot of Batman. Some of us try to bring in other DC characters anyway and we're not completely unsuccessful at that. That said, to not even mention John Constantine suggests that not much attention was paid to specific character tags considering how popular he is as a plot device or victim of shenanigans.

When the author did talk about tags it was mostly the ones that specifically mentioned canon or fanon and even a few of those we're ignored as being "unopinionated" on the topic like canon-typical violence.

And, as you've mentioned, there is a non-trivial push to interact with some DC media. Whether it's the comics or a cartoon or anything else. Canon is the building blocks of fanon and while sometimes that means we end up with an OC wearing a Tim Drake mask, the fact of the matter is that we can't get to that point with nothing to build on.

And then A Glitch In Time! To imply that had no influence on the fandom is wild to me. Danny as Clockwork's assistant or errand runner? AGIT! Not that it didn't exist as a trope before, but it certainly got more popular after the comic came out. That's to say nothing of the load-bearing world building done by Marsalias, who may not write in our crossover fandom but is nonetheless influential. Admittedly, it's not common to cite who wrote the most popular Ghost King Danny fic or where someone first saw ghost cores mentioned in our own fics, but it adds to my feeling that the specifics of our fandom aren't really the focus of the paper.

Regardless, I'd say that the paper that gets into those things would probably be a novel itself and probably require a year or two of in depth research that this paper didn't get.

So uhh. . . I recently got access to a college library system again and for whatever reason (that reason is a ghost obsession. Or rather, an obsession with a particular half ghost), I thought to myself, "You should look up Danny Phantom and see if anyone has referenced it in a scholarly article." And apparently this exists:

Grant, Krista, “Canon” and “Fanon” in the Danny Phantom/Detective Comics (Dc) Comics Crossover Fandom: Expanding Authorship and Authority in Transformative Fan Works. Available at SSRN: https://ssrn.com/abstract=4894061 or http://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.4894061

Abstract

In 2020, a new crossover fandom emerged, that of Danny Phantom x DC Comics (DPxDC), prompting thousands of fanfictions and participants. As neither media connected in their canons, how did this crossover fandom come to be? The content tags on these crossover fanfictions and on Tumblr posts collected Jan–April, 2024 were collected and analyzed in a mixed-methods discourse analysis approach with inductive coding for key words “canon” and “fanon”. This is the first time for which a crossover fandom is being investigated in writing studies, and it is one of the first articles to explore fanfiction within writing studies, especially in a mixed methods study. Underpinning this research are grassroots activism, critical theory, and agential theories of resistance practices. I found that DPxDC fans consciously resist canon material, enacting agency through distributed and communal writing practices and claiming a kind of authorship and authority over works, offering a new way of understanding agency and distributed authorship in writing studies.

Keywords: distributed authorship, writing studies, fanfiction, canon, fanon

I haven't finished reading it all yet, but if you've been active in the DPxDC phandom for a few years, you might be cited. Just saying, I recognize a few familiar usernames already.

#dpxdc #meta tag #doesn't exactly seem like in depth research generally

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

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New idea!!! Could you write a story where Mari and Tim are full-blooded siblings except Mari was taken away from the Drakes. Mari would be Dick's age in this. The Drake's finally pass away so Bruce goes to adopt Tim but he's having trouble because Marinette is doing the same. It's a custody battle. Tim is confused because he doesn't know Mari (she was taken away before she was born and CPS wasn't dealing with that family again) but Mari knows about him. Maybe Dick/Mari?

I have a feeling I took this in a different direction than you meant for it to be, but I hope you still like it :) @elements1999

Tim’s Decision

There were two things that Timothy Jackson Drake was sure of.

One, that he had never seen Dick so flustered before in his life. The poor guy was tripping over his own feet, stumbling into the court hallway as if he had been drinking all morning, his face resembling something close to the apple Bruce forced him to eat for breakfast.

And the second, well, he was sure he had never met someone as persistently, annoyingly, upbeat as Dick Grayson until seconds ago when she reached out her hand to introduce herself.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, Timothy. This isn’t my first time reaching out, but it certainly is my first time getting through. Maybe after this, we can grab a bite to eat, get to know each other?”

Tim slightly withdrew his hand, reaching out to steady a swaying Dick. He wanted to ask him what could’ve warranted this behavior from him, but he wasn’t sure he was prepared to hear the answer.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng-”

“Please, call me Marinette! I’m not married, nor am I a middle-aged woman. I’m only 21 after all. You’re 14, right Timothy?”

“If I call you by your name, call me Tim. Timothy sounds like a rich brat.”

Marinette’s giggle earned a small smile from the boy. He had no idea who she was, but her presence was soothing and he didn’t feel any immediate danger. Besides, she wasn’t the first person to approach him in the past week. News of his parent’s death traveled very quickly and many people attempted to adopt him in hopes that his fortune would be theirs.

Bruce was quick to wave them off, offering to adopt Tim himself, but before Tim could even think about accepting, CPS contacted Bruce with the proposal from one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“I hadn’t realized that Bruce Wayne had caught your attention. I really want to make sure that you are able to have a regular childhood or at least some resemblance of a few normal years. If you think Bruce is a better option for you, I promise I’ll pull out right now, but if you have any doubts at all, I want to let you know that I want to fight for you, Tim.”

“I haven’t made any decisions yet and considering Bruce let me meet with you, I have to assume you’re not after my parent’s fortune.”

Marinette’s smile tightened at the mention of the fortune or was it his parents? He couldn’t tell. She was definitely holding something back, but they had just met and he wasn’t in any position to be pressuring her for some answers. What he was in the position to do was knock some sense into a now drooling Dick Grayson.

“Knock it off will you, you’re heavy and gross. You’re making a fool of the Wayne name and aren’t you supposed to be my guardian today?”

Dick muttered out something that sounded like an okay, but if Tim was honest, he wasn’t sure it was anything more than a few syllables to lower his guard.

“This is what Bruce considers a capable guardian? I’m not sure I trust him as far as I could throw him. What can it do?”

Marinette reached forward, poking Dick’s cheek, enough force to snap him out of whatever daze he had been in the past hour.

“Dick Grayson-Wayne ma’am, a pleasure to meet you.” Instantly he bowed, his hand extended as if he were waiting for something that wouldn’t come.

“Mhmm, so you are Bruce’s ward? You look like you could be his blood child. Does he have a thing for dark hair and light eyes? Creepy.”

Dick’s hand clutched his chest as if he had been struck directly in his core. Marinette turned her attention from him and back to where Tim stood.

“Anyways, I believe we mentioned lunch earlier. I’ve already submitted my application to CPS and after this formal meeting, you’re free to meet up with me whenever you would like as long as a third party comes with us. Can you think of anyone you want to come with us?”

Tim glanced to the side where he could feel Dick’s puppy eyes boring into him. He wouldn’t be his first choice but if it came down to him of Jaime, he was pretty sure he had a better chance of reigning in Dick.

“Do you mind if Dick comes with us?”

Marinette’s smile was shaken with uncertainty as if she was thinking of protesting but didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Tim felt terrible putting her in the position but he was sure that Dick was her best chance given his options. “Of course not, where would you like to go?”

The lunch moved smoothly with Tim learning so much about her. She was originally from the Gotham foster system herself, but a young couple who couldn’t have kids adopted her at a younger age, moving her to Paris with them. She attended the equivalent of middle and high school over there where she met many lifelong friends. Starting late in her middle school years, she upstarted a fashion business where she had several big-name clients months into her start-up. Now she made personal designs, but many were taken care of by her team. She only stitched a very few commissions for close personal friends.

She was remarkable, someone who truly started from nothing. His parents did something similar as did Bruce’s. It was something he wanted for himself, something he wasn’t sure he could ever achieve with either his or Bruce’s fortune.

The custody battle was put on hold at Tim’s request. He was really intrigued by Marinette and Bruce pressuring him to take his time and really think over his choices finally led him to that decision. However, no matter how much Bruce tried to be a neutral party in the matter, Tim could feel the strain it put on their work relationship.

The more he saw Marinette, the more mess-ups occurred on patrol. Bruce would constantly tread into Tim’s area, always dropping in on his battles. It was as if he lost all trust in Tim as if he was trying to rely less on him, trying to go back to doing things on his own.

It was so frustrating. No matter how many times he told Bruce that he could still be Robin no matter who he chose, it seemed to mean nothing to him. He continually waved him off, claiming to have no idea what he was talking about.

A month after he met Marinette, Tim snuck out for the first time, begging her to meet him at a coffee shop near her hotel.

“Tim, this is dangerous. If CPS finds out we meet behind Bruce’s back, it could nullify my application.”

“I know, I know.” His head dropped to the table, buried in his arms trying to suffocate his frustration. “I just needed to get away from all of them. I think the fact that I consider you a serious option really upsets Bruce. It’s not that I don’t consider him a serious option as well, it’s just-he’s just-”

Tim let out a sigh, slowly sitting back up unsure where his thoughts were taking him.

“Tim,” Marinette reached across the table, laying her hand on his arm. “if this is too stressful for you, I can pull out of this.”

Her touch was so gentle, so soothing. It felt like the mother he never had, the kind of mother he yearned for but never realized. He really didn’t want her to leave his life just because he couldn’t give up being Robin.

“I just feel so selfish,” his vision started to blur, Marinette’s figure coming in and out of focus. “I want to keep the life I’ve made for myself here, but I also don’t feel like I can grow the way I want to under Bruce’s supervision.”

Marinette didn’t say anything for a moment, she just allowed him to cry, her thumb moving in small circles on his arm. Tim reveled in the feeling, reveled in the silence. He hadn’t had this in a while, he hadn’t had comfort for as long as he could remember. Even at his parent’s funeral, people just commented on how strong he was and how smart he was and told him he would be just fine. Not once did anyone try to hug him or ask if he was okay. They just assumed.

Everyone always just assumed.

“Tim, I haven’t been 100% honest with you since I met you. I didn’t want it to mess with your decision, but I think it’s time you knew.”

“I already know.” Tim moved his arms from her touch, his heart throbbing from the loss of touch. “I did my research on you, especially considering how Bruce let me meet you so quickly. You’ve done a lot of work to bury it, but the Will mentioned you, or at least your old name.”

Marinette’s smile was tight, her eyes as watery as his.

“Is that what’s holding you back from making the decision you want to make?”

Tim wanted to deny that he had no clear choice, but that was a lie he had been feeding himself. He wanted to stay with Bruce, in Gotham. His life was here, his friends were here, his passions were here. The only thing that wasn’t, was her.

“I want Bruce to be my official guardian. I want to be Tim Drake-Wayne.” Marinette nodded, understanding pouring from her and crashing into him. He felt like all the stress from the past month had been pushed out and replaced with relief. “But I really did want to get to know you, I didn’t want to make a decision because you would be out of my life for good. I’ve already lost you once, CPS took you didn’t they?”

“Right before mom became pregnant with you. I’m sure it happened to you too, but I was only six. They left me alone, not even a butler or maid to watch after me. They tried to argue with CPS that I was a competent child who could handle groceries and looking after myself but they didn’t buy it. My existence hadn’t even been released to the public so they didn’t take it too hard, losing me that is. But you, they immediately brought you into the limelight, almost like a challenge to CPS, I’m assuming that’s why they didn’t get involved for you no matter how many times my parent’s called and reported them.”

Tim couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out. It seemed to have shocked Marinette too as she gave way to her own giggle threatening to spill.

“Marinette, can I ask you something selfish?”

“Of course, mon frère.” Her hand reached back across the table, gripping his tightly as if pressing him to ask the question he dreaded most.

“Will you still be apart of my life? I’m not asking you to move to Gotham, but maybe a monthly trip? A weekly dinner? Something? I just don’t want to lose you again.”

The tears that had been pooling in her eyes finally slipped free, her smile blinding.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Bruce, Marinette is coming over for game night tonight!”

“Marinette?” Dick’s head popped around the corner, the red plastered by the mere mention of her name. It sickened Tim. “But I have patrol tonight! Bruce can’t the police do their jobs for one night!”

Bruce chuckled as he set up the table, a stack of every board game imaginable piled in the middle.

“I suppose you can push it back from 11 to 5 to 2 to 5. After all, I’m not heartless.”

Tim let out an involuntary groan as he slipped into the couch, wishing it would swallow him whole.

“Whose side are you on here Bruce? She’s already your honorable daughter. Do you really need her to be part of your legal family that bad?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean.” His smirk only made Tim want to fold in on himself even more.

“Bruce, if you’re gonna set me up, can it at least be with Tim’s more attractive siblings? Like what about that Jason guy? Or Barbara Gordan?” Tim popped up in his seat, a smile beaming from ear to ear.

“Marinette’s here!” He waved her over to the seat beside him before a certain older lovebird could intervene.

“I am attractive! Why won’t you accept me Marinette?” Dick wiped away fake tears as he fell dramatically to the floor by her feet.

Tim could feel his heart overflowing for the first time in years. His life felt so fulfilled, like all of the missing pieces finally found a place. As the night continued on, only one thought stayed prominent in his mind.

He couldn’t be happier with his decision.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat @ladybug-182 @maskedpainter @remy-289 @redbullgivescaswings @icerosecrystal

#maribat #timinette siblings #dickinette

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redhoodieone · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome Home

A/N: Hi everyone! This is an old fic that I’m re-posting for those who want to read it. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language and Smut.

I knew my family was different the moment I found out my adoptive father was Batman. I was just a ten-year-old girl when I snuck down the stairs at midnight for a drink of water and spotted Batman leaving a trail of blood from his study and calling out for Alfred for help. The moment our eyes locked, Bruce instantly knew that I was clearly aware of his secret. He had also confessed it was him who saved me from a shootout that my parents were involved in and that it was him, as Batman. I felt I owed Bruce my own life for saving me, and I vowed to keep my father’s secret and pray that he would return home safely every night back to me.

It didn’t help that I soon discovered my adoptive older brother Dick Grayson was Robin. Not only did I have to keep his secret as well, but it made it more impossible to not have a crush on him. I mean, Dick has such a charming personality, beautiful baby blue eyes, and a devilish smile that can make any girl crawl on her hands and knees. And that ass…

I later found myself becoming the second Robin once Dick left to assume his own identity, Nightwing. Bruce trusted me, and he saw potential in me the second I told him I couldn’t see myself being a hero forever. Perhaps he never really wanted me to be his sidekick and figured if I got it out of my system that I could resume my life as a sixteen-year-old and do normal teenager activities. As if my life was normal anyways.

But things changed as soon as I was finally embracing myself as a hero. Bruce had taken in a new kid, Jason Todd. He was a troublemaker, a rebel, and a mysterious kid, who had never even spoken to me unless he had to. I don’t think my age helped the situation either; I was a couple of years older than him and he may not have seen me as an equal. But of course, the dark haired, icy blue eyed, bad attitude boy was given the Robin title, and I was removed because of a patrol-gone-wrong situation.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Then the unthinkable happened. The second Robin was killed by the Joker. Jason Todd’s death put Bruce into a depression, and he swore he would never put another kid’s life in danger. Our father and daughter relationship broke apart before my very eyes. I spent my remaining teenage years in the mansion isolated, except for Alfred’s loving company.

I had graduated high school on time and I quickly decided to go to Gotham University to escape the Bat family. Before I moved out, I discovered Bruce had taken in another kid, Tim Drake, who was currently the new Robin. Was I hurt? Of course, I felt I was somehow replaced. Would I miss the Bat family? Maybe. Maybe not.

I did in fact wish the new younger Robin good luck. When Tim looked up at me, his light blue eyes were so innocent and frightened about me leaving him behind. I didn’t know why he would be so upset about me leaving; wouldn’t he want all of Bruce’s attention without me hanging around the mansion?

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

As I sit in a taxi while anxiously waiting to pull up to Wayne Manor, I honestly don’t know why Bruce wants me back at home. Alfred has kept me up to date about the Bat family incidents and activities I have missed out those few years such as:

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

Tim Drake is Red Robin (does the fast food chain restaurant know about his superhero name?), and he’s currently assisting the Teen Titans when necessary while simultaneously aiding Bruce with detective work.

Damian Wayne is Bruce Wayne’s unknown biological child. I think he’s about fifteen-years-old now; from what I remember the last time I spoke to Alfred. I met Damian once, when Bruce asked me to meet him once Talia al Ghul practically dropped him off at Bruce’s doorstep. The boy was a little shit: bratty, stuck up, and insensitive. Even though he is the spitting image of Bruce, minus the different colored eyes (Bruce has blue and Damian’s are green), Damian claims he is set to take over the cowl when Bruce is either dead or done. God help us all…

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I jump in surprise once the taxi comes to a hard stop. After paying the man, I grab my duffel bag and I climb the front steps that I suddenly remember jumping off them as a kid. Alfred scolded me many times, and I still did it because being bad was fun.

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I find the wooden front door unlocked, which is odd considering Alfred always makes sure to lock it. As a matter of fact, Alfred hasn’t greeted me like he always does when I come home. Where is Alfred?

After I unwrap my scarf, I pull my hoodie over my head to be more comfortable in the warm house. Sadly, I forgot to do laundry yesterday, so I came home in just my black yoga pants and red tank top. What would Alfred say?

I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen barefoot. Pulling my long hair into a ponytail, I notice a note on the counter that’s written for me. I unfold the note and stare at the nicest, well done cursive handwriting only one man can do here.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I sincerely apologize for not being there to greet you properly. Master Bruce had wanted me to take my holiday to London early, and Lord knows I can use a week to myself after stitching up countless wounds, tidying up bedrooms and Bat caves, and playing messenger between you and your father. I have a cooked roast with garlic mash potatoes in the refrigerator if you are hungry. Do heat it up and perhaps show your father and brothers how to use the microwave.

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“Welcome home, Y/N. I missed you so much,” Bruce whispers in my ear. I can feel his hot breath above my shoulder and neck. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne fills my nostrils. His large hands rub my legs and grip onto my hips very hard. “Did you miss me?”

“H-hi dad. W-what are you doing?” I ask softly, but I know it came out like a whisper. One of his hands is holding my waist, while the other caresses my abdomen. It feels strange considering Bruce is supposed to be my father, and we shouldn’t be this close or even touching each other. But a part of me wants to keep feeling his hands on me and see what he does next.

“Holding you. Smelling you. Touching you,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He breathes harder when I press my backside against his front by accident. “It appears you want this too. Am I correct, Y/N?”

His hand pulls down my yoga pants enough, so he can reach into my underwear. Bruce continues to breathe hard from his nose when his fingers find my core. His thumb rubs fast circles on my clit, while he pushes two fingers inside me. I bite my bottom lip to stop a loud moan from coming out of me, but he appears he’ll have none of that. He stops fingering me.

“You better be loud, or I won��t let you cum, Y/N.”

Before I can beg him to keep going, he turns my face, so I can look him in those cold, pale blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re…not a virgin.” Bruce’s face is twisted in pleasure from just fingering me, but I can tell his lips are trembling and there’s a soft but pleading look in his eyes. This must hurt him as much as it’s hurting me.

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

Before I can answer, Bruce shoves the front of my body onto the counter, while he pulls down my yoga pants. My adrenaline is rushing, and I can feel myself wetting the counter from just his roughness. I can feel him unzip his pants and I can already imagine this thick, hard cock fucking me into oblivion.

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I want to turn around and watch him jack off. Hearing him pleasure himself isn’t enough. Bruce then jams two fingers back into my pussy and I whimper loudly. It has been too long since I’ve been intimate with a man. I need his cock now!

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Do I need to remind you who you are supposed to answer to?” he says seriously before adding a third finger inside me. I grip the counter and I breathe harder. I find myself rubbing my pussy on the edge of the smooth countertop for more friction, but he grabs my hips and stops me. “Now, do you want me to fuck you, Y/N, or should I leave you here, so you can dry hump the countertop alone?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately wonder if I killed the mood. Why would I call him ‘dad’ when we’re about to have hot, rough sex in the kitchen? I need to apologize. I push myself up on my elbows and I shift my head to the side to apologize. I open my mouth to speak but stop when Bruce’s eyes darkened, and he growls as he slams his thick cock inside me.

I moan louder than I have in my entire life. His cock fills me up so much that I fear I won’t be able to walk straight for the next week or two. Bruce lifts my legs up and continues to shove me against the counter with every hard thrust. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck me. The man is practically drilling into me with no kindness at all.

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

Bruce growls and rams his cock faster into me. He keeps knocking the air out from my lungs, and I can feel my body pulsating against his. I grip the countertop harder each time, and I know my knuckles are turning white and becoming numb every second. With one hand on my hips, Bruce moves his other hand up my tank top to hold my tits.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

“Excuses,” he manages to say, as he holds me up more, so he can penetrate me deeper. His cock is hitting a deeper spot in me. It must be my g-spot, because I have read about it but never actually felt it to know. I can feel myself clenching his dick tightly, and I know I’m getting closer to release. “You wanted me and your brothers to see your tits, huh?”

“Maybe,” I cry out louder than what I intended to. Fuck, what if one of my brothers hears me? They’ll really think I’m insane for fucking our father and for loving it every second. Bruce readjusts our position once more, so he can hit that spot continuously. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet, you better not!” Bruce growls, and drills into me harder and faster. With his powerful thrusts and the constant friction from the countertop on my clit, I know for a fact that I can’t last longer. His hands hold onto my hips while he fucks me harder than before.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

The sounds of skin on skin is louder because of my mess. I drop my head onto the counter while Bruce continues to fuck me. Before I can catch my breath, Bruce chuckles and lifts me up. “I just made you squirt. That has never happened before, has it?”

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“You’re so wet,” Bruce grunts into my ear. Breathing heavily, he lifts my hips again, so he can rub my clit with his fingers. “You’re making a mess all over my cock. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

With every rough thrust, I know Bruce won’t last. I whimper once more when my pussy clenches his dick as he fucks me through my orgasm. A few more hard thrusts, Bruce pulls out and turns me over onto my back. He jacks himself off as I watch his cum spurt out all over my stomach.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

Bruce sighs heavily, and just when I think I should try to get up and clean myself, he pulls me up and kisses me. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and we explore each other’s mouths as if this was our last chance to. He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You belong to me, and the Batfamily. I don’t care who wants you, because you will never give them what you have given me. Do you understand?” Bruce asks, before giving me his famous bat glare.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

I grab a paper towel and wipe Bruce’s cum off my stomach before I pull up my yoga pants. As soon as I toss the damped paper towel into the trash, I immediately notice Dick Grayson is standing there at the entrance of the kitchen staring at me with fire in his eyes.

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce wayne x y/n smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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batarella · 4 years ago

Text

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 13

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: Last chapter until the pre-finale!! I can’t believe we made it this far. This might be the series I’m most proud of! I love you guys so much. HAPPY NEW YEAR

WORDS: 10,448 WARNINGS: mentions of trauma

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

Tim:

Perhaps it wasn’t best that he asked her to come over, instead of it being the other way around. But what good were customs when it meant seeing that very smile he’d grown to work for tirelessly, the same when she’d be stricken with the best, most pleasant surprises? She did love surprises, as he’d learned to know. Whatever it was he’d give her, whatever the gift, her eyes shone just a bit brighter when she hadn’t expected what he brought her, whether it be just a cup of her favorite drink he’d stopped to get along the way or a client that wanted to pay her five times her usual price.

But maybe he should have at least sent for a car to pick her up, with his many drivers and a limo that would have made the trip more convenient, instead of having to hail for some stinky cab and go through the horrors of Gotham traffic, but he wanted nothing more than for this to catch her when she least expected it, never mind how it was on that very day itself, and how calling her this day asking to spend it together would have been a dead giveaway, but he’d prepared for that. He’d asked her to come over to the office more times over the past month for the most stupid reasons not even he would have come up with, but she never grew irritated. She just went with it, without much question, as if she truly did enjoy his company. Every day for the past week. Hopefully, today, she’d think nothing of it and that it was, in actuality, just like any other day.

He looked like a creep as well, looking over the large, glass window behind his desk. He fixed his suit, tightened the tie around his neck, and made sure his hair was combed over the back of his head. His hands turned for each other for some comfort, something to hold onto, when he watched every taxi that drove by hoping it was hers, hoping that it’d stop in front of the building and put an end to this torturous waiting. When was the last time they spent Valentine’s day together? Years, at least. Of course, this made him more nervous than when he had to face a whole conference room full of people, if they even were to be called that, from the likes of Lex Luthor and Maxwell Lord and even Roman Sionis. That didn’t even do so much as raise a hair at the back of his neck.

This, on the other hand, made his hands shake so much, his palms sweaty and uneasy.

Tim looked out the window and he didn’t even give his work a glance of attention until he saw that cab, which he knew just had to be hers, that stopped right in front of the building’s entrance.

Y/N walked out of the car, and the wind decided to be nice to her and her hair, her flowy blouse, her pants that flared to her feet, and her graceful demeanor.

Tim loosened his tie. It had gone too tight. And he never allowed himself a second away from watching her look around the street, at the people that were nothing more than ants to him at that point when all he could look at was her, and he didn’t even have a lot of time to enjoy that view when Y/N walked into the building and disappeared. That’s when Tim realized he had his hands pressed up against the glass window trying to look past the corners just to have her in his sight.

A few minutes after, there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Wayne, Ms. L/N is here to see you.”

His throat had clogged up and he had to take a few seconds just to clear it. “O-of course. Bring her in.”

His secretary shut the door, and he tidied himself as if he hadn’t already done enough of that the whole morning. Did he look too groomed? Would that give it away?

Too late. She was here. Even more beautiful up close, as she often is. He quickly took his seat and pretended to be so invested in whatever tab was open on his laptop, which was nothing more than the Google homepage.

“Mornin’, Drake.”

“Morning, L/N.”

He sounded casual enough, didn’t even look up from the screen to greet her, but when she walked closer to where he was sitting, not even a Kryptonian would have the strength not to look up and get lost in this seemingly infinite depth of a gaze.

Tim almost jumped out of his seat when Y/N leaned over to kiss his cheek, then she pressed her back against his table to rest. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N,” he sighed, then he relaxed and sat back against his chair. Idiot must have been smiling his face muscles off.

“Are you really gonna spend the day strapped to your desk?”

“It’s not like it’s Christmas.”

“And are you absolutely sure everyone in this building is as bitter as you?”

“Offices don’t celebrate Valentine’s.”

“You could have at least pasted cut-out hearts over at the hallway.”

He snorted. “Cut-out hearts?”

“Doesn’t match the boring gray?”

Tim playfully rocked her leg over to her side. “No. It doesn’t.”

She stood up from his desk, went over to the window to watch the streets, and Tim could look at her from the reflection of his laptop screen.

“So this is all you got planned for yourself today?”

“Pretty much,” he lied.

“You’re lucky you have me then,” she said. “Sorry I was late. I sent three commissions over to my clients so I won't have to work all day.”

“What were they?”

“Gifts. As usual. For their spouses.”

“Good for you.”

11:30 AM. Should be the right time now. Fuck, what did he just spend the whole morning rehearsing over and over again?

“Fine. Y/N. You got me.”

“I got you?”

Shit. Reverse. Reverse.

“I, uh, meant maybe I should take a breather. Just for today. Wanna go up to the balcony? I have one of your sketchbooks you left. We can spend a few minutes up there.”

She shrugged. Yes. “Sure.”

He pretended to spend just a few more minutes on his laptop, then he stood from his desk. She smiled at him and right then he knew she wasn’t expecting anything at all.

Oh, man. Oh, man. The veins in his neck should have popped out bleeding by now. Even the ride up the elevator felt too tight, tight, whatever the hell that meant. He just knew it was true, like some unknowable force had their hands all over his throat and there was no easing it until this whole thing blows over, which he definitely didn’t want to happen so soon. Even when he knew the longer this lasted, the more chance of him screwing up, even when this shook every core and nerve in him so much he had to be so cautious of everything he said and did, he wanted to drag this on so it lasted for so long as he was awake.

When the elevator doors parted, he couldn’t bring himself not to hold her hand, as he often couldn’t, and she welcomed it so naturally, too naturally, the kind of comfort that was none he could find in another. They walked down the halls, and when they reached the end of it, he held his breath.

He let her open the door, still holding her one hand, and when she did, he couldn’t miss a detail on her face even if he tried. The soft smile that immediately dropped, her mouth parting without her knowing, her eyes so wide they were wonderous and unreal, and the light that touched her face, the light he’d strategically placed just for that consequence, it made all else stop the way he knew it would.

He prepared for it all night, told her it was all for work when really, he wouldn’t trust any of his employees to do it the way he specifically wanted it to be. And it had to be perfect.

It would have been a lot better at dusk when the sun would have set so perfectly on the horizon before them, but that noontime light didn’t exactly do much to diminish its beauty. It was simple, really, with it just being one small table set at the center, two chairs laced with white and red cloth, flower petals on its surface, trays of food waiting for them on opposite ends. And outside of it, four poles on four different corners, with a vine of roses suspended from each end, forming a square that housed their space much like a little escape from all else around them, even the winds and the rushing sounds were to no effect. It was peace, beauty, and it was all so simple but it was that simplicity that made it so breathtaking.

At least, from what he could see out of her, it did take her breath away.

She let go of his hand and stepped under that archway, head up so one of the petals would fall onto her nose. He wanted to remember this picture of her until the end of time.

She whispered. “You did this?”

Tim’s head was bashfully held down, he couldn’t bring himself to be so smug when he should be proud of all this, but he kept his hands deep into his suit pockets, and still that itch in his throat no amount of tie loosening would fix wasn’t much he could ignore, but none of that mattered. All he could stare at was her, and that smile, that same when he catches her off guard of the many surprises he’s given her, it will forever make his day for every day he was awake. Because one day, the start of many days, this one might be all he’ll have.

Every day might be the day she makes her choice, and when she does, he’ll never have this again. He’ll never have her again, and be able to just call her into his office or visit her at home without it bearing so much more meaning than it should. And as much as it broke his heart, he distracted himself with his own efforts. He had to make this count. And perhaps, it already did.

He wanted to kiss her, right then, in the middle of her marveling over the tables and the flowers and everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

But he could hold her hand. He went up to her and took both of them, and the way she welcomed them was incomparable.

And the way she looked at him, even more so.

“Is this alright with you?”

She smiled so brightly. Nothing has ever felt warmer. “Alright?”

“It’s not weird?” He held her hands tighter. “Or uncomfortable?”

“Tim, this is…”

She looked at the flowers, the table, the view that was just made for them, just for that moment. “This is everything…”

“Good. I was nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not. I am.”

The way she swayed their arms together like nothing could ever pull them apart, not the sun’s hot rays nor the winds that wanted them to part, she was right. He couldn’t remember what he was so nervous about.

“You know you never have to be afraid of anything with me.”

“I know.”

Y/N had on the kind of smile that would have cured the Black Plague, as it cured every bit of doubt and darkness that had been left over in him that he didn’t even think to fix himself. Tim couldn’t fight it, even when he probably should, but he brought her hands up to his lips, and that smile grew even brighter. He wanted to whine when she let go of his fingers only to lean in even more when she had them holding the sides of his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wanted to kiss her, again, but it wasn’t as if the warmth of her embrace was any worse. In fact, it grounded him.

Nothing he could ever think to accomplish could haul him up to the top of the world, no well-doings well enough that would make him soar to such great heights, as much as having her so close to him that he could feel her hair within his fingers, face to his shoulder. And he’d give up everything, the whole company even, if it meant having this kind of contentment for every day he was alive.

He didn’t let his mind trail off to even more buts and what-ifs. He just took this moment for the whole of what it was. And it was perfect. He didn’t even have to try. She was there. He was there. Tim could have this day and make it last for as long as he wanted it to, even when it wasn’t possible.

“So,” she loosened her hold around him and went over to the table, arm around his waist. “What do you have for me?”

“Pasta. Roast beef. And whatever side dish you want.”

He took the two lids off their plates and her face lit up even more as if it were possible.

“You’re a saint.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled her seat for her to take, and he sat down across from her. Even if she weren’t prepared, still she looked so radiant and perfect, and not even the flowers could grow into such bloom, going against the lights like she were a reflection from every bit of serenity there was to be seen, a mirror to the world.

He had to stop staring. He was starving.

Tim poured her a glass, then they clinked their glasses together at the brim.

“You know,” she took a sip. “I don’t remember you doing anything like this when we were together.”

He started slicing his beef, but he knew he was in for a whole day barely getting a bite out of their plate. “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were. Just that it wasn’t anything like this at all.” She held her hands holding her knife and fork up to point at the flowers. “And it’s highly unlike you.”

He shrugged. “You welcome to change?”

“Oh, I do.”

He wanted so badly to reach for her hand over the table. “So what did I do for you all those years ago?”

“Mmm,” she chewed on her pasta and swallowed. “Let’s see. We were together for two years, but we made it through three Valentine’s days.”

“The first one?”

“The first one you took me to the zoo.”

“Ah.”

“We spent the whole day there. And in the petting area, you almost got mauled by a kangaroo.”

“Kangaroos are assholes.”

She laughed and took a bite out from her fork. Her hair fell to the side of her cheek. He resisted pulling it behind her ear.

“I loved that day,” she sighed, eyes on her plate. “It was my first Valentine’s day with someone else.”

“Mine, too.”

She twirled her fork around her pasta. “I remember it started to rain, and you gave me your jacket even when I told you it wasn’t cold. It was our first month together.”

“I was nervous.”

Her smile grew wider.

“Then we spent almost an hour under that shed. It rained pretty hard, but we didn’t even care. We just sat there and waited until it stopped, and after that, we kept walking around even with our shoes wet.”

He could think about that day until it grows dark. They were still so young, yet he never could say he was any less in love with her now, maybe even more.

Tim swallowed.

“The second year was that time we went to New York.”

She sighed as if looking back to a time so light and free, which it certainly was. The amount of begging he had to go through with Bruce. It was immaculate. Just to have a day in New York, to an art gallery that went on that didn’t often happen in Gotham, and so many other places after that.

“Not gonna lie, you surprised me with that.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. And compared to the results it yielded, it really was. “New York always has been so romantic.”

“I loved it. So much.”

He drank half his glass just to ease that pain that eventually faded away, and it was easier when he had her to look at.

It was nothing more than a few seconds, maybe even less than that, but when Y/N pulled a strand of her hair behind her back, pulled it up so no longer would it frame her face and instead, expose her skin and the radiance of her cheeks, her eyes now shown under so much light, the amount it truly deserves so not a speck of it wouldn’t be shown, Tim almost dropped his knife on the ceramic plate, and that would have stopped her tracks. But, thankfully, he didn’t, and he got to watch her fix her hair, eyes down on her food, and when she looked up, her smile completely destroyed him.

Fuck everything. He can't hold back from this.

“You look beautiful.”

So many times, he’s said that, but never enough. Never as often as it was true. Because if he were to say it as often as he’d like to, he’d say it every hour of every day. He’d say it when she was fresh out of bed, a bed they’ve slept in together and her skin would be dry and itchy, hair messed up in all places. He’d say it in the middle of a conversation and it would be so out of nothing that it would surprise even her, perhaps make it weird even when it never was when it came to her. He’d say it to her in a million circumstances a million times, and not one of them would be from a lie.

She reacted the same way she always does, with a bashful grin, soft, proud, but not smug about it, and with her head down as she’d instinctively look at her feet. Y/N coughed. “Thank you.”

Maybe it had been too much.

But what was so wrong about telling someone so beautiful that they were just that, other than to make the world an even more wonderful place with the smile it would cause?

“Uh,” she gulped. “The third year.”

“Right.” He forced his attention back on his plate. “The helicopter ride.”

“Yeah…”

That Valentine’s day was just three weeks before he’d break it off, which was why it wasn’t often what they talk about, even when it was all the more something to remember.

“That day was…” she smiled looking down at the table like it was anything to smile about. “That day was something else.”

“It was…”

He wasn’t in the best place that day.

He didn’t know how many calls of hers he hadn’t returned because of work, because of Bruce and his place in the company they had to cover up and explain after his disappearance. There was so much to do, and every day the work just never seemed to end, and there won't be an end for a long time.

But that day, he remembered, he told himself he would have that day just for her, even when it hurt the company and possibly lose them a few thousand just for leaving the building. But he forced himself not to care, told himself she deserved this so much more than he had.

A few hours with their helicopter going a few rounds around Gotham, with her in his hands strapped to their seats, looking out their windows much like they used to, at the top of the world. Just how they’re meant to be.

The last day, in fact, that was the happiest in their relationship that still could have been salvaged if he was strong enough.

Like a shard lodged up his throat, he didn’t know if it was something he should be asking. Yet, he did.

“We could do that again sometime. Whenever you're free. If you want.”

Whenever she’s free. When he still could. When she still hadn’t chosen someone else and forever change what they have, which he’ll ultimately accept for so long as it’s what she truly wants.

“I would love that.”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s a lot easier now. Since I have, you know, my own helicopter.”

She snorted.

The smile she had on, the longing in her eyes, the sheer appreciation she showed just to have him for herself that one day out of many when she didn’t, it haunted him for years. It haunts him until now.

When he looked up from his plate, he thought he’d catch her wiping a tear, or frowning at him for bringing up such a memory.

Still, with the softness that glowed, she smiled, because as Tim should as well, she appreciated every bit of time she had with him no matter what surrounded them, no matter the history of hurt and whatever happened next. She didn’t see it as a day to dread or a day to despise. She saw it as a day to look back to when she wanted to remember what it was like to be content.

So suddenly, it was what he felt, too.

Y/N looked up at him, caught his eyes, but she didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say either. But they locked eyes longer than any two normal friends should, with that subtle burning in his chest that wasn’t something to physically feel, yet still know that the flames went on, scorching his flesh. Her eyes were longing, knowing, and he looked back at her wanting so badly to take her hand.

Who were they kidding, calling themselves best friends for so many years, when in fact they were two people who used to be so in love and definitely still are? Two exes who couldn’t move on, two halves of a relationship that had the strength to last forever but didn’t.

And it still possibly could, if it’s what makes her happy. It might.

All those years, they weren’t best friends. They were two people holding onto what they used to have in a form of another, masking it over with another type of bond when they just wanted each other’s presence the way it used to be, even when it couldn’t.

Tim didn’t take her hand, and it added one to the many regrets that’ll continue to despise himself for.

They spent the whole of the afternoon that day up on that balcony, and he didn’t even care if there were mounds of work to be done just waiting for him at his table. And when the sun started to set, when he realized that time was tapping onto his shoulder telling him that there was, in fact, an end to this day, he never thought he’d accepted it the way he did.

Outside the elevator doors on the floor of his office, it took a while for them to wait.

But that while was all he had.

He had to make it count.

Once again, possibly for the last time, Tim took both her hands and looked into her eyes like he was purposefully trying to get lost.

“Y/N…”

It was in his bag. He held off too long. He should have given it at the balcony while he still could, while he still had even more time to watch how she’d react instead of going out the coward’s way and hide behind what he thought to have been safe, even when it clearly wouldn’t be worth missing out. The elevator was coming up to their floor.

“I have something for you…”

She didn’t look surprised, but was skeptical, though that wasn’t what he was trying to do anymore.

He took a mustard-colored sketchbook from the sling bag over his shoulder. She looked confused when he handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugged. Her eyes were so soft and yet so enticing it burned him in the chest.

Y/N opened the first page of the sketchbook and he saw her visibly catch her breath. For the second time that day, she couldn’t speak.

“I know I’m not usually there with you when you paint and draw…” He gulped. “But I thought, if I learned how to draw myself, even when I’m not so good at it, I’ll be a lot closer to you. We’d have one more thing in common.”

His drawings.

Most of them were of her, her face, her lying on the couch, painting on an easel, smiling at the flowers, or of them both with their arms around each other. Some of her favorite flowers, her favorite spots at the manor, scenes from her favorite movies, her favorite skyscrapers around the city.

Everything was about her, everything he could ever draw was about her, because, as he’d realized, he never could draw anything if it wasn’t.

She was his muse, just as he had been hers for a time.

He had his time with her, and even with the chance that that’s all that it will eventually be, his time with her, he’d grown to appreciate it more than if there wasn’t a time at all, just to ease the pain.

“Tim…” she choked.

Her embrace was that peace he will forever miss, and without wasting so much time he pushed his face into her shoulder so he could take in every bit of her depth, every bit of her scent, her form. She was here. She was here.

“Thank you so much…”

“You don’t have to thank me…”

“I do...” she breathed. He couldn’t even look at her face. “I do…”

This wasn’t nearly enough time for him to be with her. Nothing could be enough time when it comes to her. How could this day, as something he didn’t always come to appreciate, pass by so quickly, quicker than a rabbit’s thump of its foot, and without anything he could do about it?

Nothing, nothing else in his whole life, will be a bigger mistake than when he left. Now, he pays the price. This might be the last day he gets to hold her like this.

“Y/N…”

He loosened his embrace just to hold her cheeks, and she returned that hold by grabbing onto his wrists.

“Whatever you choose to do, promise me I’ll still be your best friend…”

She laughed through the tears, which he wiped off with his thumb. “That’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever said. Of course, I will.”

He laughed as well. Or pretended to. He wanted so much to cry.

‘No. You don’t understand. You won't want me this way any longer. Everything is going to change.’

‘But I’ll accept it. For you. It will all be worth it.’

‘Choose me, so you won't have to promise me this.’

But he didn’t say any of that. He didn’t have to.

He just held her tight, foreheads touching like a lifeline’s hold.

It was a lie telling themselves they were best friends all those years.

But it won't be from now on. They’ll be best friends, whether she chooses him or not, and he’ll hold onto that if it meant everything to her.

“I promise you. I’ll still be here, even if you don’t need me.”

“And I’ll be here for you.”

To just lean in and kiss her. It would have all been too easy.

But the elevator doors parted open, and with it, the end of his time.

He’ll accept this.

He accepted this.

He has to.

And frankly, with the smile she had on the whole day, he’d wish for nothing more than for it to last, even when it meant it wasn’t with him.

He kissed the tip of her forehead, just as she loosened her hold, and with their fingers lingering as they held onto each other’s warmth, he stepped into the elevator and their hands let go of the other.

She waved him goodbye, and just as the doors closed, he waved back.

-----

Dick:

It wasn’t the best idea he’s had.

But he wasn’t at his prime either, and neither should he even be in his prime. He shouldn’t, for all good cause, do anything that could possibly take this out of hand, far beyond what should be thought of as normal. Because as he’s sought out to remember, and remind himself for so many days and weeks and months, their friendship was what he should put before anything else.

And thus, he cannot possibly screw this up. It might be a tad more romantic than it should, but it was Valentine’s day. Of course, he was expected to be romantic at the very least, as everyone else should.

He just didn’t expect his hand to be shaking so much when he raised it against the door of her apartment to knock. He held his wrist, forced the tremors to stop before it’d possibly show. Would it even show? Would the knocking be any different if his knuckles weren’t stable?

It wouldn’t, actually, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful either.

He forced his spine straight, head held up as he shut his eyes closed hopefully to ease what was dreadfully whirring about in just about every nerve cell in his body, then he breathed.

Just before his fist hit the door, he heard her voice.

“Thanks!” Y/N called out to the cab driver, then she stepped out of the car door and immediately caught her smile. It was nighttime, the sun had just set, still, she looked as bright as day. And perfect. And beautiful.

Dick stopped shaking. He stopped moving altogether.

“Dick?” She stepped over the puddle and he immediately regretted not rushing to help her. But she didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing here?”

He took the steps down until his feet reached the sidewalk, then she was in front of him. Oblivious. Unknowing. Happy. She was grinning so much it took every bit of breath leftover in his lungs until eventually, he’d die from suffocation without there being a physical stimulant.

Dick swallowed.

“I thought I’d… visit you. On Valentine’s day. I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Bold of him to assume she would be, of course. Judging from how she looked, where that cab came from, she was with Tim.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. You just got home. I should be on my way-“

“No! Not at all!” She grabbed him by the jacket and he prayed to the angels above she didn’t catch how he almost choked on his own tongue. “I could use the company. Wanna stay over?”

Okay. Okay. That would be okay.

But it wasn’t what he had planned for them. At least, he could try to ask. If it was okay with her.

“I,” he started. “Actually, I had something planned for us. Tonight. If it’s alright with you, we can head out now.”

She stood there with her mouth open.

“Or not. I should have called.” Rubbing the back of his neck wouldn’t do much to ease that strain. “I’m sorry. We can-“

“No! Dick, please.” She grabbed onto his arm and led him to his car, which he’d parked over at another block. “I’d love to go with you. Take me anywhere. I promise, I’ll love it.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d already messed up at that point and that was just her trying to salvage his own dignity or if he hadn’t done anything at all. But her smile seemed genuine. He’d know if it wasn’t.

It warmed every bit of him when they continued to walk, and he was just letting her lead the way, take him like he was made of sand stuffed into a bag or a sack. He was limp, weak. And he couldn’t have had it in another way.

Dick laughed. “Alright then.”

So lightly did it start to drizzle, and the droplets visible on their light sweaters and clothes that tickled their skin like a feather’s cold touch. He didn’t know where to start, even though, in fact, he knew exactly where to start. Is this all going to backfire?

No. It won't. Not this time. He knew what to expect, and nothing will be out of hand and nothing will have to set him back two spaces backward.

Through the sidewalks full and the lively streets, with others hand in hand with their partners and gifts being given, surprises being held and smiles and cheers for all around, it was difficult not to feel bitter being the only one who wasn’t holding a spouse or a partner.

But even if she weren’t his, she was still the woman he loved. And the fact that she was here at all, holding his arm as they turned over to the corner of the street for his car, he was the luckiest out of everyone in the block, in the whole mile’s radius. Hell, the whole city.

They got to his car and already he missed her when she let go of his arm and he stepped into the driver’s seat.

Traffic was bad, but it didn’t even matter. She was looking so brightly out the windshield, at the edge of her seat and wonderfully appreciating all else around her. It was hard not to feel the same, to be so excited for life, and even when the world had tried to pull all of her spirits down, she didn’t let it.

And he could admire all else there was if he had more time than he already had, and he had lots of time. He won't let a minute go to waste. He already had the food, the mat, the movie, everything was at the back of his car.

Thankfully, that dark, secluded spot that wasn’t exactly a hotspot for muggers in the corners of Gotham Central Plaza was still free. He had to hold back a yelp as they parked. It was perfect. Too perfect. Any sane man would suspect there possibly was something more in store than he would have hoped. But that didn’t even cross his mind.

“Alright,” he turned his car key to turn off the engine. “Close your eyes and promise me you won't open them until I say so.”

“Dick.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Please.”

Rolling her eyes over to the other side of the window, he wanted to playfully pinch her chin. But she did as told, closed her eyes, and laid her head to the back of the car seat. He had to move fast.

He went over to the back, took everything out of the trunk, and never has he worked so fast yet so cautiously, even compared to his stealth work in the middle of a raid.

He laid out the mat and dusted the ground off of any critters that might have been littered about. He took too much time at that. A few minutes at least. He looked back at the side mirror on the passenger seat.

“I said don’t look!”

He heard her laugh so hard she had to snort, then she covered her eyes with her palms.

Okay. This should be okay. She’ll love this. He hoped. He laid out the finishing touches and turned on the projector.

He knocked on her window, then she stepped out. He put his hands on top of her eyes, as cheesy as it was, then led her over to the back. “Where are you taking me, Grayson?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t. But you don’t exactly have a choice.”

She snorted again, then when he stopped her in place, he walked over in front of her. “Okay. Now.”

Y/N opened her eyes.

Dick wished he had a camera to remember her face by.

Always the one to appreciate the little things, the details, every bit of effort. That night, it was no different.

The first thing she turned to was the quaint little picnic he’d set up, with a red and white plaid at laid out on the grassy floor, two cushions for them to sit on, and a basket full of their food, some of which he’d already placed in plates around the mat.

In front of that mat was the trunk of the car, on top of which he’d placed a white sheet over to cover the back, making it a flat surface where the projector, that he’d placed over behind the mat, would shine on. It played the first scene of the movie 10 Things I Hate About You.

And the final piece he hadn’t thought about until the last minute, were fairy lights in two separate strings, running from the back of the car over to the tree that stood right by the picnic mat, where it would shine for all of that night.

Dick wished it were daylight, just so he could see her a bit clearer, but he was thankful for the string lights he placed, or he wouldn’t see just how much her face lit up and her eyes widen beyond what he’d often remember.

“Dick-“

“Not like what I usually give you on Valentine’s?”

Y/N’s smile softened, and she just looked at him disbelievingly.

“I’m kidding. Come on. Food’s getting cold.”

His hands were shaking but thankfully they didn’t show. And he held it out for her to take one of the cushions. She sat down, but her neck was going to hurt soon at the way she was craning it up, mesmerized over everythin he’d set up.

“This is amazing.”

“Wait ‘till you see the movie. Again, that is. For the fifth time.”

“You know exactly how to please me.”

He does.

In every way, if only he could, he would. He’d give her everything she wants, even if it were a flower on top of a cliff.

And if only there weren’t anyone else out there who loved her just as much as he did, then the only thing that would stop him was if he’d die trying to bend the world over for her. Because then he wouldn’t be there to make sure she doesn’t prick her finger on a needle when she’ll be too old to clearly see, or that she doesn’t slip on the floor when her bones grow too weak, or when she needed someone to pick out the grey in her hair when she no longer could with her shaking hands. When they grow old, and he won't be there to make sure she’ll be okay, it’ll be the only thing that stops him.

But that wasn’t the case. There was someone out there who loved her just as much as he did. Two, in fact.

Which meant that nothing, not even his death, is going to stop him from doing whatever it took to give her what she wanted and needed. Because, even then, he was sure she’ll be okay if he was gone.

He wished he didn’t trust those two enough for it to be true, but he did.

The movie went on. Heath Ledger. Julia Stiles. The dialogue over the two’s arguments that he’s learned to memorize over the many times he’s watched it with her. He didn’t even pay much attention, not when the light from the projected screen lit up her curving lips. She didn’t even look tired.

They bit into their sandwiches and he inched himself closer to her.

“What do you like most about this movie?”

Slowly, she turned her head over to him, still with her eyes on the screen like she didn’t even want to miss a minute of it.

“I like how you’d first think it’d be centered on Bianca and the two guys, but then you’d realize the story is really about Patrick and Kat. And the fact that it’s accidental, which ends up being the better romance out of everyone else.”

He finished his sandwich, and he didn’t even pick out another. He listened as if she spoke music. Nothing felt better than that moment right then.

Except, maybe, when she leaned on his shoulder, and he realized he'd never actually felt like he’s sunken so deep into a place he could never think about escaping from, a place he dreaded himself for even thinking about escaping at all, never mind how much more pain it yields and the risks to be taken.

She shifted and he could feel her hair rub itself into a tangled mess onto his shirt. And his selfishness overtook him when he leaned his head on top of hers as well and closed his eyes.

It was a shame, truly, that movies had to end at all. If he’d known, he would have played The Ten Commandments or Cleopatra or any other movie there was that lasted five hours. He would if he had to if it meant she’d stay longer that way.

It was so magical that when he’d tidied up the place and they both got back into the car, he almost forgot his actual gift for the night.

Something he wasn’t so sure about at first. Though, if it worked, it would undoubtedly mean everything.

He shut the car door, and Y/N didn’t know that when Dick looked up the windshield, up at the cloudless sky, that he was actually checking for any signs of heavy rain. Which there was, but thankfully won't be for a few hours.

“So,” she cheerfully exclaimed. It was almost midnight, and still, she didn’t seem the least bit tired. “Are you taking me home?”

“Not yet…”

It will be worth it if it works.

Just do it.

“Y/N…” he said. “Remember that time you told me you wanted to fly again?”

Y/N, as she’d expectedly reacted, looked out her window. “Yeah?”

“I have… something planned for you. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I completely understand-“

When she turned to catch his eyes reassuring him that everything he was mumbling about could only make her smile, immediately he calmed. “What are you saying?”

“It’s in the back. Hold on-“

He moved in less than five seconds, heading over to the back seat, fumbling through his bags, then he sat back down on the driver’s.

“Here.”

He handed a bag to her, and she looked at it confused. She won't be for long.

And that theory was proven true when she unzipped the bag and saw, what was most probably facing up inside the bag, her Falcon domino mask.

Two years ago, she lost her left leg.

And with that, her wings.

She couldn’t fly for a lot of reasons. One, with her being the Falcon, nightly crime-fighting wouldn’t do her any good. The nerve endings on the one leg she had left had been burnt off, and the bionic one couldn’t even move much without it straining and pulling just about every muscle she had. It broke her heart, as if it hadn’t already broken so much of her, that she couldn’t even walk the same way as before.

The other reasons were a lot more complicated, but all the more understandable. The nightmares, traumas, everything else, it would have driven her mad if she hadn’t stopped.

She couldn’t fly anymore. At least, not by herself.

He could help her fly again.

Y/N pulled out her suit, turned, and saw Dick putting on his Nightwing gear.

“We have the whole night,” he said. “If you let me.”’

It was a risk. A dangerous one.

Which made it even more rewarding when he earned a smile from her so wide that it brought tears down her outstretched cheeks.

Yeah.

This was the right choice.

A bag of art supplies would have been plan B. Thank god, he didn’t go through with that again.

Her real Falcon suit was put on display back over at her apartment, behind a hidden door in her closet she hadn’t touched for years. This one was just a black slip-on that covered most of her skin, a hood over her head, and her domino mask. Dick took her up Queen Industries, a tower that soared up the skies rivaled only by the likes of Wayne Enterprises. She picked that tower as if none of this scared her at the very least. Even when it should. Hell, it even scared him.

This won't nearly be as freeing as her wings when she’d soar through the skies and clouds without the confines of a grappling rope tying her down to the realities of human capacity, when she truly could feel like a falcon, the one thing she loved so much about her days as a vigilante.

She was nervous, he could tell. She hadn’t jumped off a building in so long, even when she loved risking her life just about every night just for the feel of it.

But this was a scene he’d longed to see, to have her in his arms on the rooftops of skyscrapers and have her to hold on to, to hear her screams of joyous bliss not just from a safe distance away, and to only have her to himself. No one else.

This was what Tim had back then that he never did, and never will have. Perhaps, except now. It wasn’t the same. But it was all the more beautiful.

She was beautiful, up the starless sky so near to the clouds where the air was thin, the bustling noise nothing more than a distant blur, and her face lit up by the many specks of light littered about this wondrous city.

He saw her clench her fists the way she did when she was excited. Dick took it as a chance to hold it. And she welcomed him like it wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Ready?”

From thin air, he could make out the smoke she blew out of her chapped lips, which curved up a smile as she glanced up to his eyes, then back down on the streets that awaited them below.

“Yes…”

He didn��t let go of her hand. Instead, he held it tighter.

“Jump…”

Like she didn’t even wait for his mark.

Dick has soared off buildings more times than any bird has leaped off their nests, more times than a cat has jumped off a rooftop’s ledge. Every night since he was given his first grappling gun, the rushing wind that pushes onto his face would be the most addicting experience not everyone would know about. He knew what it was like, how close it was to flying.

But he never could call it flying, never truly felt like he had wings on his own. More like barring what the winds allowed him and glide like some limp piece of paper floating about to the wind’s direction. He always thought flying was defying those rules, defying how the earth pulls them down to where humans truly belonged. On the ground.

But flying was so much more than that. And he only realized that now, now that he was with her.

He might as well be in a bubble floating across space because never has he once experienced this kind of high in his life. and it wasn’t the wind or the heights or the risks it bore. It was her.

She made him fly.

The Falcon was never known to be a great fighter. At least, within the family, everyone knew combat wasn’t her forte.

But she did love to save people.

That was what made their dynamic with Tim so perfect. Tim handled the bad guys, roughed them up, used his brute strength to take them down, all the while distracting them from Y/N saving the hostages, from a small child kidnapped to the commissioner himself.

She was an alright gymnast, and most of the time she used it to her advantage. But she wasn’t the best.

She was never the best gymnast, never the best fighter. Everyone knew that before, and only fully realized that when it was too late.

But she was, as everyone in Gotham could plead, the best savior.

She’d save everyone in the scene and wouldn’t miss so much as a cat from a burning building, make sure everyone makes it out alive from a hostage situation, and every kidnapping in Gotham could be tracked from her computer network at home. The people were her priority. And with the loss of the Falcon, the loss of her wings, with it came the loss of a savior.

At least, it should have meant the loss of a savior.

But who was to say she hadn’t stopped saving lives? Doing what she did best? Making sure every life was accounted for and saved, even for just a little girl in a burn unit?

This was flying, and it could only be with her. She saved him. And she’ll continue to save him no matter what she chooses to do, or who she chooses to have.

He heard her delightful cries, and he could thank himself later for having it in him to take a glance, take in how she looked right then, and remember it for every time he needs more saving. Her arms were up, flailing about with the air’s upward push. She could only look everywhere else but at the ground. And with the kind of beam she had on, it was apparent she hadn’t smiled like that in so long.

Yards above the floor, he took her by the waist.

Then he shot his grapple up to the building across, and she held on with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Don’t let go. Don’t ever let go. Forever.

She didn’t.

They shot up to the next building but he didn’t allow them to land on the roof just yet.

With an arm around her waist, the other holding both their weights as if it were nothing at all, it wasn’t him who was carrying her, holding her up to fly. It was none but the other way around.

Dick shot his grappling hook even more times, each time just before they were about to reach up a ledge. Y/N didn’t have her eyes closed for a second. He could feel her. He could feel her take in the air and the rush and everything she’s longed to miss. Everything there ever could be that used to mean so much.

It was the same music that played at the back of his ears from when they kissed up on that hill. This soft, serene piano playing without a tune he could point out but couldn’t get out of his head, that same melody so beautiful that as soft as it was, blocked out everything else within a mile’s reach.

He allowed them to reach a dome-shaped roof, and he reached down to carry her legs as well so she wouldn’t have to run or suffer the impact. Like she was made of glass, he carried her, ran across the rooftop.

She pressed her forehead tight against his cheek, and on his jaw, Dick could feel her smile. It urged him on. He leaped off that rooftop and shot up his grapple again.

Her laughter could have been heard from everyone below, and her eyes couldn’t leave the wonders that surrounded them, at the concrete jungles, the choppers in place of the birds, the beautiful noises it made from people and everything else.

Close to where they started, Dick carried her like he would if she were his bride, cradled her in his arms as he landed on a rooftop, and finally stopped. Her nerves were buzzing. It was all he could feel. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were so wide. Her hands were in tremors uncontrollable.

But she laughed so hard and never has he heard that kind of laughter out of her from anyone else. The kind of laughter he’d grown so addicted to, that he couldn’t stop but draw it out of her every chance he got.

Then she hugged him so tight, so quickly did his own nerves calm. She was so warm, he couldn’t help but feel grounded.

This.

This was what it was like to see her up close.

Years of watching, to see her soar and not be there to hold her hand as he flies with her, to see her kiss another’s lips while they stood at the literal top of the world, at a skyscraper so tall with the world under their feet, on the most gorgeous city there was, with the bustling streets and the nosy citizens and the lights that continued endlessly.

To see her this close, to be with her, and actually be with her. To have their two souls put together and have that kind of high that couldn’t possibly be gotten from another.

If Y/N chooses him, he’ll make her fly every day. He’ll never let her forget being the flying guardian angel of Gotham. He’ll never let that image of the city taken from up above the cloudy mists be rid from her mind.

And if she doesn’t choose him, he’ll make sure that whoever it was that was going to be her eternal happiness, knows all those things and more, knows how much flying meant to her. He’ll make sure they’ll take his word to heart, so he never has to doubt her contentment again.

Y/N held him in an embrace so close, the smell of her lemony scalp and her arms so perfectly warm, he held her back immediately and shut his eyes so he’d only know the feeling.

“Thank you for giving me my wings back.”

It wasn’t even about her choosing him anymore. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Whatever happens, he’ll be there making sure she’ll go on to fly, that she never forgets the rush of the wind or the mist of the clouds.

Already, he was used to that feeling, of watching her from such distance, that it won’t be such a change if it happens again. She’ll find her happiness. She’ll choose her happiness. And all the while, he’ll be there to make sure she’ll have that and more.

No longer does he hope that she chooses him, as he selfishly longed for after so many years.

He was happy. He was content. Whatever comes out of this, it’ll be for her happiness.

And that’s all there is to it.

-----

Jason:

God Almighty, this was stupid.

And he should have known that hours ago. Three hours up on that fire exit, not once did he think this through enough to escape, as he hadn’t thought since the start of the day and he just happened to pass by the many flower shops suddenly rising out of nowhere down the street where he lived.

It was three am and still, she hadn’t come home. And all those hours, instead of finally knowing the risks of all this and back up before it was too late, he impatiently waited for her, booted soles tapping onto the ground, thinking ‘where the hell is she?’ as if he had no idea at all. He did have an idea. He just didn’t think to dwell on it.

Seeing Dick’s car pull up in front of her door, he only had such a window. Everything in him shattered. His head so light. Everything so hopelessly weak. To just flee and never come back, it would all have been so easy.

But as he selfishly allowed himself that kind of hope, as no one in their right mind should if they were anywhere near his place, he stayed. Because even in the middle of such darkness from whence he’d come from, from whence he was born into this disaster of a life, he let himself, albeit unconsciously, hold onto the fact that she still hadn’t chosen either of his brothers and with that, she might choose him, like he had such a speck of a chance, one too much than what he should have.

And it was because of that selfishness, that grandeur delusion of hope proven to be such a luxury for someone from the likes of him, that brought him to this exact place on this exact night.

And seeing that she’d just spent this hell of a day with his brothers, each one with a present for her grander than the last, what he’d done was some sorry excuse of a joke even he wanted to laugh at. This was ridiculous. And humiliating.

But it was far too late, with him standing so frozen with his hood up and the rainfall stronger, he let his clothes be drenched, didn’t care for the cold, not when all he could see was her stepping into her studio and taking off her coat. She had on a smile like no other.

A year ago, he was in that very room, and did the most selfish thing he ever could do to his brothers that he yearned to be forgiven for but still did not fully regret, not when it sparked a love for what was the brightest little star in this hellish earth, not when it was a time so wonderful that none of it left his head even after such a year.

He had that time. He had his time. Which was why he shouldn’t have this kind of hope for himself, not when it was the only time he ever had, which makes all this all the more impossible to go his way. Or at least, the way he dreamed for it to be.

All that thought changed, however, when she came into her room, stopped over her desk, and saw what he’d left for her.

It was a dangerous game, breaking into her house. And if it had gone on just a bit longer, he’d have thought all this was a messy screw up no U-turn was going to fix. Maybe he’d finally did it this time, destroyed everything with these overwhelming feelings he had no idea how to control. He didn’t know how to play this game if it was even a game at all. He’s never loved before. He doesn’t know how to love. He doesn’t know what to do after he falls in love.

She was confused. Jason could tell with the way her eyebrows bunched up at the center. Then she looked out the windows. Thankfully, he was hidden too far into the dark for her to see.

But she held that rose as if it were so much more than that, and when she let her fingers draw on the edges of the petals once so fresh, everything in him ceased. He couldn’t stop watching.

It was all there is really. A white rose.

The first Valentine’s day gift he’s ever given.

He knew his brothers would go all out, give her the world, give her the whole of Gotham, show her the heights of their immense love so undeniable. It was what she deserved.

But he couldn’t let this day pass without at least giving her something.

He still loved her, after all. Even if it wouldn’t lead to anything.

Y/N’s smile made him feel like the dorky kid at school in love with a girl he’s never talked to, leaving a flower in her locker without letting her know who it was from. And he was just that, in fact. There are no inaccuracies.

And he knew, without a doubt, that she’d get his message.

As she always does, with them having this bond, this connection like no other. Jason was, after all, the one who understood her best.

He understood how the most horrific thing that could happen to someone could end up being the one thing that takes over the rest of their identity. He died, and that’s what people ended up knowing him for. The Robin who died. And Y/N, no matter how much she works or achieves, will be the girl who lost her leg. But she was so much more than that. In every way.

A white rose was what she was. This beautiful, untainted slate, fresh without a single flaw no matter how much those flaws seem to be so obvious, and she does what she makes of her identity no one will be able to dictate. She wasn’t her trauma. She wasn’t her past. She was her.

Maybe he did look into it too deep, but he couldn’t help with seeing the way she smiled and took the rose to bed, laying it beside her as she changed and got under the sheets.

Maybe he should have done more.

But not even he could help grinning his cheeks off when he finally left that place, so swiftly no one would have seen even if they tried.

It was enough. At least, for him.

More so when he felt his phone in his pocket.

Y/N: ‘Thank you for the rose. Happy Valentine’s day, Jason.’

He snorted and audibly laughed, staring at his phone reading the message five times in a few seconds. He didn’t even leave so much as a note. How was she so sure it was from him?

Because she understood him, too. More than anyone. It went both ways.

It will hurt like a bitch when she ultimately chooses another. Because as much as he hates to admit it, not to others and especially not to himself, he needed her a lot more than she needed him. Even when they only had so much time, it was that time he realized he wanted that for the rest of his life.

But he’ll get through it. Somehow. Like he always does.

-----

For so much of this love that came from the purest hearts, it never calls for what was easy.

And it wasn’t at the least.

But with difficulties and trials, the triumph will be the reward that brings all else to its place. A place of peace. Contentment.

Seven days after, the story comes to an end.

An end too long-awaited but has taken the time for it to be right.

Seven days after,

She makes her choice.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WHO’S READY FOR THE PRE-FINALE AND THE FINALE!!! I’M SO EXCITED AHHHHHHH

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