#formerlyrobin

𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧     »     𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 ​

gotham's  restless  tonight .     if you know what you’re looking for ,  at least ;   in cacophonies of footsteps polishing asphalt outside neon bar puddles ,  in back allies where blood spatters blend with the dark and bodies do too ,  twisted into shapes and left to themselves ,  in the very air itself bristled static electricity under billowing clouds reaching out for the highest roofs .     it’s a night made for the sewer dwellers ,  the rats and the poisonous left in the gutter ,  the kind of darkness meant for looking the other way ,  refusing the other cheek .     there’s nothing but a buzzing in the streets and dead silence tucked behind them ,  sounds of the better left alone muffled in contrast ,  skipped over record ,  and the sound of a gunshot will sound just a little bit more like a car backfiring .

          he leaves the body for someone else to find ,  pretends he doesn’t want to lose the lunch he didn’t have at the sight of him   ——   not the body but the man .     now a pile of meat and bone already going stiff ,  no doubt ,  and the thought brings jason some semblance of comfort .     as much as one can over a corpse ,  anyway .     the rooftops bode better ,  the taste of tomorrow’s rain on his tongue and the wind past his ears ,  his next inhale that of someone breaking through the surface of an ocean .     or maybe just smelling the roses .

it doesn’t last long ,  though ,  because when does it ever .     gotham’s sooner the smell of its sewers themselves ,  wet and acrid ,  closer to roadkill ,  if you ask jason .     a heaping pile of dog shit on burnt toast .     yeah .     what else could this smell of other than complete bullshit shoveled straight in his lap :  the image of black and blue laid at his feet .     no ,  literally   ——   boots faced out towards the next roof over ,  gaze turned down past the floors to the alleyway below ,  there lays a form far too easy to recognize .          ❝   . . .   you have got to be shitting me .   ❞          and yet ,  grappling hooks propel him down ,  landing purposefully loud as if he can shatter the illusion ,  but smooth ,  one easy step placed after the other ,  easy   ——   it’d be so  𝙴𝙰𝚂𝚈  to stomp on the motherfucker’s head .     goddammit   ——          ❝   hey .     dickhead .     you still alive ?   ❞          instead ,  he merely nudges the body of his predecessor with his foot ,  and tries to ignore any shades of red mixed with the blue .

Kara absentmindedly rubs her hands together, occasionally wringing them, as if it would rid her of the chill coursing through her body. Her hands felt ice-cold to her touch, making the rest of her feeling numb. She hadn’t even noticed how or when she’d gotten from the front door to the couch inside. “N-No, sorry, I-I didn’t know where else to go. Oh god, you were probably sleeping and I-“ She cut off, anxious rambling clashing with her existing panic. 

Her knees are close to bumping into his, but she pays no mind to that, having grown familiar with him and his company over the past months they knew each other. Clearing her throat, Kara’s eyes stay fixed on the their knees and her hands that fidgeted in her lap. “They- They had kryptonite. The DEO- they kept kryptonite for emergencies, but someone broke in and stole some and they managed to use it against me… I don’t even know who it was.” She quietly admitted, hating the weakened feeling that coursed through her. The feeling of nails running through her blood had subsided to just the other effects of weakness, pain, and just being feverish. The blonde had barely managed to get away, solely focused on getting to the only other safe place she knew.  

@formerlyrobin​ : “You look exhausted. Did you get any sleep last night?”

He couldn't help but slump into the seat of the car absolutely exhausted. Darkness covered Gotham and it had been a long tiring day. At least he made a friend. That young woman, Fox. She was kind to a lost boy being hunted by assassins. Still it was nice to see a slightly familiar face (even if it was just from photos) now that Dick had appeared and brought him back into the safety of something assured.

"Just Patya, please?" He hated his actual name. Prince Kolya. The reality ofhis life was he was running from Prince Kolya's life of royalty and power hungry siblings. All he wanted to do was shower, go to bed and wish he had never been born. He wanted home that didn't exist.

@formerlyrobin​ sent : ‘ wait ‘   FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS GRABBING THEIR ARM TO KEEP THEM FROM LEAVING -jason @ sky

𝐢𝐭  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲  𝐚  𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ,  so  really ,  they  shouldn’t  be  surprised  at  a  half-serious  answer .     &&  they're not ,  or maybe they are ,  or maybe it’s more at the twisted expression splitting jason’s face at the seams ,  half-expecting the teeth underneath to be  𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙿  &&  𝙹𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳  along the edges .     but they’re not     (  on the contrary ;  that’s  beast boy’s  thing ,  not robin’s  ) ,     just normal ,  human  teeth ,  grinning over breaths only just shy of labored from sparring .

damned birds  &&  their batman training .     the expression takes the fight out of them faster than any sparring has ,  lungs suddenly stiff around the next exhale ,  shoulders slumping .     they shouldn’t have asked ,  really ,  should’ve known better after an hour with jason todd ,  moreso three months trapped in a tower with him .     but they did ,  &&  a part of them wonders if the guy couldn’t stand to have it asked of him more often .

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐝  𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧  𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 .     better proportionately ,  at least .     there’s not much to consider better  when it comes to this ,  them ,  a discarded tool in every instance but the present :  dick ,  stooped down to their eye-level ,  legs crossed  &&  body hunched as if to make himself look smaller ,  an animal whisperer trying to tame the wild beast backed into a corner .     like they’re made of wicks blooming wildfire  &&  burning down to something worse     ——     they’re not sure which is ;  tool or beast ,  but what they know for certain is that the worst case scenario lies in a combination of the two .

they want to learn how to be  𝙽𝙴𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 ,  so much so their veins burn with it ,  liquid smoke that chokes them every spare moment .     they’re dizzy with it ,  head spinning on bunched up shoulders ,  long-forgotten notes still echoing distant drums in their ears .     they know kori didn’t mean to .     it’s not her fault ,  anyone’s fault that they haven’t been able to talk about it     ——     about anything .     it still feels too fresh ,  still smoldering gray coals in the pit of their stomach ,  the back of their mind .     it’s not kori’s fault the radio stations in this district suck ,  that she scrolled mindlessly through them to find something to make soup to ,  something soft  &&  light  &&  lax like the sunlight coming in through the windows .     it’s not her fault the nearest station she found with anything like that was a classical one ,  that the cello just sounds like a deeper violin sometimes ,  that the cadence was just soft enough ,  light enough ,  to remind them of fluorescents blaring sharp against the back of their eyes down into the hollow of their skull where something slick  &&  cold pressed against the flesh there .

they feel sick ,  but only faintly so ,  now .     they’re back to themself ,  tucked into some back room where the walls are hard enough to leave straggling scratches instead of missing chunks of drywall .     dick looks pale ,  but steady ,  always steady in the face of everything even if all of them know better .     a breathless laugh barks from their tongue ,  unprompted  &&  a little more hysterical than they intend ,  like some invisible hand has taken hold of their lungs  &&  started squeezing .     dried-out gaze grows wet ,  suddenly ,  &&  it turns on the other man like another switch has been flipped .     like they’re treading water  &&  clinging to the nearest life raft hard enough to make it  pop .     ❝  what ,  like  you ?  ❞     it comes out on the tail-end ,  a weary breath punctuating what they can’t quite call a laugh ,  not really ,     ❝  the epitome of recovery ?     waking up in the night ,  if you ever even go to sleep     ——     staring out the windows like you'd rather be jumping out of them ?     when is someday ,  exactly ?     next week ,  maybe ,  a decade ?     ——     maybe next fucking  𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼𝚂𝙳𝙰𝚈 ,  when another king of an underworld tries to eat the entire planet again .     ‘  we’ll sleep when we’re dead  ’ ,  right ?  ❞