#circusblud

while‎ ‎ casually‎ ‎ spinning‎ ‎ the‎ ‎ ‎blue‎ ‎ ecrima‎ ‎ stick‎ ‎ in‎ ‎ a‎ ‎ gloved‎ ‎ hand,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎the‎ ‎ markswoman‎ ‎ arches‎ ‎ an‎ ‎ eyebrow‎ ‎ at‎ ‎ that‎ ‎ remark‎ ‎ of‎ ‎ his.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ┈⌯⁍𖦏 He speaks in hushed tones, husky voice underused. League dialect rumbles from him as he stands closer than arms reach to the Robin. Form at ease. The usual straight spine holding rifles and killing intent is curved ever so slightly forward as blank white lenses hold eye contact with the Bird's. His full attention undivided.

❝ 「 < Don't let yourself be disappointed by them. > 」 ❞ He rumbles. Gently his head tilts. Waiting. Heaven knows he's been disappointed, maddeningly so. Yet, hands stay unclenched. No weapon tucked in his fist.

If anything it's the most relax the Red Hood has been seen. A calmness on the rooftop deep in his well patrolled territory. ❝ 「 < You are always welcome with me. > 」 ❞ He rumbles and huffs some. His living conditions were poor but it was a haven away from unwelcome eyes.

@circusblud 𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗘𝗗: "you  need  to  back  off.  now."

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ​ ┈⌯⁍𖦏 Jason stared at him, hunched over like a dog caught eating sweltering roadkill. Still standing over a body, hovering. His hands are dripping. Pupils are blown wide as he just stares. He can't find his voice for a long stretch.

❝ This was mine. ❞

His breath catches in his throat. Rusty, like he hasn't spoken in days. He is somewhere between a creature, begging for undying attention, and something that wishes to never be looked at again. It’s hard to remember who he was before this. He catches glimpses of memories that don’t seem to be his own yet are so, unmistakably etched into his soul that he cannot escape them. His head aches. Nightwing was in a lot of them. The memories. Haunting.

❝ He broke the rules. I can deal with it as I see fit. ❞

@circusblud 𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗘𝗗: i want to help you, damn it! can't you get that?!

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ​ ┈⌯⁍𖦏 ❝ IT DOESN'T FEEL LIKE IT! ❞

Jason yelled back. And for a moment it felt like they were still in the DAMN mansion in much brighter colors. An inescapable labyrinthine his soul is still trapped in. He had trained with the league and under Talia. He had traveled around the world gaining skills. He made his body into a WEAPON and committed ATROCITIES for a proof of concept. But right now he just picked up what was closet to him and threw it at Dick. And then the next thing and the next thing. A lamp, his cell phone, a book.

❝ IT FEELS LIKE YOU WISH I NEVER CAME BACK! ❞

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ​ ┈⌯⁍𖦏

All the words he couldn't say Fill up the spaces in his chest

❝ I'm the WELL they're gonna drag you down ❞

Ominous. He doesn't explain. He's resting against a parapet. Long legs pulled to his chest as he stares out at the harbor. He wonders if Nightwing feels cursed in association or if he feels they aren't connected to each other. Fingers scratch at his neck. He wants a cigarette. Are they Brothers? Who knows. His head hurts.

ASK  MEME :     HOW'S  MY  PORTRAYAL? 

AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!     Thank  you  so  much  for  such  incredible  words  ;-;  I'm  really  glad  to  know  that  I've  brought  Terry  into  someone's  life  in  such  a  positive  way.  He's  such  a  good  egg  really  and  generally  slept  on  in  the  DC  space  I  feel.  He's  truly  my  little  butterbean  and  I  hope  to  get  the  chance  to  introduce  and  share  him  with  more  people,  so  thank  you  for  the  words  and  the  opportunity. 

𝖂HIPLASH  SEEMED  TO  BE  REAL  AS  TERRY  TOOK  IN  EVERYTHING  THAT  WAS  THE  WAYNE  MANOR.        The  surroundings  were  surreal  in  a  way  he  wasn’t  expecting.  Everything  was  similar,  near  identical  to  what  he  knew  minus  a  layer  of  dust,  but  it  was  actually  lived  in  this  time  around.  His  eyes  would  occasionally  lock  onto  a  slightly  wet  shoe  tread  on  the  floors  that  hadn’t  been  wiped  up  yet  or  an  askew  picture  on  a  shelf  from  where  someone  had  potentially  brushed  into  it.  Everything  about  the  massive  house  screamed  that  it  was  so  much  more  than  that   ⸻   it  was  actually  a  home.  Terry  felt  himself  swallowing  heavily  as  he  sat  himself  down  on  the  plush  leather  couch  in  the  center  of  one  of  the  living  spaces,  eyes  scanning  all  of  the  walls  around  him,  doing  his  best  to  commit  everything  to  memory.  It  was  just  insane  to  him.  Sitting  here.  Existing.  Eventually  his  eyes  slide  onto  the  man  across  from  him  in  the  arm  chair,  an  assortment  of  drinks  and  small  snacks  laid  out  by  Alfred.  He  had  never  had  the  honor  to  meet  the  man  so  it  was  just  another  oddity  to  experience.

When  Terry  is  called  out  for  staring  at  Dick  he’s  incredibly  quick  to  look  away,  the  joints  in  his  neck  close  to  popping  from  the  force  at  which  he  turned  his  head  a  different  direction.  He  had  been  called  out  so  easily  though  he  hadn’t  been  able  to  really  help  the  look.  Flashes  of  Dick  had  been  rolling  through  his  mind  since  he  had  gotten  here.  Of  the  man  that  had  been  his  handler.  The  vigilante  that  saved  his  life,  kept  him  and  his  baby  brother  Mattie  alive  after  a  nasty  run-in  with  Joker   …   so  many  memories  that  are  alive  inside  of  him  that  he  doesn’t  know  if  he  will  ever  be  able  to  experience  ever  again.  It  felt  as  if  he  had  lost  his  father  all  over  again  only  to  meet  once  more  and  not  recognize  one  another  with  their  eyes.  But  their  souls   …   their  souls  still  seemed  to  call  for  one  another,  and  it  had  Terry  in  agony.    ❝  Just  memories,  th’ts  all.  Nothin  important,  Dick.  ❞     He  doesn’t  mean  to  sound  so  dismissive  but  he’s  still  unsure  of  what  he  can  say,  what  he  can  talk  about.  It  had  become  quite  clear  that  the  timelines  were  different,  but  he  was  still  being  cautious.    ❝  Sorry  if  I  made  you  uncomfortable.  This  is  just  a  lot.  Not  bad,  just   …   a  lot.  ❞