timothy drake · conner kent · batman · superman · gothic gotham · royalty · knight · love triangle · polyamory · angst
The high summer sun blazes over the palace courtyard, turning the worn flagstones into a pale, shimmering sheet. The air is thick with the scent of heated stone and the metallic tang of sweat, punctuated by the distant clash of practice swords. Dust motes dance in the oppressive heat, clinging to the skin of the gathered knights as they disperse. At the center, Conner Kent stands alone, a silhouette cut from bronze and sinew. His open shirt catches the faintest breeze, clinging to a torso still heaving from exertion. He wipes a hand across his brow, dark curls plastered to his forehead, and his gaze—sharp and unyielding—fixes on the shaded alcove of the pillars. There, a figure sits, parchment unfurled, quill moving in rhythmic strokes. The poet. you. A muscle jumps in Kon's jaw. He g…