[ at night, shadows blanket the treacherous streets of midgar's undercity, save for wall market's neon lights. the hum of activity and human connection, however fraught, is no sign of safety from the monsters and bandits that occasionally venture beyond midgar's unpopulated areas. visit wall market long enough, and you learn one of two things: the light can be an illuminating glow to the city's fractures, to contradictions of class and caste that define its people's futures... or the light can be a glare that obscures you to hierarchies so shaped by force and exploitation. what inevitably "trickles down" from shinra on high is not the elevation of midgar's citizens below the plates, but a collective unhappiness purveyed by overseers like don corneo. "peace" below hardly ever means being at ease at night, knowing you have enough for next month's rent. "peace" means slaving away at your debts, keeping your head down, and looking away when others are being put down.
dick always considered himself lucky. growing up in a traveling circus meant never staying in one place for too long, never quite acquainting himself with the true dynamics of a single place. what he always knew, and would in fact call home, was constantly being built and rebuilt on new ground. from gongaga to kalm to the gold saucer, haly's circus has been everywhere, dick's childhood a broader expanse than most. that would all change, of course, the moment haly's circus entered don corneo's crosshairs. the moment wall market's local protection racket sought to make an example of the circus's defiance of his will, precisely by making an example of the revered flying graysons.
what haly's circus lost that night, batman gained in a partner. an apprentice. the scourge of shinra above and below, the dark knight made the average shinra grunt and corneo stooge - alike - cower at the slightest sound or movement in any darkness. the light that soon followed in robin cast a menacing light on affairs, because where batman just knocked you out with clinical precision, this kid toyed with you. made a mockery of you and everything you stood for, even while knocking you on your ass all the same.
batman and robin changed the meaning of midgar's shadows. turned them from a source of fear to its denizens, hiding any untold number of monsters and criminals, to a source of fear for the criminals in question. without anyone ever learning who batman and robin were, the darkness of midgar was soon reclaimed by the people. years pass like this, even as corneo's empire still reigns under shinra's beneficence. but hierarchies get questioned, people fight back, and sometimes - because it happens enough times to matter - the bullies second-guess themselves. hesitate before threatening or dealing a blow.
and not, after a time, because batman is watching.
but because nightwing is.
it seems that the squire has taken over for the knight, a lithe yet powerfully-built specter in black and blue taking his place... just as avalanche - an organization devoted to dismantling shinra's power - has entered the picture, sowing unrest with acts of civil disobedience if not outright terrorism. vigilantes in their own right, then, taking action into their own hands.
so of course, an audience with nightwing was inevitable.
but a tense alliance never meant he couldn't fraternize with avalanche's ranks, forge bonds that mattered more than differences in methods.
which is why dick grayson, adopted heir to the wayne fortune, has to keep discreet just to pay seventh heaven a visit, lest prying eyes speculate and bring more attention to the place than it needs. it's not like its owner, tifa lockhart, doesn't have enough on her plate. it's not like she now needs people wondering what business the famous dick grayson has visiting her alone, on odd evenings, for all the customers that kind of buzz could pull in. tifa, after all, has had her fill of enterprising minds who take advantage of her for commerce and publicity. neither is what brings dick to seventh heaven anyway.
so again, midgar at night. safer streets, albeit marginally, than where tifa and dick alike had set foot. rife as it once was, in their two pasts, with dangers monstrous and mundane. ]
Remind me again how you make these, Tifa...
[ dick says, swirling his glass of tifa's famous cosmo canyon, ]
...so I can show Alfred how to do it next time.
[ leaning over the bar, elbows planted on its wood surface, dick looks on at tifa with a relaxed grin, smirk small while half-lidded blues gaze at her wistfully. his calm exterior is an act of resistance against inner disquiet, the all too familiar awareness that moments of repose don't always last, like the rug can be pulled from under one's feet at any moment. the rub, there, is in never knowing when that moment will be. never knowing how much he needs to treasure, or savor, before something else slips from his fingers.
like his parents. like bruce.
the longer he spends time with tifa, better understanding her habits of mind with every moment alone, the longer that dread looms.
at least before he remembers how hard she can punch. ]
[ When they'd first met, he'd intimidated her. She'd been in Midgar long enough to know about Nightwing, and the stories of Batman who came before him. She'd admired them, seen directly what they'd done for the city. Maybe it had even encouraged her, when she found out what Jessie and Biggs and the others were up to, to take the leap and try to make a difference. Things weren't going to get better under Shinra. Nibelheim was proof enough of that. In its own way, it was even worse here in the city, where their corruption and exploitation happened under everyone's nose, and the people just looked the other way.
So he'd intimidated her, because she admired what he did, because he was from an organized world of training and handling crime and striking with precision. And because, long before she'd met Dick, she'd recognized her master's fighting style on the mysterious Nightwing. But that was also why she was the one who'd pushed to find a way to approach him.
And now, sometimes, he dropped by her bar on a slow afternoon, and she was finding she enjoyed his company, the same way she'd enjoyed Jessie and Biggs and Barret and the others.
She knows their line of work is dangerous. She knows accidents happen, that people go missing. She knows Shinra isn't going to stop, and the bolder they are, the more likely a mysterious fire or explosion happens to someone they care about. But right now, she's just a bartender, and this is just a budding regular who she enjoys chatting with.
She leans against the counter as she dries a round of glasses. When Dick comes in on a dead Tuesday afternoon like this, she can pay him a little more attention. ]
No [ she says. Her eyes glitter, her smile small but playful. ] That's my house special, for one, and for two, you'd have no reason to come back.
[ She leans in, smile broadening conspiratorially as she drops her voice. ] But I promise to confirm or deny if you guess correctly.
[ When they'd first met, she intimidated him. Occasional disagreements in methods put Nightwing in constant tension with Avalanche, despite how - when push came to shove - they began to need each other. Escaping from the shadows of the urban legend that Batman once was, Nightwing was embraced by Midgar as a real flesh-and-blood local hero. A man of mystery, to be sure, but not of myth like his predecessor. Someone to root for who, by association, lended credibility to Avalanche's name. It would not be long before people assumed Nightwing was part of Avalanche, or that Avalanche's actions reflected on Nightwing and vice versa. Yet while Dick couldn't control the public perception of their actions, he also knew Avalanche was no monolith, disparate sects likewise at odds with each other over means and ends. The necessary difficulties, indeed, of coalition.
This realization made it easier for him to make sense of Tifa, whose shared goals with Avalanche did not stop her from being the first to voice her qualms over putting innocents at risk-- that statements didn't need to be made with collateral damage to people, even if property was fair game. While it only drew Dick closer to her during deliberations, ears always perking up at her occasional contribution, he wasn't sure what to make of her till she saw her out in the field - every blow she dealt to foes reminding him, inexorably, of Zangan's teachings. That made her the easiest to approach, as many in Avalanche still had qualms working with a man who concealed his identity. And maybe Tifa did too... till she eventually watched Dick's movements just as closely. The way, sans his use of Eskrima sticks, his repertoire mirrored hers.
It became increasingly common for him and Tifa to operate as a two-person strike team. A dynamic duo, of sorts, efficiently clearing the board of hostiles with their combined martial prowess. Even before properly knowing each other, they moved like clockwork to dispatch their enemies with flurries of attacks. The occasional elemental materia, sure, but nothing more satisfying that kicking a tonberry to the curb. But teamwork like that made them feel like they knew each other more than they did, like some unspoken shared experience was echoing between them... till Dick one day broke that silence.
He challenged Tifa to a sparring match, betting that if he lost, he'd take off his mask - but only to her. And that if she lost, he'd get a year of free drinks.
Needless to say... he took of the mask.
And now their normal includes Tuesdays like these, an afternoon where Dick can be himself - quite literally - around Tifa, the mask and the costume gone.
Their little secret.
And when she regards him with that playful smile over talk of the cosmo canyon, Dick can't help but return it with his own amused grin, quirking his brow. ]
I don't know about that. I can think of many reasons to come back.
[ Then, her challenge. Should he switch on his detective brain for this, he wonders? ]
Definitely some vodka, and a bit lemony at that. So maybe citron.
But there's a prevailing cranberry taste. Probably juice.
And the subdued orange taste suggests the inclusion of another liqueur. Cointreau?
I don't know. [ He smirks at her playfully. ] I'd probably need another glass to confirm.
[ the coastal night air of bludhaven masks the subtle hints of pollutants that - for better or worse - give the city its identity. though nothing spectacular like the dregs of joker venom or fear toxin permeates the city streets, evidence of embattled evenings that comprise all too many a gotham night, bludhaven's just grittier. raw, like an open wound. the very thing that nightwing, its designated protector, must suture night after night, whether it's blockbuster or the court of owls rearing their ugly heads to sow discord.
the tumult of the life he's chosen leaves dick grayson with little time to sit still. to truly contemplate the weight of his choices, the connections he's forged... and the ones he's abandoned. even what, till recently, he didn't even realize he forgot. something changed for dick one night on patrol, swinging across buildings as the black and red silhoutte his city has come to call nightwing. call it a sharp light, a mysterious glow, an anomalous tear in the fabric of reality. not a portal one accesses physically, but one that reveals something to the mind, appears in nightwing's way, his body hurtling into it mid-swing... and seemingly coming out of it unscathed.
save for a new awareness, it seems, of lost knowledge. forgotten truths. stolen memories.
the kind that can't be explained away just by a super-being punching the universe hard enough. or a speedster running fast enough to reset and rearrange the timeline. but it is no doubt a random consequence, an astronomical manifestation of chance, that just so happens to affect different corners of this universe so arbitrarily. so cruelly. because there's nothing crueller than cursing dick grayson with the memories of a life unlived, a life once lived, but difficult to reclaim. because how can you claim any foothold to the miasmic, insubstantial haze of a dream? how can you reconstruct the very thing you're struggling to remember in real time?
it's paralyzing, this sensation of being out of step with reality. of not knowing left from right, just because the laws of the universe seem like a lie. like the arbitrary whims of a creator who toys with who you are, swaps memories for lies that sweep the past - and its truth - under a rug you can't perceive. behind a barrier you wouldn't even know to push against. to break.
at least until the universe decides to break it for you.
days pass, dick ruminating on the slivers of memory that strike him like lightning. animate his fervent scramblings on a notepad, etching every loose idea of something that had the credible firmnness of experience.
the intimate awareness of one word, the only word, that truly pierces the veil.
kory. ]
This is Nightwing.
I'm an associate of Jason Todd's. You know him as the Red Hood.
We need to talk.
[ these messages find themselves in the phone of starfire, alien superhero often sighted alongside the likes of red hood and arsenal. ]
Something happened to me.
And part of me suspects it's happened to you, too.
If you're like me, and you can't not talk about it, you've got my coordinates.
Just let me know.
[ that's the most he says before putting away his phone, staring out from a corner of the bludhaven pier, dick looming precariously over the edge. blue stands out against his otherwise black costume, now, instead of a red he's now discarded for being more contrived. less natural. like the color was a choice made for him, the icing on the cake that was his cosmic amnesia.
all the same, what's never changed is dick's eagerness dwell on the precipice of things, he's most at home in such danger, no matter how perilous the drop. the peril, in fact, only exacerbates the thrill. the anticipation of satisfaction over another acrobatic feat, or superheroic triumph, achieved.
but what feat or triumph is there to expect in picking up the pieces of a life unlived? of a world taken away from him without his knowing? would provoking this meeting truly resolve anything, or further open the wound left behind by this cosmic anomaly of the mind?
there's only one person who can answer that, dick realizes. the only person who could fly to him so quickly over such a call to action.
[ Night always seems to have a way of bringing little ripples of memories to the surface of her mind. Particularly nights like tonight when the sky seems so clear on her little island tucked away so far away from the hustle and the bustle. Clear air around her, the sound of gentle ocean waves crashing against the shore, everything that should be a recipe for peace. Yet instead her mind seems to crave something else. Memories of an entirely different life dance on the periphery of her vision and she sighs softly to herself.
Pretending never suits her. Not for long. Hiding suits her even less. But when one feels so much sometimes it feels like the only choice left. Taking time. Space. Little distractions to keep herself from succumbing too much to emotions as rough and raging as the ocean that now surrounds her. Perhaps that's why she found herself here-- relating to the ocean itself. Vast and filled with unknowns. One moment gentle and comforting, the next rough and raging. A reflection of how her own emotions flicker within her constantly. The greatest joys can come with the greatest sorrows.
A perfect way to describe that other life. One filled with a different team, bonds that felt forever unbreakable, the greatest of joys. Joys that gave way crack by crack to some of the greatest sorrows any of them ever felt. She knows they all hurt. Having spent time with Arsenal and Red Hood now she wonders if perhaps that's just the way things go on Earth with superheroes. If perhaps there is some sort of outside push that leads them all to pain of some kind.
Strange where she finds her mind wandering to with those thoughts. Who she finds it wandering to.
Stranger still when her phone chimes and she looks over. Surprise jolts through her. Surprise that circles to confusion.
Should she respond? Or should she just go?
The emotional part of her, the one that feels so intensely, wants to simply go. Fly to where she knows he'll be right then and there. A thousand little pieces of memories flit through her mind, transform themselves into racing questions.
Joy. Sorrow. Anger. It all flashes through and for a few moments she simply stares at the ocean. For this moment they're the same. ]
It will not take me too long to reach you.
[ Regret's never an emotion she wishes to linger with for too long and regret would have drowned her if she didn't start her flight to the coordinates she knew to find him in. She flies fast, partially to reach him, and partially simply to feel the freedom flight brings. To try to let her emotions settle some as she makes her way to a most unexpected person. Unexpected and yet so terribly familiar. Perhaps certain things truly never do change.
True to her word it doesn't take her long to reach those coordinates. Fiery hair trailing wildly behind her she can't help but pause as she takes him in, slowly floating closer to where he's looming. Pangs of the familiar, of the old, hit her like waves. The time to wonder if it's a mistake is long gone from her mind and instead she simply smiles. Kindness there in the forefront, though there's a certain sadness in the depths of her eyes. ]
It's very good to see you, Dick. [ A weak thing to say when there's so much to be said. But it's the first thing that jumps out of her mind and she's always been one to simply say that very first thing. ]
[ The moment Dick observes that fateful text, he pockets away his phone once more, content to stare at the same vast expanse for the time being. The distant ocean, the immediate sea. The way the water crashes against the legs of the dock on which he stands, foaming at every collision with aged wood. Here a manmade structure persists, unbowed against the ebbs and flows of the sea - calm one moment, violent the next. He wonders, all the while, if he and Kory are like that. Consistent, despite the ever-changing tides of the cosmos. Shaped by it utterly, till they no longer recognize themselves on the surface, but their essential selves remain the same, buried and waiting to be found once more. Time will tell if this is only a wave's gentle lap or its violent crash. With no firm expectations, Dick only wants something to cut through all the noise.
The truth.
And it comes in the form of a descending star, leaving behind an ephemeral path of flames. She hovers in front of him now, feet yet to touch the ground. Though Dick's pulse quickens at the mere sight of her, his posture doesn't change, arms crossed while looking up at her with a distinct serenity. Like he'd come to a realization, for better or worse, that has freed him from some misleading apprehension. His own smile, subdued, even hints at some form of satisfaction - like he'd made a wager about the ineffable workings of the universe, and was proven right. ]
You remember my name.
Just like I now remember yours, Kory.
[ It feels so natural when it comes out of his mouth, tongue and vocal chords at home in that name, despite him only remembering Kory so recently. In speaking it, it's like his body remembers what his mind does not, retaining what the world had taken from his conscience. ]
I can't fully explain what happened to us and why.
And while I think I know who to ask... there are better times to play detective. Especially when other things are at stake.
[ Finally, he relaxes his arms, a free hand now reaching up to Kory in invitation. If not for her to take his hand, then maybe... to bring her down to his level, if only for a moment. ]
Our lives were stolen from us, Kory. A cosmic sleight of hand affected this world.
If you remember the same things I do... I don't know how to return to that.
[ "Sorry" is somehow the hardest word to say. It can mean so many things at once. Assuming responsibility, assuming blame, assuming fault... but also admitting to failure of some kind. And how is a young man who spends so many sleepless nights on the razor's edge, never certain he'd see the sunrise alive, supposed to tolerate failure? The concept is so contrary - so alien - to his training, where peak performance of mind and body isn't an aspiration but an expectation. Where the mission at hand, to save as many lives as possible and combat as much harm as possible, is so endlessly demanding, so endlessly consuming. Parents, friends, lovers-- god knows how much has been taken from Tim in this life, just so he could pursue so altruistic a cause.
Yet this was always the path Tim chose... and the path he knew only he could follow. Back when Batman needed a Robin, right after the second one had just died. But as time passed, and Jason returned, that wasn't even the last occassion people cheated death. Seeing Kon come back, Bart come back, Stephanie come back-- it was like the world was paying Tim back for the grief he just had to swallow and surmount, as much as it tormented him for years. As much as it still lingered in the back of his mind, no matter how and for how long he embraced Kon, kissed Stephanie. It was like the world was forgiving him for his failings, for his inability to be in multiple places at once to be the Robin he should have been.
Like it was telling him it's okay to say "sorry." To reconsider, perhaps, the meaning of failure.
And understand how much of what he'd failed to do was not his fault. But beyond what the rational brain could challenge, the damage was done. The pain stayed so raw, beyond what he could rationalize with the knowledge of lives restored. Recovering what he'd lost didn't revert Tim to some pristine, untraumatized self. It only made him wish there wasn't lost time to make up for, that the initial tragedies didn't happen in the first place. Tim could accept that his friends were back, but could he truly forgive himself? Could he move on? Because he knew Bruce never quite forgave himself for the way his parents were murdered, no matter what time and finding a new family had healed... and so Bruce sacrificed his life to defeat an extraterrestrial tyrant - Darkseid - before he could ever learn to forgive himself.
Tim had to change. But to change meant he had to move on, to understand himself not as a being who could abandon such grief, but embrace it instead.
Make peace with it, so he can finally embrace the people in his life who are back.
And maybe embrace someone new.
Despite the turbulent world he entered upon meeting Hana Song, Tim started to understand the meaning of forgiving himself. Fighting at her side, he placed himself so firmly beyond the darkness of Gotham, the tragedies of the Titans. There's always so much going on, after all, that even the Justice League can't always respond to. Like the rise of the Gwishin omnics in South Korea, and the subsequent resistance of MEKA - based in Busan - to their incursions. An entire tableau of tragedies and triumphs, not unlike the sheer patchwork of worlds represented by the Justice League's own roster, brought to Tim's attention. Demanding his help.
As much as Hana's war in Busan persists, like Tim's very own in Gotham, the two found solace in each other from their respective pasts. Tim has his demons, Hana has hers.
But this isn't about the struggles they face in war. It's about the struggles they face in peace.
Like accepting the confluence of circumstances that allow them to be together in Gotham, if only for a week. Wayne Enterprises, under Tim's leadership, now sponsoring D.Va and pledging significant financial and technological resources to MEKA. Meaning a press tour in Gotham, including the rubbing of elbows with high society - Tim's pasttime for intel-gathering among Gotham's corrupt elites - now giving Hana the pretext to stay in Gotham for an extended duration, for work reasons. Totally just a coincidental development with Red Robin's contributions to the fight against the Gwishin, of course.
Now, the Red Robin's Nest, as Tim likes to call it, may be an apartment building smaller than Wayne Manor, but it's far less claustrophobic. Less loaded with the dust of decades in grief, in devoted darkness to a mission of justice and vengeance. And in a more literal sense, far less gargoyles. It's here, on the carpet in front of Tim's fireplace, that his head rests on Hana's lap, the two sharing what feels like stolen time in each other's presence. Like they shouldn't be here doing this when there's wars to fight. Their wars. Even if the time they're able to afford like this is directly related to a Wayne-MEKA alliance.
Looking past his own cluttered and busy mind, Tim sees only Hana through a half-lidded, adoring gaze, staring up at her from where he lies. Reaching up with his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb caresses it almost absently, tip brushing a slightly wet corner of her eye. In so doing, he cracks a subdued yet wistful smile. ]
Sorry.
[ A word he no longer needs to practice saying. ]
Almost thought I saw a tear forming. Maybe it's a bit dustier here than I thought.
[ He knows it isn't that. But he's giving Hana the chance to joke this away. It's not often - between the two of them - that they can just hold someone they cherish like this. Seeing this from Hana, Tim might have to wipe his own eyes... knowing what he knows of her past. Knowing what she knows of his past.
To cherish her is to cherish this moment. To claim joy he hasn't fully - truly - known. ]
Does major league gamer Hana "D.Va" Song have allergies I should be aware of?
( looking at tim now, it does make her wonder if her grand date idea of a gotham food tour was in fact a stroke of genius or a recipe for disaster– gotham is a huge city, and the number of destinations she had pointed out as must-see was a bit ambitious. but, as usual, instead of considering the practicality of her plans she had let enthusiasm take the reigns and drive them forward where logic should have kicked in and said there wasn’t a reason why they had to do everything in one day. she’s wanted to make every day here count, to be something special to look back on, and while surveying the local cuisine to its fullest had been… she should have really taken into account that not everyone has the ability to consume as much food as her without collapsing into a coma to recharge.
she remembers ryuji’s face after seeing how much dessert she could eat in one sitting; a combination of shock and horror had twisted his features before he had said that she would never be seen as a lady if she didn’t learn some kind of self-discipline. she hadn’t listened to him then, his commentary doing nothing to dampen her sugar-high spirits, and if anything she had doubled-down on her opinion that her ability to metabolize at a superhuman rate was a special skill. maybe if she had taken him a bit more seriously or considered that tim might fall in the category of people who don’t have pits for stomachs, she would have planned a different date than a never-ending food tour of terror.
she winces, hands coming up from her sides to do something ( somehow a pat on the back, with a conciliatory ‘you’ll get through this’ doesn’t seem like a good idea ), before they swing back down to hang uselessly at her sides while she all but vibrates with concerned energy. )
Um… I can help you get to the couch if you want. We’ll go slow… baby steps! You can even put most of your weight on me.
( his current state is her fault, after all. she wouldn’t blame him if they got to the couch and he started throwing pillows at her head in retribution. )
gonna use this icon for like half their interactions atp
( in tim's line of work, strokes of genius and recipes for disaster often go hand-in-hand. and although this is decidedly not work-related, it's no exception, least of all in a place like gotham. of course tim couldn't say no, wanting nothing more than to see ann happily make her way through long-sought after food destinations, haunts in gotham drawing in many a tourist from all over. and as much as every step he takes is now heavy with fatigue, eyes struggling to stay open as the surrounding world becomes a dense blur, tim's too tired to find it in him to get mad.
there's still enough of his reasonable mind intact to understand that ann probably figured - with all his training and athleticism - he's got a fast enough metabolism to keep up with hers. he could stomach a food-eating contest or two, that's for sure, but the fact is... he's still not ann. maybe she's some kind of metahuman without even realizing it, except the one superpower she has is this absolutely mundane ability to eat and keep eating. tim has had to convince himself not to study her like he would any lab specimen, and it's a thought he can hardly entertain - let alone conjure - while fighting every urge to collapse on his apartment floor. they just came back from sampling good sandwich places, good burger places, good noodle places, good ice cream places, and just - well - good places strewn all throughout gotham, and the amount of calories consumed probably couldn't be walked off in a single day. )
Genius idea, Ann. Genius.
( and he really means it, flopping onto her side and slinging his arm around her shoulders, seeking support. part of him knows that with enough willpower, he can right himself and walk to the sofa without any help, but she is offering and she is nice to hold. )
Any chance to cuddle makes me feel better already.
But a sofa would still be a lifesaver.
( once he's brought close enough to the sofa to flop onto it like a limp noodle, he sighs contentedly, seeing amusement in the situation amidst his food-induced delirium. )
I chose to eat all that food with you, by the way. I don't regret it.
And these pillows... well, they aren't as good as your lap. Could you sit with me?
I'll do my best to avoid fights directly above the church again. The opinions of those flowers matter to me!
[ Re: the puns, ] This is why I like you, Aerith. You always keep it real.
I'm on my way.
[ And it's a familiar enough route, retracing his steps from rooftop to rooftop towards the church. It's nothing he hasn't visited since the fateful crash, and it's only been another place for them to confer - in secret - to shoot the breeze, tend to the flowers together, or use as the starting point for daytrips on foot: trips through the city that, decidely, involve Dick Grayson instead of Nightwing. But with sunset approaching, he fully expects to remain in costume for their rendezvous, slipping through the hole in the roof he once crashed through.
Slipping deftly through one of the rafters, Dick swings down via grapnel gun to safely land on the church floor. From below, the sight of Nightwing descending by wire with the grace of an acrobat - like maybe that's what he actually is - is no longer unusual to Aerith. It's a sight, perhaps, she might've learned to grow fond of. To rely on, in fact, the more they've indulged in such rendezvous. For all the views she's shown him through many a secret in Midgar, he's shown her vantage points from great heights to return the favor.
A reciprocity that only seems bound to continue, based on the contents of their texts. ]
See? I'm nowhere near the flowers this time.
[ Ever the showman, he comically wipes dust off his shoulders as if there is any, just to express the ease of his achievement. ]
I tried to make that look good, by the way. Hope they enjoyed the show.
[ Happenstance isn't real. People want to believe it is, they want to think they control their own fates, but that's not quite the truth. Fate's an intrinsic part of the lifestream that pumps through the Planet itself. Every ripple pushes the world closer to the Planet's will. Even a series of events like a masked vigilante falling onto her flower bed all has it's place somewhere in Fates grand design. The flowers know just like Aerith knows. They just...know more and seem stubborn. Or maybe she's just not listening well enough to hear what they're trying to tell her about him. ]
Hmm.... I'm still not sure.
[ But she doesn't have anymore time to try to puzzle it out today. Dick's fast and she doesn't want him to show up to her frowning at flowers. She wants him to show up to a smile, so she stands up from the flowerbed, brushes her hands off on her dress, and looks up. Luckily for them both his show is enough to put a genuine smile on her face. (Or is it just there because seeming him makes her grin?) There's nobody else quite like him here, a man that's equal part hero of the people and born acrobatic entertainer. Seeing Midgar through his eyes, from the special vantage points he's found that let one see so much more of each sector than she ever thought was possible...it's something she never gets tired of.
It's an adventure with him. A small safe one still in the confines of Midgar, but it's still something. ]
Mmmmmmm.... [ she tucks her hands behind her back and sways back and forth as she looks from him to the flower bed. ] I think they might think you were being a little too hammy. [ Breaking her hands from behind she moves one to her chest and grins wider ]
I think you made it look impressive though. Maybe they're just jealous the can't leaf the flower bed.
( he almost wishes the same. but truly, he knows he can drink his fill of her any time. beyond any question he could ask, he could always just take her in his arms, press his lips to her neck. claim her once more as his own, before doing more. filling her, tasting her, taking her in every which way. but that's just not his current mission, restrained as he is now. )
I know I like to be difficult about it, but I'm an open book.
You've earned that right.
( because it's true. aerith's proven time and time again to be a worthy keeper of dick's secrets... probably because she has so much experience with her own. whatever the turks surveil of her activities, for instance, has given them nothing to work with. nothing to guess as to nightwing's true identity. they'd never imagine, could they, that he was dick grayson of all people? a socialite on the upper plate, so frivolous with his time and wealth as inheritor to the wayne fortune?
and here, alone in aerith's room, the rest of midgar falls away anyway.
with all else gone, in dick's mind, it's just her.
playing. deliberating. and smearing just a little bit of her own lipstick on the corner of dick's mouth, a smile forming where her thumb touches. teeth show as he chuckles, grinning while his jaw remains in aerith's grasp-- her clutches soft yet purposeful. yet while there's not much he can do with his hands, laps up the length of her thumb while she's still cupping his cheek, cradling his jaw. should she present more of her hand to him, he may do more. lick more. suck more. )
Picturing how wet you are does nothing for me.
You have to show me.
( and how, exactly, he leaves entirely up to her. against every instinct to be as directive as he normally is, as vocal about his own wants or how he can fulfill hers... he waits. despite how wet he's become, the sensation of precum in his underwear only more palpable with time, he waits. )
( she thinks to hold his tongue between her fingers, or maybe press two into the mouth that would undoubtably lavish them in a way that would absolutely shatter the thinning restraint she has left.
so she draws away before she overstays. for her own good, mostly. lifting the thumb to take her turn lapping him off of her skin with a pleased hum in a way that can only be described as a promise.
she can't take full credit for how little her usual tail knows. dodging roaming eyes and tricking a hounds nose is all in a days work for him. she might know their quirks, what they will or will not do when it comes to her, but ultimately it's just a matter of it not being her secret to divulge. what good would that do?
doesn't mean she won't tease him about it. )
Getting impatient, Master Grayson?
( not that she doesn't appreciate a man who knows precisely what he wants. she just has a terrible habit of flouting certain authority - bad at doing as she's told. but maybe that impatience was her goal to begin with.
you know, to get fucked silly? wind up in her own bed debauched and pleasantly sore in the aftermath? )
Mm, can't say no to that, now can I.
( she can. she won't. instead, she hikes the skirt that's hugging her thighs high enough to reveal the garters that's holding her stockings up. the rest she keeps beneath bunched fabric, flicking the clasps off one at a time to get them out of her way and letting the band snap against her skin so she may hook her thumb beneath her panties. a shiver runs through her from even the slightest shift, and she bends further to work them down to her knees - then off entirely so she can drop the ruins of them over his thigh as she settles back down between them.
she hopes her lipstick stains the material before her when she plants a kiss in a spot far too high up his inner thigh to be decent. it probably won't, but the temporary smear is fine enough. )
Good?
( she means her presented proof to her judge and jury, of course. )
[ And he's glad she can't see all the scratches from when the seagull pecked him out. His rubber body is sure to recover quickly, but instead of seeking care he (naturally) made a beeline for a place to eat the sandwich that caused all this. Then his pocket sandwich more recently... ]
A bigger idiot, clearly— since I’m still here putting up with you.
[ She sighs, the kind of long-suffering sound that only someone who’s had to chase a rubber man out of a bird’s nest could make. She could’ve had a calm life in Cocoyasi Village, basking in sunshine and the scent of tangerines. She'd likely rule the East Blue by now. Instead, she’s here trying to stop her captain from contracting gangrene. ]
Yes. Knowing you, they're filthy and covered in pocket sandwich crumbs. Come here and I'll patch you up before you start glowing green.
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@sonicstriker
dick always considered himself lucky. growing up in a traveling circus meant never staying in one place for too long, never quite acquainting himself with the true dynamics of a single place. what he always knew, and would in fact call home, was constantly being built and rebuilt on new ground. from gongaga to kalm to the gold saucer, haly's circus has been everywhere, dick's childhood a broader expanse than most. that would all change, of course, the moment haly's circus entered don corneo's crosshairs. the moment wall market's local protection racket sought to make an example of the circus's defiance of his will, precisely by making an example of the revered flying graysons.
what haly's circus lost that night, batman gained in a partner. an apprentice. the scourge of shinra above and below, the dark knight made the average shinra grunt and corneo stooge - alike - cower at the slightest sound or movement in any darkness. the light that soon followed in robin cast a menacing light on affairs, because where batman just knocked you out with clinical precision, this kid toyed with you. made a mockery of you and everything you stood for, even while knocking you on your ass all the same.
batman and robin changed the meaning of midgar's shadows. turned them from a source of fear to its denizens, hiding any untold number of monsters and criminals, to a source of fear for the criminals in question. without anyone ever learning who batman and robin were, the darkness of midgar was soon reclaimed by the people. years pass like this, even as corneo's empire still reigns under shinra's beneficence. but hierarchies get questioned, people fight back, and sometimes - because it happens enough times to matter - the bullies second-guess themselves. hesitate before threatening or dealing a blow.
and not, after a time, because batman is watching.
but because nightwing is.
it seems that the squire has taken over for the knight, a lithe yet powerfully-built specter in black and blue taking his place... just as avalanche - an organization devoted to dismantling shinra's power - has entered the picture, sowing unrest with acts of civil disobedience if not outright terrorism. vigilantes in their own right, then, taking action into their own hands.
so of course, an audience with nightwing was inevitable.
but a tense alliance never meant he couldn't fraternize with avalanche's ranks, forge bonds that mattered more than differences in methods.
which is why dick grayson, adopted heir to the wayne fortune, has to keep discreet just to pay seventh heaven a visit, lest prying eyes speculate and bring more attention to the place than it needs. it's not like its owner, tifa lockhart, doesn't have enough on her plate. it's not like she now needs people wondering what business the famous dick grayson has visiting her alone, on odd evenings, for all the customers that kind of buzz could pull in. tifa, after all, has had her fill of enterprising minds who take advantage of her for commerce and publicity. neither is what brings dick to seventh heaven anyway.
so again, midgar at night. safer streets, albeit marginally, than where tifa and dick alike had set foot. rife as it once was, in their two pasts, with dangers monstrous and mundane. ]
Remind me again how you make these, Tifa...
[ dick says, swirling his glass of tifa's famous cosmo canyon, ]
...so I can show Alfred how to do it next time.
[ leaning over the bar, elbows planted on its wood surface, dick looks on at tifa with a relaxed grin, smirk small while half-lidded blues gaze at her wistfully. his calm exterior is an act of resistance against inner disquiet, the all too familiar awareness that moments of repose don't always last, like the rug can be pulled from under one's feet at any moment. the rub, there, is in never knowing when that moment will be. never knowing how much he needs to treasure, or savor, before something else slips from his fingers.
like his parents. like bruce.
the longer he spends time with tifa, better understanding her habits of mind with every moment alone, the longer that dread looms.
at least before he remembers how hard she can punch. ]
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So he'd intimidated her, because she admired what he did, because he was from an organized world of training and handling crime and striking with precision. And because, long before she'd met Dick, she'd recognized her master's fighting style on the mysterious Nightwing. But that was also why she was the one who'd pushed to find a way to approach him.
And now, sometimes, he dropped by her bar on a slow afternoon, and she was finding she enjoyed his company, the same way she'd enjoyed Jessie and Biggs and Barret and the others.
She knows their line of work is dangerous. She knows accidents happen, that people go missing. She knows Shinra isn't going to stop, and the bolder they are, the more likely a mysterious fire or explosion happens to someone they care about. But right now, she's just a bartender, and this is just a budding regular who she enjoys chatting with.
She leans against the counter as she dries a round of glasses. When Dick comes in on a dead Tuesday afternoon like this, she can pay him a little more attention. ]
No [ she says. Her eyes glitter, her smile small but playful. ] That's my house special, for one, and for two, you'd have no reason to come back.
[ She leans in, smile broadening conspiratorially as she drops her voice. ] But I promise to confirm or deny if you guess correctly.
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This realization made it easier for him to make sense of Tifa, whose shared goals with Avalanche did not stop her from being the first to voice her qualms over putting innocents at risk-- that statements didn't need to be made with collateral damage to people, even if property was fair game. While it only drew Dick closer to her during deliberations, ears always perking up at her occasional contribution, he wasn't sure what to make of her till she saw her out in the field - every blow she dealt to foes reminding him, inexorably, of Zangan's teachings. That made her the easiest to approach, as many in Avalanche still had qualms working with a man who concealed his identity. And maybe Tifa did too... till she eventually watched Dick's movements just as closely. The way, sans his use of Eskrima sticks, his repertoire mirrored hers.
It became increasingly common for him and Tifa to operate as a two-person strike team. A dynamic duo, of sorts, efficiently clearing the board of hostiles with their combined martial prowess. Even before properly knowing each other, they moved like clockwork to dispatch their enemies with flurries of attacks. The occasional elemental materia, sure, but nothing more satisfying that kicking a tonberry to the curb. But teamwork like that made them feel like they knew each other more than they did, like some unspoken shared experience was echoing between them... till Dick one day broke that silence.
He challenged Tifa to a sparring match, betting that if he lost, he'd take off his mask - but only to her. And that if she lost, he'd get a year of free drinks.
Needless to say... he took of the mask.
And now their normal includes Tuesdays like these, an afternoon where Dick can be himself - quite literally - around Tifa, the mask and the costume gone.
Their little secret.
And when she regards him with that playful smile over talk of the cosmo canyon, Dick can't help but return it with his own amused grin, quirking his brow. ]
I don't know about that. I can think of many reasons to come back.
[ Then, her challenge. Should he switch on his detective brain for this, he wonders? ]
Definitely some vodka, and a bit lemony at that. So maybe citron.
But there's a prevailing cranberry taste. Probably juice.
And the subdued orange taste suggests the inclusion of another liqueur. Cointreau?
I don't know. [ He smirks at her playfully. ] I'd probably need another glass to confirm.
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thread donezo ✓
@selfdefining
the tumult of the life he's chosen leaves dick grayson with little time to sit still. to truly contemplate the weight of his choices, the connections he's forged... and the ones he's abandoned. even what, till recently, he didn't even realize he forgot. something changed for dick one night on patrol, swinging across buildings as the black and red silhoutte his city has come to call nightwing. call it a sharp light, a mysterious glow, an anomalous tear in the fabric of reality. not a portal one accesses physically, but one that reveals something to the mind, appears in nightwing's way, his body hurtling into it mid-swing... and seemingly coming out of it unscathed.
save for a new awareness, it seems, of lost knowledge. forgotten truths. stolen memories.
the kind that can't be explained away just by a super-being punching the universe hard enough. or a speedster running fast enough to reset and rearrange the timeline. but it is no doubt a random consequence, an astronomical manifestation of chance, that just so happens to affect different corners of this universe so arbitrarily. so cruelly. because there's nothing crueller than cursing dick grayson with the memories of a life unlived, a life once lived, but difficult to reclaim. because how can you claim any foothold to the miasmic, insubstantial haze of a dream? how can you reconstruct the very thing you're struggling to remember in real time?
it's paralyzing, this sensation of being out of step with reality. of not knowing left from right, just because the laws of the universe seem like a lie. like the arbitrary whims of a creator who toys with who you are, swaps memories for lies that sweep the past - and its truth - under a rug you can't perceive. behind a barrier you wouldn't even know to push against. to break.
at least until the universe decides to break it for you.
days pass, dick ruminating on the slivers of memory that strike him like lightning. animate his fervent scramblings on a notepad, etching every loose idea of something that had the credible firmnness of experience.
the intimate awareness of one word, the only word, that truly pierces the veil.
kory. ]
This is Nightwing.
I'm an associate of Jason Todd's. You know him as the Red Hood.
We need to talk.
[ these messages find themselves in the phone of starfire, alien superhero often sighted alongside the likes of red hood and arsenal. ]
Something happened to me.
And part of me suspects it's happened to you, too.
If you're like me, and you can't not talk about it, you've got my coordinates.
Just let me know.
[ that's the most he says before putting away his phone, staring out from a corner of the bludhaven pier, dick looming precariously over the edge. blue stands out against his otherwise black costume, now, instead of a red he's now discarded for being more contrived. less natural. like the color was a choice made for him, the icing on the cake that was his cosmic amnesia.
all the same, what's never changed is dick's eagerness dwell on the precipice of things, he's most at home in such danger, no matter how perilous the drop. the peril, in fact, only exacerbates the thrill. the anticipation of satisfaction over another acrobatic feat, or superheroic triumph, achieved.
but what feat or triumph is there to expect in picking up the pieces of a life unlived? of a world taken away from him without his knowing? would provoking this meeting truly resolve anything, or further open the wound left behind by this cosmic anomaly of the mind?
there's only one person who can answer that, dick realizes. the only person who could fly to him so quickly over such a call to action.
kory. ]
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Pretending never suits her. Not for long. Hiding suits her even less. But when one feels so much sometimes it feels like the only choice left. Taking time. Space. Little distractions to keep herself from succumbing too much to emotions as rough and raging as the ocean that now surrounds her. Perhaps that's why she found herself here-- relating to the ocean itself. Vast and filled with unknowns. One moment gentle and comforting, the next rough and raging. A reflection of how her own emotions flicker within her constantly. The greatest joys can come with the greatest sorrows.
A perfect way to describe that other life. One filled with a different team, bonds that felt forever unbreakable, the greatest of joys. Joys that gave way crack by crack to some of the greatest sorrows any of them ever felt. She knows they all hurt. Having spent time with Arsenal and Red Hood now she wonders if perhaps that's just the way things go on Earth with superheroes. If perhaps there is some sort of outside push that leads them all to pain of some kind.
Strange where she finds her mind wandering to with those thoughts. Who she finds it wandering to.
Stranger still when her phone chimes and she looks over. Surprise jolts through her. Surprise that circles to confusion.
Should she respond? Or should she just go?
The emotional part of her, the one that feels so intensely, wants to simply go. Fly to where she knows he'll be right then and there. A thousand little pieces of memories flit through her mind, transform themselves into racing questions.
Joy. Sorrow. Anger. It all flashes through and for a few moments she simply stares at the ocean. For this moment they're the same. ]
It will not take me too long to reach you.
[ Regret's never an emotion she wishes to linger with for too long and regret would have drowned her if she didn't start her flight to the coordinates she knew to find him in. She flies fast, partially to reach him, and partially simply to feel the freedom flight brings. To try to let her emotions settle some as she makes her way to a most unexpected person. Unexpected and yet so terribly familiar. Perhaps certain things truly never do change.
True to her word it doesn't take her long to reach those coordinates. Fiery hair trailing wildly behind her she can't help but pause as she takes him in, slowly floating closer to where he's looming. Pangs of the familiar, of the old, hit her like waves. The time to wonder if it's a mistake is long gone from her mind and instead she simply smiles. Kindness there in the forefront, though there's a certain sadness in the depths of her eyes. ]
It's very good to see you, Dick. [ A weak thing to say when there's so much to be said. But it's the first thing that jumps out of her mind and she's always been one to simply say that very first thing. ]
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The truth.
And it comes in the form of a descending star, leaving behind an ephemeral path of flames. She hovers in front of him now, feet yet to touch the ground. Though Dick's pulse quickens at the mere sight of her, his posture doesn't change, arms crossed while looking up at her with a distinct serenity. Like he'd come to a realization, for better or worse, that has freed him from some misleading apprehension. His own smile, subdued, even hints at some form of satisfaction - like he'd made a wager about the ineffable workings of the universe, and was proven right. ]
You remember my name.
Just like I now remember yours, Kory.
[ It feels so natural when it comes out of his mouth, tongue and vocal chords at home in that name, despite him only remembering Kory so recently. In speaking it, it's like his body remembers what his mind does not, retaining what the world had taken from his conscience. ]
I can't fully explain what happened to us and why.
And while I think I know who to ask... there are better times to play detective. Especially when other things are at stake.
[ Finally, he relaxes his arms, a free hand now reaching up to Kory in invitation. If not for her to take his hand, then maybe... to bring her down to his level, if only for a moment. ]
Our lives were stolen from us, Kory. A cosmic sleight of hand affected this world.
If you remember the same things I do... I don't know how to return to that.
Not yet.
But I know I can't make sense of any of it alone.
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one, two, three, four, five, six, seven )
4 + 6
Yet this was always the path Tim chose... and the path he knew only he could follow. Back when Batman needed a Robin, right after the second one had just died. But as time passed, and Jason returned, that wasn't even the last occassion people cheated death. Seeing Kon come back, Bart come back, Stephanie come back-- it was like the world was paying Tim back for the grief he just had to swallow and surmount, as much as it tormented him for years. As much as it still lingered in the back of his mind, no matter how and for how long he embraced Kon, kissed Stephanie. It was like the world was forgiving him for his failings, for his inability to be in multiple places at once to be the Robin he should have been.
Like it was telling him it's okay to say "sorry." To reconsider, perhaps, the meaning of failure.
And understand how much of what he'd failed to do was not his fault. But beyond what the rational brain could challenge, the damage was done. The pain stayed so raw, beyond what he could rationalize with the knowledge of lives restored. Recovering what he'd lost didn't revert Tim to some pristine, untraumatized self. It only made him wish there wasn't lost time to make up for, that the initial tragedies didn't happen in the first place. Tim could accept that his friends were back, but could he truly forgive himself? Could he move on? Because he knew Bruce never quite forgave himself for the way his parents were murdered, no matter what time and finding a new family had healed... and so Bruce sacrificed his life to defeat an extraterrestrial tyrant - Darkseid - before he could ever learn to forgive himself.
Tim had to change. But to change meant he had to move on, to understand himself not as a being who could abandon such grief, but embrace it instead.
Make peace with it, so he can finally embrace the people in his life who are back.
And maybe embrace someone new.
Despite the turbulent world he entered upon meeting Hana Song, Tim started to understand the meaning of forgiving himself. Fighting at her side, he placed himself so firmly beyond the darkness of Gotham, the tragedies of the Titans. There's always so much going on, after all, that even the Justice League can't always respond to. Like the rise of the Gwishin omnics in South Korea, and the subsequent resistance of MEKA - based in Busan - to their incursions. An entire tableau of tragedies and triumphs, not unlike the sheer patchwork of worlds represented by the Justice League's own roster, brought to Tim's attention. Demanding his help.
As much as Hana's war in Busan persists, like Tim's very own in Gotham, the two found solace in each other from their respective pasts. Tim has his demons, Hana has hers.
But this isn't about the struggles they face in war. It's about the struggles they face in peace.
Like accepting the confluence of circumstances that allow them to be together in Gotham, if only for a week. Wayne Enterprises, under Tim's leadership, now sponsoring D.Va and pledging significant financial and technological resources to MEKA. Meaning a press tour in Gotham, including the rubbing of elbows with high society - Tim's pasttime for intel-gathering among Gotham's corrupt elites - now giving Hana the pretext to stay in Gotham for an extended duration, for work reasons. Totally just a coincidental development with Red Robin's contributions to the fight against the Gwishin, of course.
Now, the Red Robin's Nest, as Tim likes to call it, may be an apartment building smaller than Wayne Manor, but it's far less claustrophobic. Less loaded with the dust of decades in grief, in devoted darkness to a mission of justice and vengeance. And in a more literal sense, far less gargoyles. It's here, on the carpet in front of Tim's fireplace, that his head rests on Hana's lap, the two sharing what feels like stolen time in each other's presence. Like they shouldn't be here doing this when there's wars to fight. Their wars. Even if the time they're able to afford like this is directly related to a Wayne-MEKA alliance.
Looking past his own cluttered and busy mind, Tim sees only Hana through a half-lidded, adoring gaze, staring up at her from where he lies. Reaching up with his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb caresses it almost absently, tip brushing a slightly wet corner of her eye. In so doing, he cracks a subdued yet wistful smile. ]
Sorry.
[ A word he no longer needs to practice saying. ]
Almost thought I saw a tear forming. Maybe it's a bit dustier here than I thought.
[ He knows it isn't that. But he's giving Hana the chance to joke this away. It's not often - between the two of them - that they can just hold someone they cherish like this. Seeing this from Hana, Tim might have to wipe his own eyes... knowing what he knows of her past. Knowing what she knows of his past.
To cherish her is to cherish this moment. To claim joy he hasn't fully - truly - known. ]
Does major league gamer Hana "D.Va" Song have allergies I should be aware of?
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she remembers ryuji’s face after seeing how much dessert she could eat in one sitting; a combination of shock and horror had twisted his features before he had said that she would never be seen as a lady if she didn’t learn some kind of self-discipline. she hadn’t listened to him then, his commentary doing nothing to dampen her sugar-high spirits, and if anything she had doubled-down on her opinion that her ability to metabolize at a superhuman rate was a special skill. maybe if she had taken him a bit more seriously or considered that tim might fall in the category of people who don’t have pits for stomachs, she would have planned a different date than a never-ending food tour of terror.
she winces, hands coming up from her sides to do something ( somehow a pat on the back, with a conciliatory ‘you’ll get through this’ doesn’t seem like a good idea ), before they swing back down to hang uselessly at her sides while she all but vibrates with concerned energy. )
Um… I can help you get to the couch if you want. We’ll go slow… baby steps! You can even put most of your weight on me.
( his current state is her fault, after all. she wouldn’t blame him if they got to the couch and he started throwing pillows at her head in retribution. )
gonna use this icon for like half their interactions atp
there's still enough of his reasonable mind intact to understand that ann probably figured - with all his training and athleticism - he's got a fast enough metabolism to keep up with hers. he could stomach a food-eating contest or two, that's for sure, but the fact is... he's still not ann. maybe she's some kind of metahuman without even realizing it, except the one superpower she has is this absolutely mundane ability to eat and keep eating. tim has had to convince himself not to study her like he would any lab specimen, and it's a thought he can hardly entertain - let alone conjure - while fighting every urge to collapse on his apartment floor. they just came back from sampling good sandwich places, good burger places, good noodle places, good ice cream places, and just - well - good places strewn all throughout gotham, and the amount of calories consumed probably couldn't be walked off in a single day. )
Genius idea, Ann. Genius.
( and he really means it, flopping onto her side and slinging his arm around her shoulders, seeking support. part of him knows that with enough willpower, he can right himself and walk to the sofa without any help, but she is offering and she is nice to hold. )
Any chance to cuddle makes me feel better already.
But a sofa would still be a lifesaver.
( once he's brought close enough to the sofa to flop onto it like a limp noodle, he sighs contentedly, seeing amusement in the situation amidst his food-induced delirium. )
I chose to eat all that food with you, by the way. I don't regret it.
And these pillows... well, they aren't as good as your lap. Could you sit with me?
making tim suffer is her day job and hobby
he pays her in not being bald
when i write a starter for arkham tim what then
i'll genuinely... try... to be as IC as possible LIKE I WAS W/ SHREK LOL
you could really write him as a clown and i'd be like oh okay maybe he's the arkham comic relief
🎀 - sleepy time for tim now? LOL
dealer's choice including shrek
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I'm no royal, but I've been to way too many galas. Pretty tiring stuff, right?
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for some reason the lore dump goes here
luna sending him letters like check this box if you're still alive 😔
alfred refusing to do it bc he can't bring himself to lie on a dead jason's behalf...
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since it's an option LMFAO
opens my arms for him
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genuinely seeing how long i can keep this up
for @cetrary
I'll do my best to avoid fights directly above the church again. The opinions of those flowers matter to me!
[ Re: the puns, ] This is why I like you, Aerith. You always keep it real.
I'm on my way.
[ And it's a familiar enough route, retracing his steps from rooftop to rooftop towards the church. It's nothing he hasn't visited since the fateful crash, and it's only been another place for them to confer - in secret - to shoot the breeze, tend to the flowers together, or use as the starting point for daytrips on foot: trips through the city that, decidely, involve Dick Grayson instead of Nightwing. But with sunset approaching, he fully expects to remain in costume for their rendezvous, slipping through the hole in the roof he once crashed through.
Slipping deftly through one of the rafters, Dick swings down via grapnel gun to safely land on the church floor. From below, the sight of Nightwing descending by wire with the grace of an acrobat - like maybe that's what he actually is - is no longer unusual to Aerith. It's a sight, perhaps, she might've learned to grow fond of. To rely on, in fact, the more they've indulged in such rendezvous. For all the views she's shown him through many a secret in Midgar, he's shown her vantage points from great heights to return the favor.
A reciprocity that only seems bound to continue, based on the contents of their texts. ]
See? I'm nowhere near the flowers this time.
[ Ever the showman, he comically wipes dust off his shoulders as if there is any, just to express the ease of his achievement. ]
I tried to make that look good, by the way. Hope they enjoyed the show.
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Hmm.... I'm still not sure.
[ But she doesn't have anymore time to try to puzzle it out today. Dick's fast and she doesn't want him to show up to her frowning at flowers. She wants him to show up to a smile, so she stands up from the flowerbed, brushes her hands off on her dress, and looks up. Luckily for them both his show is enough to put a genuine smile on her face. (Or is it just there because seeming him makes her grin?) There's nobody else quite like him here, a man that's equal part hero of the people and born acrobatic entertainer. Seeing Midgar through his eyes, from the special vantage points he's found that let one see so much more of each sector than she ever thought was possible...it's something she never gets tired of.
It's an adventure with him. A small safe one still in the confines of Midgar, but it's still something. ]
Mmmmmmm.... [ she tucks her hands behind her back and sways back and forth as she looks from him to the flower bed. ] I think they might think you were being a little too hammy. [ Breaking her hands from behind she moves one to her chest and grins wider ]
I think you made it look impressive though. Maybe they're just jealous the can't leaf the flower bed.
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@sefira
( he almost wishes the same. but truly, he knows he can drink his fill of her any time. beyond any question he could ask, he could always just take her in his arms, press his lips to her neck. claim her once more as his own, before doing more. filling her, tasting her, taking her in every which way. but that's just not his current mission, restrained as he is now. )
I know I like to be difficult about it, but I'm an open book.
You've earned that right.
( because it's true. aerith's proven time and time again to be a worthy keeper of dick's secrets... probably because she has so much experience with her own. whatever the turks surveil of her activities, for instance, has given them nothing to work with. nothing to guess as to nightwing's true identity. they'd never imagine, could they, that he was dick grayson of all people? a socialite on the upper plate, so frivolous with his time and wealth as inheritor to the wayne fortune?
and here, alone in aerith's room, the rest of midgar falls away anyway.
with all else gone, in dick's mind, it's just her.
playing. deliberating. and smearing just a little bit of her own lipstick on the corner of dick's mouth, a smile forming where her thumb touches. teeth show as he chuckles, grinning while his jaw remains in aerith's grasp-- her clutches soft yet purposeful. yet while there's not much he can do with his hands, laps up the length of her thumb while she's still cupping his cheek, cradling his jaw. should she present more of her hand to him, he may do more. lick more. suck more. )
Picturing how wet you are does nothing for me.
You have to show me.
( and how, exactly, he leaves entirely up to her. against every instinct to be as directive as he normally is, as vocal about his own wants or how he can fulfill hers... he waits. despite how wet he's become, the sensation of precum in his underwear only more palpable with time, he waits. )
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so she draws away before she overstays. for her own good, mostly. lifting the thumb to take her turn lapping him off of her skin with a pleased hum in a way that can only be described as a promise.
she can't take full credit for how little her usual tail knows. dodging roaming eyes and tricking a hounds nose is all in a days work for him. she might know their quirks, what they will or will not do when it comes to her, but ultimately it's just a matter of it not being her secret to divulge. what good would that do?
doesn't mean she won't tease him about it. )
Getting impatient, Master Grayson?
( not that she doesn't appreciate a man who knows precisely what he wants. she just has a terrible habit of flouting certain authority - bad at doing as she's told. but maybe that impatience was her goal to begin with.
you know, to get fucked silly? wind up in her own bed debauched and pleasantly sore in the aftermath? )
Mm, can't say no to that, now can I.
( she can. she won't. instead, she hikes the skirt that's hugging her thighs high enough to reveal the garters that's holding her stockings up. the rest she keeps beneath bunched fabric, flicking the clasps off one at a time to get them out of her way and letting the band snap against her skin so she may hook her thumb beneath her panties. a shiver runs through her from even the slightest shift, and she bends further to work them down to her knees - then off entirely so she can drop the ruins of them over his thigh as she settles back down between them.
she hopes her lipstick stains the material before her when she plants a kiss in a spot far too high up his inner thigh to be decent. it probably won't, but the temporary smear is fine enough. )
Good?
( she means her presented proof to her judge and jury, of course. )
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dealer's choice again who wants to be in the hunger games
here have robin-era dick wheee
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timothee
chalamet
annoying him does guarantee his attention!
the lisan al-gaib????
WONKA actually!!
1/2 charlie and the chocolate factory au WHEN
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specifically willy's chocolate experience w/ the depressed oompa loompa (ann)
LMAOOOO bye oompa loompa ann the worst worker who just eats all the chocolate
it's gonna have to be renamed to just "factory" when she's done with it
1/2 still thinking about the unknown ðŸ˜
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1/3
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3/3!
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for @toocutetokill
I know I am, but what are you? 😤
[ ...that's not how the saying goes. ]
Uhh do I have to? I'm plenty healed now, y'know!
[ And he's glad she can't see all the scratches from when the seagull pecked him out. His rubber body is sure to recover quickly, but instead of seeking care he (naturally) made a beeline for a place to eat the sandwich that caused all this. Then his pocket sandwich more recently... ]
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[ She sighs, the kind of long-suffering sound that only someone who’s had to chase a rubber man out of a bird’s nest could make. She could’ve had a calm life in Cocoyasi Village, basking in sunshine and the scent of tangerines. She'd likely rule the East Blue by now. Instead, she’s here trying to stop her captain from contracting gangrene. ]
Yes. Knowing you, they're filthy and covered in pocket sandwich crumbs. Come here and I'll patch you up before you start glowing green.
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luffy loofah
that was for baking with, how could one human eat that much butter?!!😱😧
LMAO
I didn't just eat the butter. geez!!
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