#dunks on Steph hard

[whalehouse1]

You don’t realize how much you hate how a character until you walk into a store and audibly groan so loudly over seeing them as the main selling point.

#I hate how DC and the fandom have just warped my perception on Babs #like I remember her very fondly #she was cocky but in a good way competent smart but still kind and her and Dick just being jerks to the other was fun #but now thanks to the ”newer” stuff I’ve read #she’s just nasty to everyone #it’s not even a a she’s good enough or she’s angry that she can’t be batgirl thing #she’s extremely ableist to Cass #dunks on Steph hard #treats Dick like absolute $/// which Dick loves a woman who can beat him up #but that doesn’t entail a woman who would beat him up it’s a big difference #and she has been paired in canon with every male bat except Alfred Duke and Luke which no #she was always so much more than a character made for the male characters but lately I feel she’s gotten the short end of the stick when it #comes to men who don’t know how to write feminist characters #I’m never going to like DickBabs but I would like to be able to read stories that they feel like they could be friendly towards each other #I feel like I’m being gaslit about how I remember her but I also can’t say if I have been or if nostalgia just made her a better person in #my brain than she ever was and I don’t like either option

[gloryandgrace]

****TW: mentions of skin scrubbing (no blood), over-stimulation, and non-speaking episodes (idk if you need to warn for that but just in case)****

*Takes place following the previous interaction with @lauterishotter*

[The sound of Steph’s car’s engine revving up breaks through Grace’s thoughts. She grips the doorknob forcefully and slams the door shut, finding comfort in the satisfying click of the latch pushing into place. She’s safe again. She’s shut out temptation. This is her Eden.]

{But even Eden wasn’t safe from the devil’s work. You know that, Grace.}

[A broken sob slips through the apparent blockage in her throat and her hand instinctively claps to her mouth, clawing her lips and cheeks closed so as to not disturb the serene silence that’s settled over the Chasity home. Hot tears of shame roll down her face as she stumbles away from the door, carelessly grasping at the hem of her sweater to tear the offending item from her body and free her airways once more.]

{You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You just need to repent for what you’ve done and everything will be okay. You’re a good girl.}

[The garment forgotten on the entryway floor, she stumbles through her bedroom door and into the ensuite bathroom, inhaling desperately as her throat continues to tighten. She steadies herself on shaking limbs against the porcelain sink, the crucifix necklace hanging from her neck obscured by the tears pooling in her vision. Grace squeezes her eyes shut, mouthing a prayer, an apology, in spite of her current loss of speech. She knows that The Lord can hear her; He always can. Even when she doesn’t want Him to.]

[Looking up into the mirror, she’s met with a pitiful sight; she’s there, hair unbrushed, standing in nothing but yesterday's jeans and a bathing suit top, with her face red, splotchy, and streaming with tears. Her breath hitches at the dark lipstick smeared across her forehead like a sinner’s Lenten ashes. A cruel reminder of her failure to resist temptation.]

{Pathetic.}

[Frantically, she yanks the sink handle hard to the left. The screech of rushing water fills the room as Grace dunks a washcloth into the stream and begins rapidly scrubbing the evidence of her transgressions from her skin. She whines involuntarily as her forehead turns red and raw against the harsh scour of the cloth but she persists nonetheless. She needs to be cleansed. In this moment, she’s ridding herself not just of the lipstick but of the lust it represents; the lust that has seeped through her skin and permeated her very soul. Made her unclean.]

[Hellfire is licking at her fingertips.]

[Forcefully, she’s brought back to her senses. Her hand recoils from the torrent of water and she drops the washcloth with a hiss, drawing the fist protectively to her chest. The lower half of the mirror has fogged over and steam coils lazily from the faucet as it dispels scalding hot water into the basin below. With a watery, frustrated sigh, she turns off the sink and meets her reflection once more. She wonders if everyone else can see the sin on her face; the imprint of Steph’s lips which stands out so clearly to her despite the dark kiss having long since been washed away.]

{You’re fudged, Grace… No.} 

{You’re fucked.}

[By the time she’s regained the energy to leave the bathroom, 45 minutes have passed since Steph’s departure and Grace’s jaw twinges painfully from her insistent stream of voiceless prayers. Exhausted, she drags her feet back to her bedroom and cautiously pulls on a hoodie after loosening the drawstring neck entirely. With a dull ache spreading through her limbs, Grace wanders down to the kitchen where her parents now clatter about noisily, going about their morning routines.] 

[Hearing his daughter descend the stairs, Mark Chasity greets her cheerily but the smile swiftly drops off his face as he lowers his newspaper to be met with Grace’s distressed expression. She’s made no effort to hide her emotions; she couldn’t even if she wanted to. Controlling her face has never been one of her strong suits.]

“Sunshine?”

[Karen turns at her husband’s concerned tone, moving toward Grace upon sighting her puffy eyes but she halts her motion as the girl steps back in apprehension of her mother’s touch.]

“Oh, Gracie. What’s the matter?”

[Karen asks dotingly. Fresh tears escape Grace’s eyes and she shakes her head, wringing her hands anxiously in front of her while rocking softly on her feet. The elder Chasitys share a knowing look and Karen begins again in a much softer voice.]

“Is today a quiet day?”

[Grace sniffles and nods, wiping at her eyes with one hand as the other moves to grip her side in a self-soothing hug.]

“That’s okay, pumpkin.”

[Her father reassures gently and pats the seat next to him, pulling it out for Grace to sit. Climbing onto the wooden chair, she pulls her knees to her chest in a disrespect that would not have been tolerated were it not for the extenuating circumstances. She tucks her head against herself and stares absently at the kitchen tile, trying to stop her tears.]

[Across the room, Karen does what she always does on days like this, she phones the school and tells them that Grace has come down with the flu, excusing her absence but sparing her dignity. She ditches the breakfast that she had been preparing, setting aside only enough for herself and Mark before retrieving Grace’s favourite peach yogurt from the fridge and plating a bowl for the girl. It was going to be a long day.]

[It carries out as expected, Mark goes to work, albeit only with reassurance from his wife that she has everything under control, and Karen sets into their routine. She runs Grace a bath which the girl remains in for a borderline-concerning amount of time, she turns the music that she plays while cleaning the house down low, she makes Grace small, simple snacks instead of meals, and she keeps her hands to herself unless Grace seeks her out. And she does; after changing into a soft pair of loose pajamas following her bath, the girl seems to swing rapidly between wanting to sit alone in the dark of her bedroom closet which she has transformed into a makeshift blanket nest, and clinging to Karen’s side as if her life depended on it. But throughout it all, Grace remains completely silent, both in-person and online as she had quickly shut off her phone after the first message from Steph came through asking her where she was.]

{She’s never going to talk to you again after this. I hope you liked having friends for one whole day.}

[The following two days are much of the same, Grace sleeps in her parents' bed, Karen calls the school, Grace ignores her phone, and she spends the days rocking on the floor of her closet with her hands over her ears or curled between her parents as they recite the Bible aloud so that she can give her eyes a rest from seeing. Everything is too much, everything hurts, and Grace thinks for a moment that maybe she deserves this.]

{You know how it goes, Gracie. You sinned, you lusted, and after a girl of all people. You’re being punished because The Lord loves you and knows you can be better than this. You have to be.}

//ooc: whoops admin basically just wrote fanfic and hurt their own feelings by making Grace sad. Sorry if this sucks! I haven't written stuff like this before!

Also, in my head, Grace's parents don't know that she's autistic necessarily so they wouldn't have the language to describe that she has gone non-speaking but it's happened in the past and they've learned how to handle it so they just call it a 'quiet day'

#hatchetfield #hatchetfield rp #grace chasity rp #grace chasity

[motownfiction]

hotel

Not a hotel, but a motel.

That’s where Steph is headed tonight, on Christmas, to see a guy she hasn’t spoken to in years, if you don’t count running into him in a Target parking lot last night. Talk about a suburban adventure.

She knows she should have hung up when she realized it was Charlie on the other line. That anything either of them could say to each other today, on the second anniversary of Sam’s death, would be horrible. She knows she could get wrapped up in sentimentality, in trying to find the best parts of Sam in the worst parts of his little brother, in trying so hard not to blame Charlie for the fact that they don’t have Sam anymore. If it hadn’t been for Charlie and that dumbass promise Sam made to him when they were teenagers, he never would have died. Steph and Sam might even be together. Charlie would be her brother-in-law, and she wouldn’t have to wrestle with the burning.

This is not about wanting to spend a night with Charlie.

Except it is, isn’t it? Doesn’t it have to be? If Steph didn’t want to be with Charlie, she would have stayed home. Watched some insipid Christmas movies on cable. Dunked those Frosty the Snowman cookies in a cold glass of milk like she was still a child.

She is still a child.

Only a child would go to see Charlie Doyle tonight, and only a child would run up to her history and hold it close.

She was supposed to move forward. That’s why she moved away after high school. She wanted to move on. She was supposed to be better than this. Better than Detroit, better than the Doyles, better than herself, the girl with the single mom with paint on her overalls.

It’s amazing what you don’t forgive yourself for.

Steph almost doesn’t get out of the car. She turns the stations on the radio, but no one’s playing anything other than Christmas music. One station is even playing the Voice of the Red Wings. She sighs.

It’s Christmas Eve on Woodward Avenuuuuue!

She thinks about the last time she saw the Doyles, at Sam’s funeral almost two years before. They still had Christmas songs stuck in their heads. Rosemary was singing this one, and she was shocked off her feet when Daniel told her not only was the song pretty new, but that no one outside of Detroit knows it. Steph laughs to herself.

She’s not sure why, but it’s enough to get her out of the car.

If she doesn’t run away from those burial memories now, maybe she never will.

(part of @nosebleedclub november challenge -- day 16!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: steph armstrong #year: 2004

[danny-chase]

I know a Tim stan, and we have come to a conclusion: Dick and Jason were taken for granted. Tim, because Bruce now knew his kids could die, was given compliments and such

I feel like Bruce also kept his distance from Tim, but maybe that's because i read Tim's solo and stopped reading the detective comics and batman comics after Tim's initial arc, but it kinda felt like Bruce just let Tim do his own thing rather than being a team with him, and called him when he needed help going through like camera footage and stuff (from what i recall of the batman comics). Also it seemed like he spent less time training tim (he sent him off to Dick for a period of time, and then to Europe he kinda just offloaded the work). It was also a different relationship with Tim from the start - even though Dick pretty much immediately considered him a brother, Tim already had a dad (and while Jack wasn't winning any awards, he took Tim fishing, disciplined him, housed him, and covered the dad role after he woke up from his coma), and it doesn't really seem like Bruce considered Tim his kid like he did with Dick and Jason. Tim didn't live with Bruce. He was only there to be Robin, he wasn't there to be Bruce's son. Eventually Tim is adopted, but it's as a publicity stunt to catch a kidnapper of rich kids, whereas for say Cass and Dick, it was the culmination of their relationships with Bruce. I think you can't only contribute Tim's different treatment by Bruce as to the fact he knew his kids could die - because when you look at his relationship with Steph, he's super hard on her partially because of how much she reminds him of Jason. Like he literally takes Cass to Jason's grave and draws comparisons to Steph to make a point to her that Spoiler shouldn't be a hero. When Cass loses her ability to read people, Bruce stops letting her out with Jason as his justification. He doesn't really do this with Tim - and I think the reason he does with Steph is because he sees similarities between her and Jason, and that with Cass because he sees her as his daughter, whereas with Tim he's distanced himself enough and doesn't see the similarities between Tim and Jason. I think that distance and having to be present in the double role of parent and mentor is why he does better with Tim (and out of text, some of it's definitely the sexism of the writers when you look at how Steph is treated vs how Tim is treated, plus Tim's kinda written as a self insert power fantasy for nerdy boys so he can't be getting dunked on).

Now on the other hand, this is only really taking modern era stories into consideration, and we don't really have too many examples of how Bruce parented Jason in the modern age (when Jason was young). We have plenty of examples for Dick (Robin: Year One, Batman/Scarecrow: Year One, Teen Titans: Year One, Dick's origin getting retold 5000 times, flashbacks in Nightwing stories, Robin & Batman, etc. etc.) where it's pretty clear Bruce was not the best parent (in mild terms). With Jason we don't really have the same thing - so that begs the question - what was Jason's relationship with Bruce like in the modern era of comics? Are the original comics with him as Robin still mostly canon? Because Bruce wasn't really a bad parent in those. To which then it seems like he learned from the mistakes he made with Dick and did better with Jason as a father before Jason died, and then after Jason died just went to absolute crap and Tim was only spared because Bruce didn't consider him his son. Idk, food for thought

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #i won't tag the girls because they got like one line of meta each rip #Cass and Bruce's relationship is a whole nother topic of conversation #and he treated Steph like garbage which is its own can of worms #tbh i do wonder how much of Bruce treating the girls (including Helena and Babs) is sexist garbage from the writers bleeding #into canon #asks #anon #momo don't look #comic book canon is so weird and interesting to me because like: i know everythings canon now but it's more like #whatever the writers have read is canon #and some things can't be canon because bludhaven isn't a pile of nuclear waste #so 'everything's canon' is just a lie lmao and trying to figure out what is and isn't is interesting #but Bruce being a shit dad to Dick somehow made the cut of still being canon: stares directly at Robin and Batman #he's also pretty crap to Damian which doesn't come up here but like he just sucks so bad in Batman and Robin 2011 #such a messy family fr

[ear-worthy]

Basketball Royalty: A King’s Reign Podcast About LeBron

In basketball, when you’re called by just your first name  - Michael, Kareem, Kobe -- you know you've reached the pinnacle of success in the sport.  Basketball is a sport that promotes mega-stars by the setup of the game. It's the team sport with the fewest number of players engaged at one time -- five. Hockey has six. And unlike ice hockey, the players don't have helmets that make them, at times, hard to identify. 

In basketball, players excel by separating their bodies from others on the court. They leap for a three-pointer. Take a fade away jumpshot. Fly through the air for a dunk. And defy gravity by reaching up for a rebound. 

That's why this latest sports podcast isn't a surprise. Especially for a player who possesses all the aforementioned skills.

 He’s one of the greatest players in N.B.A. history. He’s a media mogul, an activist, a philanthropist and a lightning rod for criticism. A King’s Reign, a new podcast from The Athletic, takes a look back at LeBron James’s unprecedented 20-season run as the face of the N.B.A. In this new narrative podcast series, a team of all-star sports journalists come together to highlight the important stories from LeBron’s legendary career from his high school prospect days to his unique rivalry with Steph Curry, his cultural impact as a “meme generator” and more. 

Episodes feature original reporting from The Athletic’s deep bench of experts, including David Aldridge, Sam Amick, Marcus Thompson II, Joe Vardon, Jason Lloyd, Zach Harper, the “No Dunks” podcast crew and more. “‘A King’s Reign’ has an unprecedented combination of reporting talent in the sports podcast space,” said Mike Smeltz, The Athletic’s executive producer of narrative podcasts. “Listeners will go deeper on all the iconic moments from LeBron’s career, guided by first-person perspectives from The Athletic’s journalists who covered him, and the players, coaches and executives who competed with and against LeBron. ‘A King’s Reign’ looks at more than what makes LeBron a legendary basketball player. The series spreads out into all the fields that LeBron himself has — entertainment, philanthropy, internet culture, and business — and detailing why the kid from Akron has become the king of basketball.”

  In January 2022, The New York Times reached an agreement to buy The Athletic, the online sports news outlet with 1.2 million subscriptions, in an all-cash deal valued at $550 million. 

The deal brought The Times, which has more than eight million total subscriptions, quickly closer to its stated goal of having at least ten million subscriptions by 2025, while also offering its audience more in-depth coverage of the more than 200 professional teams in North America, Britain, and Europe that are closely followed by The Athletic’s journalists.Coming this summer, the 12-episode series will drop on “The Athletic N.B.A. Show” feed, one of the most listened-to podcasts on The Athletic Podcast Network.

#podcast #sports #basketball #lebron james

[maddiem4-writes]

Reposado - Chapter 3

It took willpower to go inside. And I was hungry, it’s just that a full cafeteria is full of people, some of whom are complicated to be around. I was less alone in the hallway this time, because even now, there was a final trickle of random students. I had to figure some got stuck in conversation, some had a thing or two to finish up, but… nobody was in a rush. Lunch was still on, but the rush was over.

I recognized a few people, like Leon. We weren’t enemies or anything, but we used to be better friends. Stevie, who cut her hair real short last year and then had to grow it back out again. Paul - ugh, fucking Paul, has there ever been a good Paul? Who’s named a kid Paul in the last twenty years? This motherfucker’s parents I guess, and it was the beginning of the end for him, fucking Paul.

There was still a line for the food, and that’s always weirdly nice, it means you don’t have to start the line all over again and carry the pressure of the line behind you. It’s not so awkward with the food ladies. You just show up and participate in the pattern in progress, and who gives a crap? That’s how I felt about it. Just say what you want and pay for it.

So I found myself staring out at the crowd, tray in hand, looking at the usual tables. And yep, there my friends were, waving for me, and it’d be rude not to join them. I think by then, I was starting to put together that the pain of having to leave someday was bleeding into a pain to be around them. But nothing more than that. It’s hard to say now.

I picked a free spot on the end and slid in laughing, and you know what, that was a genuine laugh. When I actually got there, it was easy to be my usual self. I went straight for my fries, I caught up on the gossip, presided an impassioned debate on whether stereotypical viking helmets are meant to be a visual pun about how horny a person famous for raping and plundering would have to be. Steph was convinced (well, silly and insistent) that this theory was 100% true, and any claims otherwise are cowardly. Caleb thought it was a horns of alcohol thing, which sounds more historical, but who am I, the Viking whisperer? It was fun to hear them argue, and across the table diagonally, I saw Mara grinning along with me. It was a nice moment, and I felt a little lighter.

“Well, Lees, you break the tie. Horny or boozy?” Steph asked, waving her hands dramatically.

“Uhhhh… yeah, I’m gonna say horny. Point goes to you, Steph!” She clapped her hands on the table in smug superiority, and stuck her tongue out at Caleb. And like, what are we, five? But it was fun.

I looked at Mara again. We were riding that same high. Being part of the group, but also kind of a participating audience soaking up every minute of it. She laughed and took a bite of her ham sandwich, and I watched the way the fluourescent lights played off her strawberrry blonde ponytail. It was the second time in a minute that I lost track of what people were saying around me.

“…so gross, like who did it…”

I blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Bree looked at me. “The handprint. You know, in the lady’s…”

“Oh right, shit! Yeah, I saw that. I have no idea who did that, but you’re right, it’s gross.”

Cassie squirmed and raised her hand. “Sorry, that was me, my bad. But I’ll have you know, it’s not what it looks like, I swear! It actually looks a lot worse today.” Groans resounded the table. “Noooo, no don’t tell people! It’s not period blood, it’s from my nose! It’s a nosebleed, it got on my hand as I was running to get toilet paper. That’s all. Jesus.”

Steph looked concerned. “Cassie, I don’t get nosebleeds so I don’t know what’s normal, but that was a whole-ass hand worth of blood. Are you okay? For real, girl.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I got a little pale on Friday, but here I am, doing great, full of kale and orange oil and whatever else my mom throws at me. I’d probably survive a meteor strike right now. Although… uh-oh… oh shit it’s coming back it’s coming back it’s coming back…” She dunked her hand in her raspberry jello, then reached out like a zombie and grabbed Steph by the wrist. Steph shrieked like a field mouse. “oh noooo, I’m dying, oh nooooooo, save yourselves……”

Steph wriggled free as the table fell apart laughing. She gave Cassie a steel-hardened glare, and without breaking eye contact, defiantly licked the jello from her wrist and hand. “Bah, mere plague? Please, you’ll have to do better than that!” Caleb looked at me and shook his head in his usual can you believe this shit style, grinning ear to ear.

Cassie, of course, played right into the theater. “You say that now, but in ten days we’ll see who lives and dies! PLAGUEEEEEEEEE!” And… I don’t know, maybe this is a trick of how I’m remembering it all now. But I feel like I saw a flicker there for a moment, that Cassie was… surprised that she said that? Or that she phrased it the way she did? And… again, it’s not like I can ask her now, for obvious reasons. But it’s something I’ve wondered about many times since then. Ten days. It’s just… I dunno what to think about that.

You know what, I do remember something specific, although I don’t know how much it’s useful. Yes. This was the moment where it really hit me that Mara and I were on opposite corners of the table, and I looked at that distance and… it hurt. Not like I’d been wronged, at all, just… I looked at how much table was between us and I processed it as pain. It’s something I’m 100% certain I felt before, but this moment? This was the moment I acknowledged it.

It was destabilizing. It hurt at the edges of whatever fucking hole was inside of me, like a candle flame through a sheet of paper. I remember trying not to show it, and being mostly unnoticed… but you can tell when someone’s looking at you. And I didn’t have to meet her eyes. I knew, in that little fugue moment where I gave up and looked at nothing, that Cassie saw me from directly across the table. I felt her… worry.

And I shook it off. Another fry, finally get a bite of my sandwich, life is good, huh? Yeah. Life is good.

#reposado #writing #maddiem4 #novel

[swaysports]

Is Curry a Top 10 Player of All Time?

First off, without going into a deep debate, here is my top 10 all time with a couple honorable mentions:

Lebron James

Michael Jordan

Kareem Abul-Jabbar

Wilt Chamberlain

Magic Johnson

Bill Russell

Larry Bird

Shaquille O’ Neal

Tim Duncan

Kobe Bryant

Honorable mentions: Oscar Robinson, Hakeem Olajuwon, Kevin Durant

Steph Curry:

3x NBA Champ, 2x MVP, 2x Scoring Champ, 8x All-NBA, 2015-16 STL Champ, 2021-22 All Star MVP, 2021-22 WCF MVP, 2× Three-Point Contest Champ, 2015-16 50–40–90 Club

He is the greatest shooter of all time by a landslide, revolutionized how basketball is played, a critical part of the greatest team of all time, and has demonstrated he can win without Kevin Durant. He has a chance to a 4th championship and his 1st Finals MVP. Will that be enough to pass Larry Legend, Shaq, Timmy, or Kobe? Let’s look at the tale of tape:

Larry Bird:

3x NBA Champ, 3x MVP, 12x All Star, 10x All-NBA, 3x All-Defensive, 1979-80 ROY, 1981-82 All Star MVP, 2x Finals MVP, 3× Three-Point Contest Champ, 2× 50–40–90 Club

The baddest white boy to ever play the game of basketball! The NBA recently named the Eastern Conference Finals MVP Award after the Hick from French Lick. His rivalry versus Magic Johnson rejuvenated the NBA in the 80’s before Air Jordan took the NBA to the next level. Bird won three straight MVP trophies before Magic even won one. Let’s not forget how the best basketball rivalry even started. Larry took the Indiana State Sycamores to the 1979 NCAA Championship Game versus powerhouse Michigan State lead by Magic. Even though they lost, that might be the biggest March Madness Cinderella story ever… well almost as big as the St. Peter’s Peacocks. From the “left-handed game” to “whose got second place? three point contest,” Larry might be the best trash talker in NBA history and always backed it up: https://www.viralhoops.com/larry-bird-trash-talk/.

Shaq:

4x NBA Champ, 1999-00 MVP, 15x All Star, 14x All-NBA, 3x All-Defensive, 2x Scoring Champ, 1992-93 ROY, 3x All Star MVP, 3x Finals MVP

You could triple team Shaq in the paint and he would still dunk you. Shaq is the most dominate player we have ever seen in the NBA and an unbelievable force to be reckoned with. Kobe, Wade, Penny, or any other star guard… didn’t matter who you paired Shaq with. He elevated those three players by being an elite interior presence while complimenting their respective game. Over his entire basketball career, Shaq broke 19 total rims, notoriously tearing down the entire backboard during his rookie year with the Orlando Magic. Nobody wanted a piece of Diesel and would be my starting center on my all-time starting five.

If you are curious, I would go with Magic, Jordan, Lebron, Duncan, and Shaq using traditional positions for my line-up.

Tim Duncan:

5x NBA Champ, 2x MVP, 15x All NBA, 15x All-NBA, 15x All-Defensive, 1997-98 All-Rookie, 1997-98 ROY, 3x Finals MVP, 1999-00 All Star MVP

Tim Horton Duncan Donuts might be the most underrated superstar of all time, right up there with Elgin Baylor and Charles Berkley. What separates Duncan from those two is he has five rings and they have none. There is a reason why only 26 players in NBA history have won 5 or more title, it’s hard as F**K! Tim Duncan managed to be great on one of the most selfless dynasties in American sports history. He even helped Robert Horry get his 6th and 7th ring. His resume is one-of-a-kind display of elite consistency

Kobe:

5x NBA Champ, 2007-08 MVP, 18x All Star, 15x All-NBA, 12x All-Defensive, 2x Scoring Champ, 4x All Star MVP, 2x Finals MVP, 1997 Slam Dunk Contest Champ

First off, Rest in Paradise Black Mamba. As great as he was on the court, Kobe impact off the court before he passed away was incredible. I could only imagine what he would of accomplished with over the 40 years as a businessman, philanthropist, mentor, and female sports advocate. Kobe’s mindset is the reason why he became legendary: the Mamba mentality. He always played with a chip on his shoulders, allowing him to stranglehold the hardwood *pause* for over 20 years. Kobe leading the 2010 Lakers to a second consecutive title might be Kobe’s greatest feat, even over the 81 point performance versus the Raptors or dropping 60 in his final game. NBA has even recognized how much of a star among stars Kobe was by renaming the All Star Game MVP Award after him.

The Verdict:

Whether he wins or loses the NBA title and Finals MVP, I do not think he is on my top 10 yet. One of the setbacks for Curry is not being elite on both sides of the court and all top 10 players are all-time, two-way players.

However, I believe Chef Curry will be an indisputable top 10 player of all time once he retires in four years. Golden State has done a marvelous job drafting and have a dangerous blend of young talent with the proven veterans. Plus, stars want to play with Steph and the Warriors. They will probably be the betting favorites next year to make back to back final. 5 championships would mean only Jordan, Kareem, and Bill Russell have more titles in the top 10. A handful of rings will elevate Steph with everything else he brings to the discussion. Having 5 championship would put Curry at 7th all time on my list.

So, who am I bumping out? Kobe will probably be my choice. Duncan is the greatest PF of all time, Shaq was the best player on the 2000’s Lakers dynasty team, and Larry Bird is the best white hooper of all time and the second-best SF behind King James; I do not think Durant catches him. Kobe had two separate HOF careers under two different jersey numbers, however, he was a carbon copy of Jordan and we already have Jordan on the list.

But it will come down to individual preferences as this debate continues. Let me know if Curry deserves to be in the top 10 and who he will bump out.

#basketball #NBA #GOAT #steph curry #Curry #shaquille o'neal #shaq #Kobe #black mamba #kobe bryant #Lakers #Warriors #Spurs #duncan #larry bird

[lenasai]

this week in blaseball: season 19 edition

no talk coin angy

losing Good, actually

ivy wlaffle house speedrun

georgias ended a game in black hole with 9.9 points

paula turnip killed an umpire

nan stole two balls from niq nyong'o and cheated their way to a walk

firefighters ended a game with 6.9 points (nice)

crabs looped TWICE in one game

wake up new weather dropped...it make number go up or down

georgias overperformed due to Number Go Down and made Number Go Down even more

max found a way to have the overperforming and underperforming mods at the same time. you may not like it, but this is what performance looks like

THE COIN AND THE READER ARE FIGHTINGGGGGG

blasketball?? are we doing blasketball now????

ivy committed peanut fraud by shelling themself, unshelling themself, then later confusing the shit out of the sim by overwriting the permanent version of their superallergic mod with a temporary version of flattery's superallergic mod and losing it later in the game

okay tigers, we got to see the evo mod go off, can you please stop now

DUCK WORLD TOUR

max drank a whole pot of coffee and ended up having free refill and triple threat active at the same time

tigers drilled the wings into the ground 30-0.2

bees taswell got scattered and came back as "bese"

jaylen hotdogfingers got some cool socks

the entire mechanics lineup went elsewhere except for kelvin drumsolo. the sim has chosen nominative determinism.

THE GREAT DRUM SOLO, in which kelvin drumsolo singlehandedly looped the steaks. call that a drumline.

the society data witches (a coffee cup team that you CAN technically still join if you have the link) attempted a data crime and broke the site so badly, the devs had to get involved and make the monitor explain everything later

gee tigers how come blaseball let you have TWO aldon cashmoney replicas

the shoe thieves got a goodwin replica that proceeded to eat all of their gifts

firefighters vowed to destroy sun 2

brisket friendo saved the garages from extra innings in an eclipse by scoring 0.3 unruns and un-tying the game

steph weeks returned from elsewhere completely scattered

glitter games are super fun until someone gets a FLICKERING BAT

the sim traded away the player the garages spent their wills from the last season on (an og we coordinated hard on getting back) for a replica

worms got illegal party time

many teams one epic idol board shenanigans

the data witches got a shoutout from the monitor

you can apparently get slam dunks from elsewhere

the lovers and garages would like to PERSONALLY FIGHT THE SIM

the garages advanced to the finals by putting the last game against the magic into extra innings and ending with shame

the lift won the last game and faxed out the garages pitcher in the process

WHICH PLOT BUTTON WILL WE PRESS? FIND OUT...TOMORROW!

#blaseball #this is the season of uppy downy and wyatts mason shenanigans #this week in blaseball

[dont-be-so-shy]

tim drake prompt

i just want a college, no-capes jaytim au where tim is like, the most innocent boy in school and jason’s a jock. then jason and his friends befriend steph who has dated tim and when they talk about his innocence in the passing, she just laughs so hard. cue jason and his friends coming to watch tim absolutely beat his opponent for a debate into the ground and jason’s like, that’s hot. then conner, cassie, and bart come running in (they go to separate colleges), and then they’re all at the skatepark. over the next few weeks, they see tim dancing for a video with his social media influencer friend cissie, tim perform a quadruple back handspring to dunk a basketball, tim do gymnastics. one of the last things they seem tim do is sing at a bar he apparently frequents, wearing a dress, singing slumber party by ashnikko because he apparently has no shame. conner, anita, and steph, who are also there, are used to it, but jason and his friends are very much shook. the most innocent guy in school got up and sang slumber party to a whole bar! it ends with tim and jason getting together. 

if you’re gonna use this, please feel free to put your own spin on this. by the way, the idea is from the fic Two hearts, one bet by Jaytimbubi on ao3. 

#jaytim #college au #jaytim prompt #prompt

[thattimdrakeguy]

Hey, remember Dixon? He went to bitch about Tim on the YouTube. I wonder why no one asked for Marv Wolfman's opinion. (You know, the guy who deliberately created a gay character as a middle finger to his old editor from the 60s, and also to Fredric Wertham.) But I have to tell Dixon this: *whispers* DC has hired a communist before. This "Alan Moore" guy. Yeah, I never heard of him either. (I could dunk on Dixon all day.)

Dixon's still stuck generations back. Like I've read different interviews with his opinions on it, and they've gone from blatantly homophobic, to straight up inconsistent trying to back up a little bit after, I assume, knowing people where kind of mad at him. But his points are always suck.

He goes from "Why are they changing characters to be gay" when regarding characters that were still brand new at the time. Then it goes to treating multiple characters as the same as an excuse cause it's the same identity. Then before he hid from that, it was blatantly "I don't want my kids to read about it."

For some reason, I just find it difficult to take him seriously on the subject.

It's hard to take someone serious when they keep changing the goal post of what makes it allowed.

Dude, wrote a very gay character without knowing it. Didn't know the subtleties of the gay experience and ended up writing them. It happens, now modern times have changed, and those accidental sub-textual bull stank, are now something ya can use to update a character that's been irrelevant for over a decade.

I see so many people say "TIM DATED SO MANY WOMAN. THINK OF STEPH"

But, pretty ignorant right there. Even stuff in the text during some of those moments made it seem like he didn't love them in that way.

Which is fine you know. Stay with the times!

But Dixon was 60 in his 30s I feel. So eh, I don't think he quite gets it.

If he can't even process that being gay isn't anything to hide from your children, it already handicaps any argument he makes.

[ectonurites]

for the character headcannons ask game, jason and cass?

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT im putting this one under a cut because it got SUPER long bc i cant shut up ever

lets start w jason

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok using the ‘realistic’ category here loosely but GOD i love the idea of Damian & Jason having interacted while Jason was staying with the League before getting dunked in the Lazarus Pit. like. this obviously would need to be set more in preboot and following the Lost Days & Batman Annual 25 version of Jason’s resurrection, but god the idea of it just makes me scream in a good way. Like... these are things Jason likely doesn’t remember very clearly once he’s brought back to life more fully by the pit because he was uh pretty catatonic, but Damian being a little kid and knowing about the boy that his mother keeps around the base, that she’s trying to help bring back to health. Damian not even knowing that’s his big brother, just that he’s a presence that shares his mother’s attention. Jason again being unresponsive but like, ok god you know that part of lost days where Talia shows the others observing him that he only fights back at those he perceives as genuine threats trying to hurt him, 

Because Jason can perceive that she’s safe, she’s not actually trying to hurt him, he trusts her because she saved him? thinking about lil child Damian who is ya know already being trained in fighting stuff and like the idea of him trying to provoke Jason just to see what happens but Jason not fighting back because on some level be it his connection to Talia or even little baby Damian visually reminding him of Bruce, he knows that Damian is safe too 🥺 

and then when Jason and Damian meet again in Gotham as Red Hood & Robin respectively, Jason not really remembering because there was so much going on back then for him, but Damian realizing that oh... that was Him

B (hilarious): 

alright so if we are looking at comics currently, in modern stuff jason is what, like 22? hes old enough to drink in the US but still definitely early 20s so around my around my age, thats what im using as a basis here. if we adjust timeline and still consider his death having happened when he was 15, that puts it around 2013. and then coming back to like interacting with people about three years later if we still kinda base things off of the preboot timeframe (since we never got a super solid retelling of the timeline of death -> resurrection -> training -> tries to get revenge aside from knowing he went to the all-caste instead of the lost days version of the story) making him reenter the regular world and stuff around age 18 in 2016. meaning a solid three years of pop culture that he was entirely missing, and like im sorry but he really doesn’t strike me as the type to bother looking into what he missed, he’s kinda busy focusing on other stuff. lets take a quick look at some major things from those years. 2013 gave us ‘what does the fox say’ and ‘the harlem shake’ . 2014 had that time U2 just put a fuckin album on everyone’s phones, The Fault In Our Stars movie came out. 2015 introduced the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’ and the whole blue & black vs gold & white dress debate happened. imagine any of the other batkids (or even arguably roy during rhato stuff) bringing these things up and jason’s ensuing confusion. thank you for your time

C (heart-crushing): 

so. there are two specific instances from rebirth era Jason i want to bring up here and much like a lot of these it’s less a headcanon and more of an inference based on observations, but i wanna take a sec to discuss Jason’s relationship with other people’s death. early in rebirth, Tim ‘dies’ from that whole thing in detective comics. he didn’t actually die, we as readers know, but in-universe they all very much so thought he was dead. frustratingly a lot of the batfam wasn’t really shown mourning him aside from in the Detective Comics Rebirth title itself (which just. when a major character dies even if its temporary- that should have a ripple effect) BUT an exception to that is in RHATO 2016, where we get this offhanded comment in Jason’s internal monologuing

similarly later when Roy, who like, had an incredibly close relationship w Jason that had just gotten mended before Heroes in Crisis, gets fuckin murdered in that whole thing... Jason doesn’t go to his funeral either. He leaves a dramatic voice mail and then visits the grave on his own later, choosing to instead keep working on the mission they’d started rather than going and taking the time to mourn properly.

Jason’s relationship with death is incredibly complicated, obviously. He has died, he has come back, and he now is willing to cross the line most other bats won’t and will kill people when he deems it necessary. I think thats something important though- he doesn’t just like... go around killing for fun (usually, some writers preboot made him a little murder happy but even then usually this still was vaguely followed) he kills people he thinks deserved it. Like, even looking back at the mess of Morrison’s Jason during Batman & Robin 2009, Jason was still trying to bring a sense of justice with who he was killing (”punishment that fits the crime”), it wasn’t killing for the sake of killing. He sees things in this kind of almost black and white ‘people who deserve it’ and ‘people who don’t’ way, and he has no problem dealing with death when it’s with the people he thinks deserve it. 

but when someone who doesn’t in his mind ‘deserve it’ gets killed? i think he just goes into total avoidance mode. throws himself into other things he’s doing, tries not to dwell on it too much no matter how much he still thinks about it (this is especially evident in him consistently telling people “i’m fine!” after what happened to Roy, despite bringing Roy up literally like every few issues for a WHILE after he died and very clearly still struggling with it, Artemis is the only one who gets through to him on it a little bit) 

but yeah, I just think that from Jason’s relatively unique situation of having been murdered, he knows what it’s like and he is perfectly fine wishing that on people he thinks are bad and deserve it, but it crushes him to imagine the people he loves and cares about having to experience something as painful as what he went through. not to mention the whole “I came back, why do I get a second chance at all this when they, who are a much better person than I am, probably won’t” mindset we get some implications of him having 

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

hello DC i am once again insisting a batfam member is bisexual

CASS TIME

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok so we know cass likes ballet. thats canon. however i think we also should in general explore cass experiencing other types of dance/performance as well, be it herself as a performer or even just watching. like... god imagine her & like my brain just automatically for group activities puts her with tim steph and duke but also for this in particular I feel would be a Jason embraced activity, but like them going to see a broadway show or some other professional theatre or something, and her just being enthralled by the reading of body language of the performers! like again by any point in current stuff cass does have like, the ability to speak fine (reading still hard tho) but even so I think like. okay im a theatre kid if that’s not obvious from the Everything About Me but one thing I always do after seeing a show is ya know spend dinner afterwards discussing it with whoever i saw it with.

I just think that like, bringing those people i just mentioned to the table to discuss seeing a show after would be so FASCINATING because cass would bring this whole perspective of critiquing their acting on a whole different level- not based on how well they delivered lines out loud, but by what their body language was saying as they moved on stage. like im very amused by the idea of cass getting a totally different picture in her mind about what a character’s motivations were because she was paying way more attention to what their physicality was saying vs the words that were written and how they were delivered. i think the debates her and the others would have would be EPIC there. jason defending the text as it was written adamantly and cass being like ‘ok yeah sure but thats not what they did’

B (hilarious): 

cass having no concept of money because why would she bother? is SO funny to me. like it’s not that she couldn’t be reasonable if she wanted to, but like, she knows that the Waynes are well off so it’s not something she actually needs to be concerned about, so she just goes hog wild. takes steph out to fancy dinners and makes steph order for them since cass ya know doesn’t really read the menus, and steph’s like ‘jesus christ this costs-” “don’t worry about it” “but cass-” and she just holds up one of bruce’s credit cards and steph’s still like “but you don’t even know the range-” “it is fine”

bruce does not have the heart to tell her to stop

C (heart-crushing): 

i mean this is pretty much canon but especially now after death metal where she’s remembering, not just being told by a guy using weird alternate timeline technology, that she used to be an adopted member of the Wayne family... like that hurts so bad. To look at these people who have ya know been kind to her, Bruce has still been a father-like figure to her (i mean literally from the moment they met in New 52 canon during the flashback in Batman & Robin Eternal, where he’s telling her that she’s not a monster just because of what people forced her to do.... that she’s a hero... that hug.... dad behavior), and they do to some extent treat her as family... But to then really know, to feel and remember that she was actually adopted! She was a part of their family. To look at how she’s been calling herself Orphan while working with them this whole time... that’s so heartbreaking! I have cried about this idea so much! I want so badly a conversation between her and Bruce now where he offers to officially adopt her again, I need it so bad and if it doesn’t happen at some point in the next year or two I will be so distraught.

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

i want an in-depth exploration of cass’ relationship to her own gender. being raised without language and you know with so much of her life being independent (remember: CASS RAN AWAY AROUND THE WORLD WITHOUT REALLY KNOWING ANY SPOKEN LANGUAGE) and outside of an organized society impressing too much of gender expectations on her, i feel like the way she experiences it would be very unique! like sure she’s so far been fine with being assigned ‘girl’ (ya know that comes with batgirl, and how people just automatically treated her based on how she looks) but in terms of gender expression and like her actual relationship with ‘traditional femininity’ etc like... because of how she was raised I just think she’d have a really different perspective on it that could be cool to explore, and I think she’d fall outside of the binary after she really thinks about how she identifies.

tldr on that: she/they nb cass is what i’m getting at here

#onwater #jason todd #cassandra cain #sam writes

[infinites-chaser]

under a golden sun | mlqc | gavin/mc | 2nd person POV | bittersweet fluff

spoilers for gavin’s campus date and his unreleased basketball date 

You and Gavin spend the summer together alongside Minor and his new obsession with basketball.

(Somehow, the summer breeze feels cooler when Gavin's nearby.)

The sun is low and golden by the time you and Gavin leave Loveland High. He’s about to make his way to the parking lot when you put a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” you say. “There’s one more place I want to visit before we go.”

There’s a basketball court a little behind the school, across the campus from the track. Beside it, always shielding half from the sun, stands an old ginkgo tree.

The you from seven years ago, and Minor, and later, Gavin, pass it every afternoon on the walk home after school. Every afternoon, Minor lingers outside it until the ginkgo tree’s shadow covers nearly three-quarters of the court, gripping the chain-link fence and swearing he’ll join the NBA one day, if only for Steph Curry.

You, already used to this routine, patiently remind him of the homework you two should be starting on soon.

But then Gavin starts walking back with you, and your easy-going two becomes an awkward three. When Minor stops to stare at the court, Gavin asks you why. It’s probably one of the first times he’s ever addressed you directly, and you stiffen, just a little, under his hard amber gaze.

“He wants to join the NBA?” Your nervousness turns the answer into a question.

“I see.”

Gavin scoffs a little, and the conversation’s over.

You pout when his eyes leave yours-- you don’t want to make trouble, he’s well, famous, for a reason or maybe two (his fists) and you’d rather not be on the opposite end of those anytime soon, no matter how much Minor clearly idolizes him.

(Thinking back to when you first met him, you really had no idea he’d have such an impact on your life.)

The first time Minor invites you out to play basketball with him, when you get to the court behind Loveland High, you nearly turn and run. Gavin’s with him. Of course. You really should’ve guessed, seeing how close the two were at the end of the school year. It doesn’t really make you want to run away any less.

Before your fight-or-flight instinct’s flight kicks in, though, a gentle breeze sends ginkgo leaves floating past you, and you remember more than the rumors, you remember a rainy afternoon without an umbrella, a wet kitten, and a boy’s jacket flung over your head-- by the time you went to move it, all you could see of him was that his ears were a bright red. You remember Minor falling into his seat next to you during lunch, a bruise on his cheek though his eyes were bright, his hushed whisper of “Gavin saved me,” and the boy himself pulling up a chair at your table with an awkward cough. You remember how he’d started walking with you and Minor, and no one had bothered either of you on the way to and from the school for the rest of the school year.

You’re still a little apprehensive, but maybe he’s not so bad, after all, you tell yourself. Maybe. But at the end of the day, you don’t really know him, not even from the walks back home after school, for better or for worse.

“Gavin’s here to play, too!” Minor calls to you with a wide grin as he runs over, oblivious to your conflicted thoughts. “He’s really good!”

Then, over his shoulder: “Aren’t you, bro?”

Gavin shrugs from where he’s leaning against the fence, just on the edge of the shade, the picture of boredom. He’s decked out in a dark hoodie and jeans you don't quite understand how he can wear under the summer sun. And, not that you’re in any place to judge what people wear to play basketball, but--

“I’m not playing.”

He closes his eyes as Minor starts to complain, and for all intents and purposes, seems to go to sleep right there on the spot. In lieu of getting Gavin to play with him, Minor tries to teach you to shoot, and you indulge him, and try not to wince too hard every time he tosses the ball in your direction.

The thing is, you’re actually a little afraid of basketball. You’re sure it’s just slipped Minor’s mind-- it had been a big deal at the beginning of the year that you’d desperately tried to get everyone to forget throughout the course of PE, but a boy had hit you with a basketball ‘by mistake,’ and you’d heard him laughing about it with his friends at lunch that very same day.

Sure, that doesn't stop one of your classmates from dragging you out to one of the school's basketball games, and maybe you'd thought the last dunk by that one player had looked downright dreamy, but neither Minor or Gavin need to know that. And since Gavin doesn't give any indication he'll be playing, let alone moving for the rest of the afternoon, you don't really mind playing with Minor, even if every shot you attempt misses.

Minor's far from what you'd call a good teacher, but his enthusiasm and genuine love for basketball is infectious. You take it all in good stride, laughing when the ball arcs at least two feet below the hoop, cheering when Minor makes a three-pointer, then chasing after the rebound when his next shot bounces off the backboard. You're exhausted by the time the summer sun's directly overhead, and you're about to call out to Minor that you're going to take a break when it happens.

Maybe it's the glare, or the way your vision's gone a little fuzzy from the exertion, your reaction speed slowed by a few precious milliseconds, but--

A basketball barrels towards you, and you freeze, can't even think to put your hands in front of your face or even move, all you can do is flinch back, screwing your eyes shut, prepared for the coming painful impact. It never comes.

You open your eyes to Gavin's scowl, his angry gaze directed over your head at a fervently apologizing Minor. The basketball bounces across the court in the opposite direction, then clatters to a stop against the fence under the ginkgo tree's spreading branches.

It takes your brain a long second to catch up.

Gavin protected you?

The thought's absurd, even to your heat-addled brain. And yet--

He looks down at you, his amber gaze softening a little, and the sight warms your cheeks. And maybe your heart flutters, just a little.

"You all right?"

"I- I'm okay."

You manage a shaky smile up at Gavin, and he stiffens a little, then steps away from you quickly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He clears his throat.

"Watch out, yeah?"

You swallow and nod, missing the reddened tips of his ears, the way his gaze tracks to yours, then darts away.

After that afternoon, Minor doesn't ask you to play with him. He gives you no less than five separate apologies, offers to pay for dinner that day, and ice cream, too, but you laugh it off, and try not to think about how close Gavin had been when he'd blocked the basketball, how his soft amber gaze had made your heart pound just a little faster.

To occupy your time, you wheedle a DSLR out of your father, and take to carrying it around, thick strap around your neck, the camera itself cradled protectively to your chest save for the moments you work up the courage to lift the viewfinder to your eye and snap a photo. At first, you think they'll just tease you, and Minor does, and you blush and screw the lens cap back on, the camera sitting in the crook of your arms, unused, as you watch him play.

It gets easier, over the course of the summer, after you sit through many an afternoon in the hazy heat where it's clear Minor now only cares about perfecting his layup and trying reverses, and Gavin, well, doesn't care. He leans against the fence instead of playing and tries to get Minor to miss -- you laugh at some of his funnier jibes and maybe his eyes linger a little longer on your grin, on your smile when Minor's complaining and chasing a rebound, but, well, that's his secret to keep.

You try to capture Minor's hoops. The photos start out frustratingly blurry, and you try to remember what your father taught you about all of the buttons, the aperture, the shutter speed, the ISO. You fiddle. The camera clicks. Gavin takes to peering over your shoulder while Minor tries shots, and you try shooting him. He never says much, just expresses a casual interest, gives you the occasional encouragement, and normally, you would feel pressured, but your shots improve along with Minor's.

(And somehow, the summer breeze feels cooler when Gavin's nearby.)

"Look," Gavin says, once, from behind you, and your fingers stutter on the camera shutter. The picture comes out blurry.

"Gavin!"

You turn to him with a scowl, ready to scold him for ruining your shot, but. Words fail you. He's close. Closer than you'd thought.

Vaguely, your brain registers a single fact: his face is a few bare inches from yours. Also: his surprisingly shy smile. The soft, startled look in his eyes.

An orange butterfly floats up in the space between him and you, its wings beating in time with your accelerating heart.

Both of your faces redden moments later, and you pull back, nearly tripping over your own feet as you come out of your crouch.

"I, uh, wanted to show you," Gavin says belatedly, eyes fixed on the ground, cheeks still dark, a little gruff. "It landed on me."

He clears his throat and makes to stand up. His eyes dart back to you, and he says, softer, while they linger:

"Thought it was pretty."

Another day, Gavin brings a book and settles down next to your usual seat under the shade of the ginkgo tree.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over his shoulder, or at least, you try your best to, catching a glimpse of constellations traced out across the night sky.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving the book behind him before you can read any more, his ears faintly red.

"You like astronomy?"

"I said it was nothing," he repeats, but his ears burn a little redder. You smile.

"What's your favorite constellation? Mine's actually not a constellation, but I really like the Milky Way. Because of Double Seventh. And Zhinu and Niulang, it's probably really typical of me to say so, but I think their story's really romantic. Even if it's really sad, too."

You pause. Gavin's silent. Heat rises to your cheeks-- you realize you've been rambling.

"Sorry!" You blurt. "I got carried away--"

"I like Jupiter," he says before you can continue, finally meeting your eyes, gaze warm and steady. "Jupiter and how it always protects the moon."

One afternoon hotter than all the days before, you arrive at the court to the sound of raised voices. Minor's there, his fists raised, glaring hard at three sneering boys. At the sight of their faces, your blood runs cold. They go to Loveland High school too. In fact, if you remember properly, Minor had told you one time that the tallest one used to bully him in middle school.

By the looks of it, they'd seen Minor playing alone and had thought to make fun of him-- and the leader had paid in kind, there's the beginnings of what looks like a bruise forming around his left eye.

"Minor!" You call, before the rising tension can get any worse. You know it's a mistake the minute their gazes turn to you. The tall bully's sneer widens, and the way his eyes rove you makes you want to turn and run away. You'd taken to wearing short skirts and tank tops, not to be cute for anyone in particular, though it had been gratifying to think that someone might've seen and admired you, but this just makes you feel gross in a way you can't quite explain.

"So you're tight with Loveland High's Princess," the bully says, and the feeling you have worsens, a pit in your stomach that won't stop growing.

"Little lady, why don't you hang out with some real men for a change, how 'bout it?"

He addresses you with a smirk.

"Leave Minor alone!"

"Yeah?" He reaches for your arm, and you yank it away, heart racing-- even though Minor looks ready and willing to fight, and maybe he could win, but there's three of them, and you don't want Minor to get hurt--

"Let's go on a date, alright? Just the one, and I'll leave Minor-boy alone."

He reaches for your arm again, and you pull out of his reach, cheeks burning with anger.

"Stop it!" You cry, and Minor's moved to your side, eyes flashing, giving you the courage to glare a little harder.

"You can't just throw your weight around and expect people to go along with it!"

The bully shrinks back. His two followers look ready to run. You blink, then try to glare even harder. They all whiten.

Then, from behind you, low and angry:

"Scram." Gavin.

Relief floods through you, and you exhale a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding as the bullies run, and you turn to Gavin with a smile.

“Gavin, you saved us!”

His hard amber gaze softens under yours, and he gives you the smallest of smiles back before his eyes move to Minor.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The other boy nods wordlessly. Gavin claps him on the back.

“You got a good punch in. Don’t worry about them. If they ever come back, we can rough them up again.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing, though. Don’t worry about it.”

Minor sounds surprisingly dispassionate, and you blink up at him, but he turns away before you can properly read his expression, crossing the court to get his basketball.

He spends the rest of the afternoon practicing cheerfully without a shred of anger. You try to cheer him on normally from the shade of a nearby ginkgo tree and Gavin does the same, alternating between feigning boredom, poking fun or offering unhelpful advice.

"Minor," he says seriously, as the other boy attempts a lay-up for the fifth time. "I could just beat them up for you."

Minor scowls. The ball misses, and you spring up to chase after it as it bounces to the other side of the court, though you still hear his response.

"You don't need to do that, bro, I already told you, it's seriously no big deal!"

It's too-loud, too-perky.

Gavin doesn't speak again that afternoon, but his strong gaze never quite leaves Minor's panting form, except to throw you a glance every so often, when you laugh, huff, or frown. When the sun’s about to sink below the tops of the trees, he bids you a quick goodbye, casting a last look at Minor, who continues to dribble in the fading light.

It’s only when Gavin’s gone that Minor sinks to his knees, letting the ball roll free. He sighs heavily and takes the water bottle you offer him.

"I hate him," Minor says suddenly with a viciousness that startles you, a steady quiet burning anger at the bully that keeps your gaze to the ground-- you know, if you look up, you'll see the tears in his eyes.

"So what if I take care of how I look-- he's probably never looked in a mirror in his life.”

Then, quieter still: "So what if I think Fan Bing Bing is cute and Steph Curry, too? Fuck him."

"Minor--" you start, voice trembling, and reach to pat him on the shoulder. You don't know what to say, don't know what you could say. You'd heard rumors before, awful, vicious things people'd said behind his back that surely he'd heard and kept smiling still, but this feels different, to hear it from him, to see him lose control like this.

He shrugs out of your weak grasp and leaves before you can say a word.

The next day, you get to the court earlier than usual. To your surprise, someone’s already there, practicing their free throws. You sigh. You suppose it makes sense that Minor’s been practicing on his own-- you’re sure he’s still upset, and well, he has every right to be, you just wish he’d talk to you instead of practicing until his arms are sure to fall off--!

You’re about to call out to him and say as much to him out loud, but the player whirls, you catch a glimpse of his face in profile and you realize, you’re not watching Minor play, you’re watching Gavin.

There's a passion in his eyes you've never seen before, some softly burning fire, and when his shots go in, you think you see him grin. He looks somehow relaxed, in a way he never seems when Minor’s practicing, and you think it suits him, he looks more natural, more settled when he's in motion. Even if it's just him shooting baskets and catching the rebounds, he makes it look effortless.

As you watch him shoot, mesmerized, you suddenly remember another time-- an evening during the school year, when you’d been tasked with cleaning the gym up once basketball practice was over.

Even though you'd never liked basketball, somehow you’d always ended up with cleaning duty the days basketball practice was in session.

You’d peeked through the gymnasium’s doors, thinking it would be empty and quiet, but barely visible from where you stood just outside the doorway had been Gavin, playing alone, several basketballs rolling around the otherwise deserted gym floor.  You hadn’t known what to do-- whether to call out to him, to ask him to put away the balls when he was finished, or even to leave. You’d stood there for an absurdly long time, unable to decide, watching him dribble, feint around imaginary opponents, then shoot. Each time, the ball had arced perfectly through the hoop, and you’d resisted the impulse to cheer.

You’d still been scared of him. Back then, you’d only ever known of him from the rumors always buzzing around the school-- that he’d fought thirty gangsters, that he’d almost ended up in jail, that one wrong move around him, and you’d end up in the hospital like the old principal had.

But watching him play that evening, you’d thought he didn’t look very scary at all, only maybe a little lonely. In the end, you’d left him to play, hiding in the back of the bleachers to work on the math problems due the next day, hoping he wouldn’t notice you were there, hoping he wouldn’t mind. The echo of the ball’s dribbling and the squeak of his shoes on the floor had been soothing, somehow.

By the time you’d finished your homework, though, the gym had fallen silent, and when you’d looked up Gavin had vanished, and all the basketballs on the floor you’d thought you would have had to clean up were neatly returned to their basket.

The rattling of the basket rim brings you back to the present just in time for you to see Gavin dunk. He wheels around with a whoop, the excited grin on his face boyish. It's contagious-- you can't help but smile, too-- but then he catches sight of you and he stiffens, grin fading.

“You,” he starts, abrupt in the sudden silence. You’re not sure exactly what you would’ve said if you’d been thinking straight, but what ends up coming out of your mouth is:

“Gavin! Your dunk was really cool!”

“Yeah?”

He looks away, bouncing the ball idly a few times.

“You don’t like basketball that much, though?”

“It’s not that-- it’s more like I’m scared of it.”

“Why?”

He’s looking at you again, expression open, curious. You realize belatedly that this is maybe the most relaxed you’ve ever been around him, the thought bringing a touch of pink to your cheeks.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal, just someone in PE hit me with a ball one time. So now, I find it a little scary.”

“Watching you and Minor play, though,” you continue, “and seeing how much you two enjoy it makes it a little less frightening.”

You smile at him again, and he’s silent for a long moment. You panic a little internally-- have you said too much? But then he responds, almost too low for you to hear.

“I could teach you to play. If you wanted.”

You nod.

“I’d like that,” you say, and it comes out quieter, a little hopeful, your cheeks still tinged with a blush. It feels like a moment, or the edge of a moment, a hair’s-breadth away from something, though you wouldn’t be able to name it even if someone were to ask.

Even when Minor finally shows up, you fancy you can still feel it stretching between you and Gavin, that thread of something, something more.

Days pass in that fashion, Minor practicing with a vengeance, without a word to you and Gavin as the two of you orbit each other, almost. There’s a day when Gavin brings his book again, and settles down beside you, only to fall asleep in the middle of reading it, his head dropping dangerously close to your shoulder.

Minor grins at the sight when he stops for a drink of water.

“I was able to concentrate today-- I was wondering why, but it’s because my number one fan’s asleep!”

An awkward moment passes as you both stare in silence at Gavin’s sleeping form. You like to think that he looks softer like this, all his hard stares and glares and furrowed brows smoothed out.

“I’m sorry about getting mad that time,” Minor says without looking at you. “None of what they said was your fault, Sis. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

"It's fine. You had every right to be upset. Just next time-- I want to be a friend who can listen and help, alright? If you'll let me."

Before you can say another word, Minor pulls you into a hug.

"Of course I will, Sis!"

Just like that, any remaining awkwardness between you dissolves, and you joke and talk like normal.

“Minor, the other day I saw Gavin playing, and I was just wondering…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll finish the thought before you have to say it aloud. Minor tips his head.

“Why isn’t he teaching me?”

You nod, looking away. He laughs, but it sounds a little sad.

“You know, Gavin, he taught me how to fight. I kept following him after he saved me that one time, and saw how he saved other people too with those fists, so I asked him to teach me. And he did.”

“But this, you know, I just feel like it’s something I have to do on my own, somehow. I asked him not to teach me, told him he didn’t have to come. ”

He smiles to himself.

“He came, anyway.”

Then, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes,

“I wonder if it was for me, though.”

You blush and don't reply.

When Gavin finally wakes up, Minor drops a bombshell. He's challenged the bullies to a basketball match. A basketball match that's starting in less than an hour.

“Two-versus-three? You’re on.”

Gavin’s voice is carefully bored, but when you look over at him, there’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes. For the first time since the start of the summer, he shrugs off his hoodie, tossing it aside as he moves to the middle of the court to join Minor.

“Good luck!” You call to them.

Minor flashes you a thumbs up and a grin. Gavin throws you a single nod over his shoulder. Then, the bullies arrive and the game begins.

You can't help the way your eyes follow the motion of Gavin's toned arms, the flex of his well-muscled shoulders-- for all you'd heard stories about him getting into fights, it had never occurred to you what exactly that meant in terms of, well, his physical fitness. Specifically, how built he is under the hoodie he always wears. If you were more shameless, you're sure you'd take the opportunity to raise your camera and capture a physique you can only describe as art. You consider yourself lucky that they're both so caught up in the game that they don't notice your pronounced blush and can't hear your extensive internal commentary.

You can't really say you're being biased-- you're sure anyone with eyes can see that he's made to be an athlete (there's a fluidity to his movements that you're sure even poets would be at a loss for words at). And, for all he teased Minor for the other boy's NBA obsession, even your unpracticed eye can tell: Gavin's good at basketball. There's something about the way he passes the ball to Minor, the way none of the other team's throws make it past him: it speaks of an ease that's only possible through months, years even, of experience.

It's no wonder Gavin and Minor win, easily. You think that Minor probably would've won, even without Gavin's help.

Nevertheless, the moment the game’s over, Minor runs over to crush you in a warm, sweaty hug. After a moment, he pulls back, grinning.

“I won!”

Gavin clears his throat. Minor’s grin widens and he turns to Gavin, beckoning him to join. After a moment, Gavin lets himself be pulled into the embrace.

“We won.”

(You notice in hindsight that Minor's the one who landed all of their team's shots.

Even more in hindsight, you remember the wind being particularly strong that day-- none of the shots of the bully's team had ever gotten close to the basket.

"Gavin, that day, the wind--" you start, as you gaze at the empty court, the two of you surely thinking of that same summer.

"He would've won either way," Gavin responds before you can finish. "But I wanted to make a point."

His eyes flash for a moment when they settle on yours, sharp and angry, and you remember the way the bully had taunted you, too. You swallow, and give Gavin a small smile, and maybe he sees a bit of his anger reflected in your gaze, because he reaches out and takes your hand without a word, holds it tight.)

After the game, the rest of the summer passes in a blur. Minor still practices his shots in the court just outside of Sunshine Alley, but Gavin stops teasing him about joining the NBA. One afternoon when you get there, camera in hand, Gavin has a split lip and bruised knuckles, Minor a black eye, and neither responds when you ask what happened and why.

You never see the bully or his friends again, but Minor'll swear up and down he and Gavin had nothing to do with it.

Some days, Minor doesn't bring his basketball, and you trail behind him as he makes the long walk to the track behind the school, Gavin, silent, at your side. The first time, you realize you've worn the wrong shoes when the backs of your sandals begin to dig red marks into your heels, and you have to take a moment to sit and pull them off, rubbing your feet. Gavin lingers beside you, and you try to shoo him after Minor's retreating back, but he waits until you're ready to walk again, and keeps pace with your pained steps. The next time Minor wants to run, Gavin's brought his motorcycle, and though you also wear more sensible shoes, you don't turn down the ride he offers.

"We'll meet you there," Gavin tosses over his shoulder as Minor salutes. You let your hands rest as lightly as possible on his back, and when he doesn't turn to look back at you the whole ride, you and your burning red cheeks are glad.

When you get to the empty lot by the track, your blush seems unwarranted-- Gavin offers Minor a spin around the lot, and a ride back, which the other boy eagerly accepts. While they ride, you crouch and capture pictures of the flowers blooming through cracks in the concrete, the blur of the motorcycle in the distance. After, they run, and you chase after them with a laugh to capture that too, their backs illuminated by the fading summer light.

Gavin lets you sit behind him on his bike again one late summer evening after Minor's gone home and you blush when he pulls your arms a little more firmly around his waist and tells you, with a grin, to not let go this time.

You protest. It had only been once that you'd almost fallen off and that was because there had been three of you, you and him and Minor behind, and really, Minor had pulled you off-- but your indignant words are lost as he guns the engine, his chest shaking with laughter.

The wind steals the sound of his chuckles as the motorcycle leaps forward, tugs the tie from your messy braid and spins your hair into a fan, opened in the bike's wake. Gavin accelerates and you shoot across the lot, chasing the fading rays of sun, to the end of the horizon and looping around to the start. He looks back just once, amber eyes shining with more than just the sunset gold, and you're sure the grin on your face is just as wide as his.

You drive in circles until you're both dizzy and you press your cheek to his warm back, both of you shaking with breathless laughter, and you think recklessly, you don't want this to ever end, even though you both know that the coming school year is Gavin's last, one more summer and then he'll be gone, because this is a moment almost profound, golden like the setting sun, and moments like these, like the already darkening sky, are never meant to last.

(It doesn't.)

That year, you see Gavin confront another boy in an alley. Cash passes in the space between them, from the boy's shaking hand to Gavin's open palm. You think you make a sound, maybe a quiet gasp, but Gavin's head turns, your eyes meet-- it's the same amber gaze as always, but you've never seen him so cold and angry-- and you bolt.

He never explains it to you. He never gets a chance to explain it to you. Time crawls by, and you see him less and less-- though you're never quite sure who's avoiding who-- until it's just Minor and you, and then just you and Minor's shaky smile, Minor pressing a bloody letter in your hand.

You don't need his "it's from Gavin." You don't open it, not the whole year.

By the time you finally decide to leave it at the bottom of your nightstand's drawers, the ginkgo buds are starting to bloom, and Gavin's graduated, somehow, gone.

You still pass by the basketball court every day on the way home. You still eat late night dinners with Minor in Lynn’s Kitchen when your father says he’ll be home late.

You leave a post-it note on the wall one time, when you go to eat alone.

I hate it when people leave without saying goodbye.

Minor leaves when you two go to different colleges. Your other high school friends scatter, too, petals caught in the wind, whether they go to Loveland University with you or not, you drift apart.

Two years into college, you get the phone call from the hospital. It’s your father , the nurse on the line says, and you don’t want to hear the rest.

When you’re old enough to inherit your father’s production company, you fight for it-- every new episode of Miracle Finder is yours, forged from tears and sleepless nights, team meetings with Willow and Kiki and ever-faithful Anna, gritted teeth and forced smiles as you strain and strain and strain, as you bow your head to the show’s patrons and bite back anger at their condescension, at their false condolences and greedy eyes.

Then the last episode of Miracle Finder airs, and it has better reviews than its predecessors have had in a while, thanks to Professor Lucien and his easy charm. You congratulate your crew, and make sure to thank them all profusely by treating them to a company dinner.

But when you watch the aired episode in the dark and quiet of your own apartment, and the credits roll with their nostalgic music, one last time, it feels a little like losing your father all over again. He’s gone again, without a goodbye.

You vent at Victor. He accepts your proposal, but gives you an absurd deadline to meet, and you’re floundering all over again. The company, yours to preserve, one last fading memory of your father’s legacy, put on the line. Again.

You strain. This is one thing, you vow to yourself, you’ll never let leave without a proper goodbye.

But Gavin comes back-- and it feels like a vicious cycle in your life’s been broken. You hold onto the company. And, finally, you remember what it feels like to not only survive, holding on by the barest inch, but to flourish. You come back together, in fits and starts. He saves you, in more ways than one.

"What are you thinking about?" Gavin asks you now as you stare at the empty basketball court of a summer long since gone. You're sure if you look close enough, there'll be flowers growing through the cracks now there in the concrete just like the ones you'd photographed once upon a time. And maybe you’ll never get that summer back, but Gavin came back, and he's here with you now, to see the gingko leaves fall and bloom again, to see this sunset, and this time, it doesn't feel like a moment. It feels like it could last forever.

You tip your head up to grin at him.

"Will you let me ride with you on Sparky home?"

He smiles back, soft and sweet and just for you, and you know, he remembers too.

"Don't let go this time," he says, and when he puts his spare helmet over your head, his hands linger, his eyes on yours. I remember everything, he seems to say.

Your heart skips more than a few beats, but you don't look away, and the wind picks up, too, sending gingko leaves swirling through the air around you both. As you look up at him, you fancy the glow of his eyes outshines the setting sun.

"I won't," you reply at last, and what you mean but don't say is I remember it all, too.

You rub your fingers over the bracelet around your wrist, and when he starts the motorcycle, and the two of you speed away in the fading gold light, you press your nose into his warm shoulder, listen to the sound of his steady heartbeats, and hold on tight.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #val writes #tbh i wasn't too happy with the flow of the fic when i first posted it but rereading it im satisfied with how it turned out ^^ #skldgjklsd i just realized. this is the second gavin fic about summer im posting in the fall-

[bigbrotherlouis]

realised i haven’t written enough (anything?) with tim as a main character and i’ve been thinkin about him a lot, so here’s a little thing inspired by a convo with @wildmagicplant // ~1k and cw for some canon-typical emotional abuse mentions (aka tim’s parents being neglectful)

tim startles awake. the silence is so thick he almost chokes on it, darkness cramming down the back of his throat and tasting like dust. his room isn’t dusty, isn’t allowed to get dusty, but it doesn’t matter. it’s all in his head anyway. 

the nightmare still hovers on the edge of his mind, hazy in that way that makes it hard to tell if he’s actually awake, or if this is just another level to the fear. he can’t quite remember what it was about, just that he had one, and the ambiguity makes it all worse. it sits like a gargoyle in the corner of the room, this white-hot terror, and he can’t quite look it in the face. 

it’s just-- it’s so quiet. it’s so, so quiet here in the middle of the night where the middle of the night is the darkness right before dawn. everyone is asleep, the birds haven’t even woken up yet, and it’s just him all alone in the quiet.

he hates being alone in the quiet, hates it with a burning passion that seeps into his bones, lighting him up from the inside out. it reminds him of too many nights past, when he’d wake up to find his parents gone, left for an early-morning flight to god knows where for god knows how long. they never really would tell him when they were going, probably too worried about tears and the drama of goodbyes, so they’d just… leave. he’d wake up in the morning and climb into their empty bed, burrowing deep in the covers like they’d just come back if he stayed so still. 

that was the nightmare tonight. he remembers now. it’s amazing that after years of this, years of horrors he shouldn’t have ever seen, on world and off, it’s the loneliness that keeps leaving him breathless in the dark. it’s the ever-present feat that nobody has stayed that makes him want to scream, makes him want to crawl under his bed and tuck himself away in a corner, shutting his eyes against everything else. but screaming never got him anything before, so he doesn’t. 

what if everyone’s gone? 

what if everyone-- bruce and dick and alfred and cass and duke and even damian-- are all gone? what if they decided that they’ve had enough of him and skulked off somewhere, like his parents did? what if he’s all alone in this great big mansion of a house, flat on his back in his gaping maw of a room, ready to be eaten up by the darkness?

there’s nothing logical in that but he can’t quite care, can’t quite pull himself together to thread back up the logic that it’s just night, everyone is just sleeping. he can’t deal with logic when his heart is racing like a hummingbird’s and his thoughts can barely settle on anything. he just stares at the ceiling and pictures everyone’s empty beds on a continuous loop.

“enough,” he manages when his breath is coming in short pants, and wrenches himself out of his covers. he stumbles when he hits the ground but catches himself, moving down the corridor on quiet feet. 

there are seven other people who live in the manor most days. nine if you count steph and jason, which he does sometimes. he bypasses them all and makes for the solid oak door in the east wing, a corridor and a half away from anyone else’s. 

he knows he’s not alone in nightmares. he heard dick yelling once, when he was still working fear toxin out of his system, and had clamped a pillow over his ears to stop hearing it anymore. damian and duke come down to breakfast a few mornings a month with red-rimmed, bleary eyes and cass can be scarcer than usual. he also knows bruce used to let them sleep with him when they got scared-- dick and cass, at least. probably damian. maybe duke. definitely jason, before. it’s an implied kind of thing that no one talks about. 

tim’s never taken bruce up on the offer. he’s thought about it a lot of nights like tonight, when he can’t ever get warm because of the fear that’s sticking around in his fingers and toes. but even as he creeps along to bruce’s room, he’s never gotten past the threshold. tim isn’t one of bruce’s kids, not really. that type of comfort’s not meant for him.

instead, he opens the door by inches, pushing it open on oiled hinges, just enough for him to hear. bruce is dead asleep, dead to the world, even though tim knows he’d snap awake as soon as tim put a foot inside the room. he can hear the rumble of bruce’s breathing, the occasional snore that comes from two decades of broken noses. he can hear the proof that bruce is still there, even if everyone else is gone, drifting out through the corridor. 

it’s a warm feeling, a warm sound. it sinks through tim’s body like he’s just dunked himself in hot water, every breath of bruce’s loosening the knot in his chest and chasing the nightmare away. he slides down the wall until he’s sitting, pulling his legs in close and resting his chin on his knees, closing his eyes and listening hard. 

--

“tim,” someone says, their voice pitched low, and tim blinks himself awake. “tim, sweetheart.”

“hmm?” 

bruce’s face comes into bleary focus, his expression carefully blank. “you’re asleep on the floor.” 

“not on the floor,” he mumbles. “still sitting.” he pats the carpet for good measure and a corner of bruce’s mouth twitches. 

“you’re almost on the floor,” corrects bruce and he bends, helping tim stagger to his feet. 

“better.” 

“why aren’t you in your bed?” 

tim’s legs feel weird, all tingly and cold, and his knees buckle when he straightens up. bruce catches him with a hand to an elbow.

“can you walk?” 

“yeah,” tim says and he tries, he really does, but his body doesn’t want to pay attention. he sways, tipping to the floor and saved by bruce again. “no.” 

“no,” agrees bruce. he lets go of tim for a second-- just long enough for tim to mourn the feeling-- and wraps an arm around his shoulders. the other arm goes under his knees and tim is floating, his face pressed to the warm fabric of bruce’s sleep shirt. “you never said why you were sitting out in the hall.” 

“nightmare,” he answers around a sigh, some part of his brain warning him from talking too much. he doesn’t pay it any mind. “everyone was gone.” 

there’s a falter in bruce’s long stride, a catch where he stops for a bare second. “gone?” 

tim turns his face into the shirt more, looking for the warmth. “you left me. was all alone. nightmare.” 

“oh, tim.” 

“s’okay. used to it.” 

“not okay,” bruce grumbles, and it’s almost too low for tim to hear, like he’s not meant to hear it. bruce pushes open a door and they’re back in tim’s room, so different now that the sun is rising. it feels less like it’s going to swallow him whole, more like a normal room. “do you have nightmares often?” 

“yeah.” 

“you never said.” 

tim tips out of bruce’s arms and into his unmade bed, somehow landing the right way. bruce helps him with the covers. 

“don’t want to be a bother. i just want to know you haven’t left,” he admits and squints at the way the light comes through bruce’s hair, making it look lighter than it should be. 

“you’re not bothering me,” bruce says quietly, his eyes intense in the backlight. tim blinks sleepily. “you don’t have to sleep outside the door.” 

“okay.” 

“i mean it, tim.” 

“okay,” tim slurs again, so incredibly drowsy in the sunshine. it’s warm and he can sleep again; the light keeps the nightmares from coming back. everyone knows that. “bruce?” 

“yeah?” 

“don’t leave,” he says and his voice sounds young even to his own ears, thin and needy. bruce’s face is an inscrutable mask. “please. don’t?” 

“okay,” bruce says and he sits in the chair he pulls up to the side of the bed, tucking his hand into tim’s. it’s a good feeling. “okay, i won’t.”

#tim drake #batfam #bruce wayne #bruce wayne is a good dad #dc #dc fic #my fic #mine #sashaverse #drabble #or is this a ficlet? #i can't remember #i haven't written anything this short in a while #unbeta'd ofc #anywayyyy hope this is okay #also kassie i'll get to your prompts tomorrow i was just in the zone writing this #when i got your messages #and decided to finish #:)

[phandomphightclub]

Round 3 Match 7: @ghostgothgeek vs. @half-dead-half-wit

Writer: @dannyphandump

“Last match of the afternoon!  Let’s make it count, Pholks!”

“Do you always pronounce the ph?” Vlad asked, rolling his eyes— or at least, Tali thought he was, though it was hard since his red scleras had no pupils or irises.

“Not always.  Just almost always.”  She shrugged.  “Give it up for Ghostghothgeek (Steph) and Half-dead-half-wit (Ninja)!”

Vlad shunk back at the sight of the ghost wolf at Steph’s heels.  He remembered all too well what his “experiments” could do when angry.

“PHIGHT!”

Ninja rested his hands on his knees— or, where his knees would be if he had them, since he stayed in ghostly-tail form constantly.  “Heyyyy, nice puppy,” he cooed to Steph’s wolf.

“No, she’s not nice, she’s—”

“Precious,” Ninja said, fishing an ecto-weenie out of his jacket pocket.  “I bet the puppy would love a treat, huh?”

“She doesn’t eat anything except the blood— er, ectoplasm— of her enemies.”  Steph crossed her arms.  “Right, girl?”

But the wolf’s ears were perked up, her eyes intent on the screaming treat in Ninja’s hand.  Steph cursed under her breath.

“Looks like it’s time for plan B,” she said, pulling out her bag of glitter as Ninja lured the wolf away.

Steph flew up to dump the glitter over Ninja, but he quickly threw the ecto-weenie into her path.  The wolf chased after it and collided with her owner, drowning them both in a pile of itchy glitter.

Steph sneezed.  More glitter shot from her nose.

“Is that… it?”  Vlad asked.  “Where’s the drama?  The intrigue?  The threats to tear your opponents family apart and run off with their mother?”

“First of all: ew,” Tali said, grateful that Danny was still back in the VIP box and not the VUP box.  “Second of all: I think we have enough drama right here.”

She smirked as Ninja pulled Steph out of the glitter-pile, just in time to fly her over and have her sneeze on Vlad.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF SWISS CHEESE—”

Everyone cackled at the glitterified Vlad.  But Tali still had one last job to do.

She played a quick tune on her kazoo.  “Ghostgothgeek is unable to battle!  Half-dead-half-wit wins!” 

“But the real winner is all of us for getting to dunk on Vlad,” Tucker said as Danny flew him down to snap a picture.

“Very true.  Until next time, Pholks!”

#half-dead-half-wit #ghostgothgeek #writer tali #round 3 #results #writeup

[sqoiler]

THe Director's cut for into the spoilersverse please! and a star too!

ok i’m gonna copy-paste the fic and like. comment on sections. i guess.

so the idea for this fic came from me realizing i have a bunch of alternate stephs. someone had asked me about a black canary steph and i liked the idea but didn’t want to do a full fic with her, so i was kind of like “hey! what if the stephs met each other!” and here we are. 

Lex Luthor made a multiverse machine, in order to mine Kryptonite from other dimensions. It was kinda a good idea, except the machine was faulty, and kept dragging other stuff from the multiverse into Lex’s earth as well. 

The League was dispatched to deal with the alternate versions of themselves that were brought into their Earth. Before he left, Batman assigned everyone in Gotham to guard the city from the various monsters and Rogues who roamed the city.

Spoiler had just finished a fight with a female version of Oswald Cobblepot and was headed to Nightwing to help him deal with a pair of mischievous twins, when the air in front of her opened up and a dark shaped tumbled through. Spoiler grabbed her bo-staff and dropped into a crouch, wary.

i think the “mischievous twins” thing was supposed to be a reference to the batman beyond dee dee twins. 

The shape sat up, and Spoiler absorbed the dark cape and pointy ears, the purple flashes on the suit, and the golden curls tumbling down her back.

Spoiler met her own eyes.

“Shit,” the other girl said, and she stood, brushing off her knees. Spoiler lowered her bo-staff and straightened, looking at herself curiously. “Did you pull me here?”

“No,” Spoiler said. “Lex Luthor made a machine….”

“Say no more,” the other girl said, and Spoiler noticed a yellow bat emblazoned on her chest. Her mouth fell open.

“Batgirl?” she gasped. She vaguely recognized the suit from the images of the other timeline that she’d seen, months ago.

“Yeah,” Batgirl said. “And you’re Spoiler. I haven’t been Spoiler in years, but you make it work. I like the half-mask, it’s nice.”

“Thanks,” Spoiler said, feeling a little ridiculous. “Sorry, I’ve never met an alternate version of myself before.”

“Me neither,” Batgirl admitted. “Although you always hear about it, don’t you.”

“Yeah,” Spoiler agreed. This was seriously surreal. Seeing herself–same height, a little longer hair, but standing so confidently? Spoiler blinked and told herself not to compare. They were different, after all. “So, Batgirl, huh? How’d…how’d you land that?”

“Cass gave it to me,” Batgirl said, shrugging. “When B died. But he’s back now, don’t worry.”

“Huh,” Spoiler said, and she remembered the mentions of Cass as Batgirl, too. “So where’s Babs, then?”

“You mean Babs is still Batgirl in your universe?” Batgirl asked, eyes wide. “This universe?” She gestured around them. Spoiler nodded.

when i made this fic, i didn’t INTEND to slam dunk rebirth/new 52, but that’s what happened. i figured when i started that i needed the two “canon” stephs, and then i made a list of the other stephs i wanted to include (some of which were nightwing!steph & robin!steph) but i had to whittle it down so there’d be the same amount of characters as spider-verse. not because this is a spider-verse au, but because i figured that the gag was already there in the title/concept, and it seemed like a good amount of characters–not too many, or too little. speaking of that, every character ROUGHLY corresponds to a spider-verse one: rebirth steph = miles, preboot steph = peter b. parker, cluekid = peni, dart = spider-ham, canary = gwen, and batman steph = spider noir. 

“Yeah, nobody else has ever been Batgirl,” Spoiler said.

“That’s so fucking weird,” Batgirl said. “Babs hasn’t been Batgirl since before I started out, and that was like five years ago. You mean she didn’t get shot?”

“She did, but there was an implant,” Spoiler said. “So she’s better.”

“Wow. That’s great but–how do you survive without Oracle?” Batgirl asked. “I want my universe back.”

Spoiler agreed with her, and wondered how to put her back. Should she take her to Batman? Hm. For all the multiverse shenanigans she’d heard about, she really didn’t know how to deal with them, what the protocol was.

“Let’s go find Drake,” Spoiler said. “He just got back from a multiverse adventure.”

“Drake? Like the rapper?”

“No, like Tim. My boyfriend? It’s his new code name.”

physically painful to put steph & tim together, but it had to be done.

“Tim picked his own fucking last name? That’s so stupid,” Batgirl said, and although Spoiler agreed, she didn’t say that. Spoiler checked her trackers, and found that Drake was across the city. She got out her grapple, and Batgirl did the same.

“Wait,” Batgirl called a minute later, when they were already in the air. They landed on the roof of the next building and Spoiler turned to her expectantly. “Did you say that he’s your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Spoiler said. “Is he not?”

“Not since like, middle school!” Batgirl cried, and Spoiler rolled her eyes.

“We don’t live in the same universe,” she reminded her. “Our Tims are probably totally different.”

“Yeah, right,” Batgirl said, and then there was a flash of purple light and Spoiler turned to face it. Two people appeared. One of them was in a purple bodysuit with a lightning bolt emblazoned on the chest, blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. The other was wearing fishnet tights and a leather jacket, an armored purple unitard under the jacket and a skirt over that. Her blonde hair was long, nearly to her elbows, and free-flowing. The new pair blinked at Spoiler and Batgirl.

“Holyfuckthat’susbutBats,” the girl with the lightning bolts said, her words tipping over each other, and Spoiler said, “Before today, I’d never been involved in multiverse shenanigans, and now this!”

She gestured at the duo.

“I’m Dart,” the speedster-Steph said, holding out a hand. Spoiler shook it, dumbfounded.

i felt like dart would be accepted as the most outlandish to the other stephs. she’s a meta, she has nothing to do with batman at all, she barely remembers living in gotham, etc, which is why in my head she was equivalent to spider-ham. like i feel like rebirth steph looked around at these other versions of herself like “sure, that makes sense”, but with dart she was like “what the fuck am i looking at?”

“I’m Canary,” the other Steph said. “Violet Canary, but generally they just call me Canary.”

“Like Red and Gold Canaries,” Dart said gleefully.

“….No,” Canary said. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Black Canary’s partners,” Dart said, rolling her eyes. “Cass and Jason.”

“Cass and Jason are Bats,” Batgirl said. “Not Canaries.”

“Not in my world,” Dart said. “What, in your universe is everyone a Bat?”

however weird all the other stephs found dart, though, she found them all equally weird. all these people we’re used to seeing as bats she saw as totally different things and having them all lumped together would be surreal to her. she grew up with barry as her dad, so learning that in these other universes some stephs a) stayed with arthur as their dad, or b) had some random rich guy she kinda knows as their dad was pretty weird. 

“Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Damian, Babs, Duke,” Spoiler rattled off.

“Duke?” Batgirl asked.

“Yeah, none of those people are Bats in my world,” Dart said. “Dick’s a Super, Cass and Jason are Canaries, Damian’s a Lantern, Tim’s a Martian, Duke’s a Wonder, and Babs is Aquagirl. Or, well, she used to be, before the accident.”

“See?” Batgirl demanded, gesturing at Spoiler.

“I didn’t give her the implant!” Spoiler said. “It happened before I even started crime-fighting!”

“She’s not Oracle in your universe?” Canary asked, looking wildly startled. Spoiler threw her hands up.

“Sorry that you guys landed in a garbage universe, I guess,” she said, and Dart patted her shoulder.

other stephs pushing my rebirth-sucks agenda. i regret nothing. 

“So this is your place, huh? Kinda nice,” she said. “You know, I’ve never really been in Gotham before? Not since I moved away, anyway.”

“Yeah, how the fuck are you a speedster?” Canary asked. “I’m not even a meta, and my job depends on me having superpowers.”

“I was going to ask the same question,” Batgirl said.

“I mean, basically the same way everyone else did,” Dart said. “I made Wally tell me how he did it, who made Barry tell him how he did it, who made Jay tell him how he did it. And, uh, the rest is history.”

“But why were you with Wally–? Never mind,” Spoiler said. “We really need to find Drake.”

At Dart and Canary’s confused looks, Batgirl said in a loud whisper, “As in Tim. That’s his new codename. And yeah, we know it’s stupid.”

“Thank you, Batgirl,” Spoiler said loudly. “Let’s just go, yeah?”

“Won’t Batman snipe me?” Dart asked, and Canary asked Batgirl for a spare grapple.

dart in her head: what the fuckkkkkkk

other stephs: calm down lol it’s just batman

“He’s out of town,” Spoiler said. “Just follow us.”

“Sure thing,” Dart said. “Wait, what’s your codename?”

“Spoiler,” Spoiler said. “You mean you were never…?”

“I used to be Kid Flash, but never ‘Spoiler’, whoever that is,” Dart said. “Sorry.”

“Even I was Spoiler, and I’m not even a Bat,” Canary said, and Dart said, “Okay, we get it, I’m a weirdo among Stephanies. Let’s go.”

They went, and Spoiler wondered if the other Bats were also dealing with themselves. She was leading the way, which was weird, because she never led any ways. Maybe if it was just her and Tim, or something.

Below her, Spoiler caught sight of a swarm of Clayfaces, and she had to stop. She yelled to the others to help her, and they dropped into the alley below.

Fighting with only herself as backup was weird, Spoiler thought. Batgirl threw batarangs that had stuff inside them. Dart sped around confusing the Clayfaces and Spoiler brought her bo-staff down hard on one, but it just sloshed through his arm. Oops.

“Cover your ears!” Canary yelled, and she threw a little device at a Clayface. It screamed, a loud noise that was what Spoiler assumed the Canary Cry sounded like. The Clayfaces barely reacted.

From above, a dark shape descended. Spoiler could’ve cried in relief, even though she was sure it wasn’t her own Batman.

Batman threw a device at a Clayface, which sent out some sort of signal that froze all the Clayfaces that weren’t already frozen by Batgirl’s batarangs. Icearangs? Whatever.

Quick work was made of the Clayfaces, and then Batman led the Stephs back into the air.

“You saved us!” Dart said.

“Yes,” Batman said. Spoiler inspected their new friend. This Batman was shorter than Bruce, and the bat across her chest was purple. The eyes on the cowl glowed with purple light, but it was still unmistakably Batman. She had on purple lipstick, and Spoiler spotted a scar near her mouth. She knew who this was.

“Holy shit,” Spoiler breathed, and beside her, the others seemed to come to the same conclusion. “You’re me.”

this moment right here, where steph looks at batman and it’s herself…? that’s probably why i even bothered writing this fic. 

“I would argue that I’m me,” Batman said, her mouth twisting into a smirk. “But yes, I am another Stephanie Wayne.”

“Wayne?” Spoiler and Batgirl cried at the same time.

as much as i love ignoring canon, in this fic i sort of had to go along with it, and i think this moment was kind of a good one.

“Fuck,” Dart said. “If that isn’t a weird last name to think of me having.”

“It makes sense that circumstances would differ,” Canary said. “Although in my universe, I was never truly a Bat.”

“But Wayne?” Spoiler said, waving her hands.

“Bruce actually adopted you?” Batgirl asked.

“No,” Batman said. “He left a portion of the estate to me in his will, and after I took up the mantle I changed my last name.”

“What the fuck,” Spoiler said, and Batgirl seemed of the same mind.

“Why are you panicking? It’s not that weird,” Dart said. “And I mean, clearly you all aren’t Stephanie Allen.”

“Allen?” Batgirl repeated, her voice an octave higher.

“Sweet Jesus,” Batman said, and Spoiler pushed that image aside for examining at a later time. “The pair of you never shed ‘Brown’, didn’t you.”

“No!” Spoiler cried.

“I’ve never even thought that was an option!” Batgirl said, sounding distraught.  

“I’ve just been daydreaming about the day Tim proposes so I can be anything besides a Brown,” Spoiler admitted.

“That’s disgusting,” Batman said. “You and Tim, really?”

“Why not?” Spoiler demanded. “Everyone seems to be of the same mind–what’s wrong with him?”

“I mean, besides that he’s an asshole?” Batgirl asked. “Uh, two words: Super. Girl.”

“I’ve never even met Supergirl,” Spoiler said, struggling to imagine herself dating Supergirl.

“Tim’s dead,” Batman said flatly. “But I agree with Batgirl’s assessment.”

“I think Supergirl and Babs have a thing going on?” Dart said. “Maybe? But anyway I’m more of a Wonder Girl kinda gal myself.”

“Ditto,” Canary said.

“Okay, I get it, you guys are hetero-shaming me,” Spoiler said, lifting her hands up. “For the record, I am bisexual.”

the idea of every steph besides the “real” steph being gay & having a girlfriend is comedy. gold. 

“Good,” Batman said.

“Although, speaking of my lovely boyfriend, I should probably tell him about this….Stephplosion,” Spoiler said, waving her arms at them. She put her finger to her ear to comm Drake, but then the air folded in on itself on a roof within Spoiler’s line of sight and she saw a flash of a familiar color that made her blood boil.

“Shit,” she said.

“What?” Dart asked. Spoiler pointed.

“There was some….orange over there,” she said significantly.

headcanon that steph hates all orange, but the specific shade of cluemaster orange especially. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Batgirl said. “If I have to deal with alternate Cluemasters I’m going to slaughter someone.”

“We need to check it out,” Batman said.

“I’m only agreeing since there’s five of us,” Canary said.

“I haven’t seen Arthur since I was eleven and I’m not about to start now,” Dart said, and Spoiler pushed down a surge of jealousy. Batman led the way, grabbing Dart to carry her across the gap.

They stopped at the edge of the roof and looked down at the kid–the kid!–who was sitting on the rooftop below them.

She had on an orange skirt and shirt with blue suspenders. Her tights–also orange–were ripped and she had on orange combat boots. Her bandana was pulled down from her face to rest around her neck, and her blonde hair was in tangles.

Spoiler stared her thirteen year old self in the face and thought about fainting.

“What the fuck,” Batgirl said flatly.

i feel like this moment sort of parallels/reflects the moment when spoiler first sees batman & recognizes it as herself. batman!steph is like a dream come true, and cluekid!spoiler her worst nightmare. both are the kind of dreams you didn’t know you even had until you encounter them, but yeah. holy shit that’s batman and that’s ME vs holy shit that’s cluekid and that’s ME

“Don’t hit me!” the kid cried, scrambling to her feet. She had braces, Spoiler noted dimly. “Who are you? What happened?”

“We’re in an alternate universe,” Batman said. “Something’s wrong with the multiverse.”

“Lex Luthor,” Spoiler provided, dazed. “Mining for Kryptonite. Batman–my Batman–is taking care of it.”

“Oh,” tiny, orange Steph said. “So…who are you, then?”

Batman pulled off her cowl. Her blonde hair was short and messy and her face was–old. Spoiler pegged her to be late twenties, probably. Huh. The other Stephs were all teenagers like Spoiler.

idk if you’ve read “touch the sky” but when steph first becomes batman and is a teenager she’s pretty fucked up, and i needed this batman steph to be cool & confident. she’s been batgirl for a while. again on batman & cluekid reflecting each other, the other stephs are all 17/18, and cluekid is younger while batman is older. 

“Stephanie,” Batman said, her real voice jarring after the modulated one was gone. “I’m you, okay?”

“In an alternate universe, I’m Batman?” the younger Steph whispered.

“Yes,” Batman said, her voice soft and kind of tender. Spoiler wondered what experience she had with kids. She realized that she could have a Robin. “And that’s Batgirl, and Dart, and Canary, and Spoiler. We’re all you.”

“Spoiler?” the younger Steph said, her eyes wide. “Holy fuck.”

“Language,” Batman said.

“I’m thirteen, not a child.” The younger Steph turned and pulled off her backpack. “Look!” She opened it and pulled out a homemade black bodysuit and hooded cape. “Here’s my Spoiler outfit.”

“I’m going to cry,” Batgirl said. Spoiler’s heart was doing something weird, looking at this tiny version of herself wearing Cluemaster orange.

“Oh, yeah, well. Being Spoiler is my biggest secret,” younger Steph said, putting her costume back away.

“Why are you dressed like that, then?” Dart asked.

“Well,” Steph said, drawing out the word. “I thought Dad might, like, kill me if I didn’t say yes when he asked, so I’m Cluekid by day and Spoiler at night. But, uh, I’m working on bringing down the empire from the inside.”

“Empire?” Spoiler repeated.

“Yeah, Dad’s criminal empire,” Cluekid said. “I’m taking it down.”

“Criminal empire?” Batgirl said, sounding shocked.

if all the stephs got transported to cluekid’s world instead, they’d be looking around like “THIS IS THE BAD PLACE!!!!!”

“By yourself?” Batman asked, putting her cowl back on. Cluekid pulled up her bandana.

“Yeah, it’s like…someone’s gotta do it, right?”

“Was anyone else’s Cluemaster, like, vaguely incompentent at best?” Batgirl asked, and Spoiler and Canary rose their hands. “Criminal empire, really?”

“It’s super fun that you guys weren’t Cluekid, but leave me alone about it,” Cluekid said. “My dad’s the real deal.”

“Then what’s your plan for when he finds out you betrayed him?” Batman asked. Cluekid blinked slowly.

“Well,” she said, then she stopped.

“You don’t have a plan,” Dart said knowingly. “I can relate.”

“No, she does,” Batman said, horrified.

“You’re just gonna let yourself die?” Spoiler asked. Cluekid shrugged, her arms going up past her head.

“If I have to!” she cried. “Someone’s gotta take him down and I’m the only one who can!”

cluekid is actually planning on faking her own death at this time, but she doesn’t have all the details worked out yet. 

“Dying’s no big D,” Batgirl said. “I do it all the time.”

Everyone turned to face her.

“I mean, once, but that’s like, more than most people do it,” she amended, and Spoiler shook her head.

i think batman!steph comes from a mix of preboot/rebirth, so she’s probably died as well

“Jesus christ,” she said. “I have to get you guys out of here. I’m going to call Drake, and we’re going to find out how to return you guys. Except maybe Cluekid, cause your universe sucks.”

spoiler just wants a chance to call another universe garbage, for a change.

“Yeah, well, your universe has people leaking into it, so it can’t be all that great,” Cluekid shot back, and Spoiler had to admit she had a point.

zing, now everyone’s made fun of rebirth.

While they grappled towards the other end of town, Batman carrying Cluekid and Dart running below them, Spoiler put in a call.

“Batman,” she said. “I have five alternate versions of myself with me.”

“Five Spoilers?” her own Batman asked, his voice gruff.

bruce instantly: [internal screaming]

“Five Stephanies,” she corrected. “A Batgirl, a speedster, a Canary, a kid, and, well. A Batman.”

“Interesting,” Batman said. “Luthor has been apprehended and once I turn off the machine, everyone should return to normal.”

“Okay,” Spoiler said, and Batman disconnected. Spoiler stopped grappling and the group gathered around her. “According to my Batman, you guys should just…go back soon.”

this fic was about conversations between stephanies, not action, which is why i feel like the end is sort of anti-climactic, but whatever. it needed to end, and it did

“It’s been nice getting to know you,” Canary said. “Although really weird.”

“Agreed,” Dart said. “I can’t imagine being a Bat.”

“I wish that would happen to me,” Cluekid said. “But…”

“It’ll be okay, kiddo,” Batman said.

“Hey,” Spoiler said. “Batman, do you have a Robin? You’re pretty good with kids.”

“Yeah,” Batman said, smiling. “Her name is Carrie.”

writing this fic made me think of a “touch the sky” sequel where steph works through the deaths of her siblings and takes in a new robin. we’ll see.

“Hell yeah,” Batgirl said, raising her hand for a fistbump. Batman obliged, and from the corner of her eye Spoiler saw the universe begin folding in on itself.

“Damn, this is me,” Dart said, looking at the wrinkle in the air. It was tied to her leg, so not a difficult conclusion to make. “Well, it’s been nice knowing you ladies. I wish all of you every success–especially you, Lil Steph.”

“Thanks,” Cluekid said, and Spoiler nodded at Dart before she vanished in a puff of purple lightning.

“I’m going to turn on my earplugs,” Canary said. “Who knows what’ll happen when I get back–but anyway, I’m going to be in the dark, hearing-wise.”

“Okay,” Spoiler said, a little confused, and Canary gave everyone a smile.

“It’s been real,” she said, and then she turned on her earplugs. She signed something at them–Spoiler knew only a few signs and couldn’t keep up. Batgirl nodded thoughtfully.

“What’d she say?” Spoiler asked.

“Oh, I have no clue,” Batgirl said. “Come to think of it, the signs me and Cass use aren’t strictly ‘real’ sign language.”

“She said that she turns off her hearing so it’s not damaged by the canary cry,” Batman said. Everyone looked at her. “What? My brother was mute and he had to talk somehow.”

tossed up on the “was” vs “is”, but i wanted damian to get better and i hoped that if any diehard “touch the sky” fans were reading this, they’d see that yeah, he does get better & talk again.

“Brother?” Spoiler repeated, and Batman said, “Damian.”

Damian, mute?

Damian, Steph’s brother?

“I’m leaving,” Canary said loudly, and they turned to face her. She was vanishing just like Dart, and she gave a little wave, then pointed at Batman, who was also disappearing.

“Goodbye,” Batman said, and then she and Canary were gone, leaving Spoiler with Batgirl and Cluekid.

“I’m gonna be real with you guys,” Cluekid said. “I know it’s only been like two minutes but seeing myself, older and with a place in the world….it’s pretty inspiring to think that in another universe I grow up to be Batman.”

“Maybe you still can,” Spoiler suggested, thinking that she didn’t like the idea of this tiny version of herself planning her own death.

“I don’t think so,” Cluekid said, smiling sadly.

“I’ve been through a lot of shit,” Batgirl said. “I’ve even died before. You can’t let any of that stop you, okay? You just gotta push through it.”

“Keep on coming back,” Spoiler said.

“However long it takes,” Batgirl said. Cluekid blinked, tears welling in her eyes, and then she reached for Spoiler and Batgirl, tugging them both into a hug.

i feel like “never give up” is kind of steph’s motto, and that’s universal among stephs. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Spoiler said, ruffling her hair, and then Cluekid was gone.

“Damn,” Batgirl said. “She says she’s inspired by us, but I’m inspired by her. She’s so brave.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spoiler said, her throat sort of rough. “Geez.”

“Well, it’s my turn next,” Batgirl said. “So, uh. Bye? I guess.”

“Have fun in your universe,” Spoiler said. “With Oracle and Supergirl.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” Batgirl said. “Have fun with….Drake. Seriously, we give you shit, but if he’s good for you–”

“He is,” Spoiler said, trying not to think of their breakups.

“Then that’s all there is to it, isn’t it,” Batgirl said. She grinned, and the air behind her began to fold. “Oh, what timing!”

“Goodbye, Batgirl,” Spoiler said.

“Bye, Spoiler,” Batgirl said. “You know, it’s nice to see that somewhere out there, we’re still in the mantle we created.”

“And it’s nice to see that we’re in a mantle given to us,” Spoiler said, and Batgirl grinned.

“Hell yeah it is,” she said, and then she was gone, and Spoiler was left alone.

She sighed, and kept moving.

spoiler & batgirl are so similar that of course they kinda got along the best….i think canary was supposed to be kind of distant like “oh that’s kinda weird” and then dart was “oh that’s SUPER weird” and then cluekid was “oh my god is she okay” and then batman more like “wow! #afraid to ask how the mantle got passed down to YOU!”

#long post #i did not do a star. i will do some stars l8r

[thepeachbasket]

The Monastery

How someone plays basketball is its own personality, a distortion of their actual personality. We see the basketball personalities of NBA players comprehensively, under bright lights. LeBron James is a maestro. Russell Westbrook is a maniac. Giannis Antetokounmpo is Olympian. Steph Curry is Houdini. 

Kawhi Leonard’s basketball personality feels a little more obscure. Announcers describe him as a robot, a cyborg, and a machine. It’s not hard to see how they reach those comparisons. Kawhi’s expression oscillates between muted and blank. He plays with an even-keeled relentlessness that resembles the plot of The Terminator. The form of his shot has a programmed consistency. But when I watch him play, these things don’t strike me as artificial. His non-reaction to everything, including a big play or devastating call, reminds me of a studious meditation on joy or sorrow. He is like a monk practicing curious non-attachment. When his face goes blank I get the sense he is focused on his breathing.

Kawhi also moves around the basketball court with a preternatural steadiness, a monastic balance, like a mind shaped by deep reflection. The balance is symmetrical. At almost all times Kawhi appears capable of jumping off either foot. Because basketball is about convincing your opponent to step out of the game’s rhythm, Kawhi’s immaculate balance has countless ramifications. From the chaos of a drive, he throws a pinpoint pass to an open shooter in the corner. His uniform shots have hypnotically geometric spirals. He slides around on defense like his opponent’s reflection. His most thunderous plays appear out of nowhere, both sudden and organic.

After Kawhi threw down a dunk late in the deciding game of the Eastern Conference Finals over Giannis Antetokounmpo, maybe the most astounding athlete currently playing basketball, he fell to the floor, popped back up, and ran back on defense. A few minutes later, Giannis unceremoniously blocked his next dunk attempt. Kawhi landed violently on his side, popped back up, and ran back on defense. There is an equality to how Kawhi approaches every moment of a basketball game -- regardless of score, time, stakes, or outcome – a matching dignity. In both plays, he was a basketball player who got back on defense.

His team has taken on a similar identity. Before Kawhi arrived, the Raptors were defined by playoff collapses and no-shows. This season has been different. After winning Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals, Kyle Lowry coined the term “The Kawhi Effect,” explaining it like this: “Kawhi is going to get attention all the time, no matter what.” He is talking about how multiple defenders have to focus on Kawhi even when he doesn’t have the ball, but I’m more drawn by the second half of the statement. All the time, no matter what. In Game 5, the Raptors fell behind 18-4 early in the game. No one panicked. In Game 6, they stared out of a 15-point hole midway through the third quarter. They kept chipping away. They won both games and the series. Now they’re headed to the Finals. 

The ascetic life requires a monk to give up excesses and indulgences. There is a part of the brain that lights up when we have a craving, and there is a part of the brain that lights up when we feel at peace. I love excesses and indulgence in my basketball. They are some of most thrilling and satisfying components of the game. The predominant extravagance of the past few years has been the Warriors. They obliterate hope in frenzied, monumental scoring barrages. They play with a swagger and volume distinct to their greatness. But a satisfied craving produces a greater craving. In this year’s Finals, Kawhi provides a meaningful counterpoint: present on the court, as the hissing static of the game approaches and recedes, he plays basketball into each moment.

-- Frank Basket

#Kawhi Leonard #NBA Playoffs #NBA Finals #toronto raptors