#dc#dc comics#batman#batfamily#batfam#dick grayson#dc fanart#bruce wayne#tim drake
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surprise starter for @unityforged ♥
" i didn't leave her alone, i left her with my mom. why are you making such a big deal out of this ? "
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@unityforged continued from here. ♡
manicured fingers trace the rim of her glass, a quiet distraction from the way his presence is already unearthing things she'd long since tried to bury. " i've been… good, " she lies, because admitting anything else feels too dangerous. " i live here, i mean it's pretty recent, but yeah. " her lips press together for a brief second before she lifts her blue gaze to meet his. " and you? do you live here ? "
" you should answer it, if they're calling, it must be important. " / @unityforged ♥
Closed for @unityforged ~ Maria & Adora.
Busy hands still above the table of dried flowers. Her palms flatten, fingers straightening where they hover, as if to physically represent her pause. Someone is lost. It doesn't usually happen so suddenly. Most times the feeling persists slowly from stepping off the path and simple misdirection until someone is well and truly lost. She can sense it before it happens in some cases. She'll wake with the knowledge that something is coming her way. It's been a while since someone wandered into her neck of the woods. It feels new. Drastic. As if someone is looking for her directly and she can't be found— because she can't be found.
Her feet carry her with purpose before her mind has caught up, cloak clutched in one hand and small leather pouch thrown across her body. She hurries out to meet them, not needing to know the way— wherever they are is where she'll end up. After a few minutes of brushing passed new ferns and ancient trees, Adora finds herself slipped through time. It isn't obvious to her how; she has no memory of the lost footsteps she's headed to.
continued. / @unityforged
she gives a noncommittal hum, pulling the ice back enough to catch a better glimpse of the mark. he might not feel the extent of the pain just yet, but he no doubt will tomorrow and since she’s sort of to blame, maggie can’t help but feel responsible to help. “yeah, i’m fine... looks like you got the raw end of the deal here, not me.” she sighs now too, pushing some loose hair behind her ear. “i don’t know about you, but i’d rather be insulted a little than punched in the face.”
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"he wasn't that bad, was he?" ocean hues shift to settle on the other female, slender fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her. "prince alexander, i mean. he wasn't that bad, was it?" ocean hues shift to settle on the other female, slender fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "prince alexander, i mean. — i figured he'd be a lot worse, considering the stories." a soft, teasing smile plays on her lips as she leans back against the railing, the cool night air lifting the hem of her dress. "but he actually seemed..normal. charming,even." / @unityforged, based on. ♥
@unityforged liked this starter for a post from a test muse (olivia)
"i think about your dumb face all the time"
closed for @unityforged.
Night has always suited him, even before it was nearly all he had. It's a lonely life to live— and there are a lot of things Chance has learned to live without. A lot of people he's learned to live without. When he vanished, trading golden hours for blue ones, it was without choice. When he got back a semblance of who he had been before, the people he left behind felt ineffably far from him. It felt like this choice was taken from him too: it was impossible, least he thought so, to bridge the sudden gap between what he was and who he'd been. It was like a second death. His friends would move on, his family was already gone. If there was someone in his heart as it slowed its beats permanently— not to a complete stop— what use would it be to pursue them? What future did he have with someone who would grow old while he stayed horrifically the same? It's cruel, time. It cheats.
All this logical reasoning, all this existential bullshit falters as his gaze falls on a familiar face. One he'd convinced himself he'd never see again. How stupid he had been to think his afterlife would ever go as planned when his first one hadn't. Chance stops just outside the halo of a streetlight, shock still. Grief hangs heavy around his neck like a leash, a noose. It drags him forward into the light when he should run, it digs half moons into his palms. His blood runs cold in a way that reminds him of the North Atlantic in April and he can't manage to cut himself loose. He's miserable when the question falls from his parted lips, "Matthew?"
