Metanoen - Blog Posts
smears of green, streaks of blue, dots of red like stars, it's a tapestry from within the speed force. wally wonders how much dick could make out; how many of these fleeting instances he remembers? ( wally remembers most, if not all. ) / a single long second, it spans a thousand years, the shifting of body weight—— the familiar warmth, let's say they're both lucky: one misstep &. they're both gonna be joining those smears of color. not exactly the best way to start a reunion / date. he won't have it hanging over his head, not when dick already had plenty to dangle already.
slowing, wind goes from roar to a hushed whimper, all the colors unstretched becoming plain. only stopping when they're alone, only stopping when there's no danger, no risk, no nosey reporters eager for a story nearby. luckily, every hero kept a safe house—— some more private than others, but this one, he knew better than most. eyes glow with faint traces of the speed force, jolts of blue lightning that fade to reveal warm green eyes.
❛ easy ! easy ! gentle with the nose, birdbrain. ❜ head shakes, trying to brush off touch. ❛ half the fun of going out to dinner is enjoying the smells—— whatya gonna do if you hurt this prize-winning asset, huh? ❜ light jest, still, despite reaching temporary destination ... wally doesn't put them down. grip tightens ever so slightly, subconsciously leeching more warmth, eager to stretch one second into thousands. features flush, a faint hint of red against light skin. ❛ i missed you, dick. ❜
CONTINUED FROM HERE. dick & wally. / @amcssing
bad habits die hard; especially when they don't consider it entirely bad. its always been a talent of his, the disappearing act, since he was a child long before he donned the cape of robin. the circus crew had to be good at not being seen, after all. nightwing had to be even better. he tends to forget that there can be exceptions to this rule----even decades later.
he remembers when he reappears, of course. the mild twinge of wally's mouth makes it obvious. the tiniest pang of guilt hits, but it's replaced with an easy smile and a quip. when he opens his mouth again, he nearly swallows air, and his i told you not to carry me like this is quickly abandoned.
------ " your treat ? " he says between the wind, when wally finally slows enough, when his mask is no longer the thing keeping him from going all but blind in the velocity. when it is safe, mis-matched colored fingers lift to poke the speedster directly on the nose.
" since you asked. date etiquette and all, KF. " a dramatic swing of the legs, a hollywood imitation of romcom tropes, though the wave of giddiness isn't fake.
then, quieter, more serious: " meant it, walls. i didn't mean to take off again. "
❛ you can spend all the time in the world in here, but if you don't spend enough time out there... you know? ❜ / harley to cass / don't think this is from a prompt?? can't find it, doesn't matter.
bone crunches against bone, flesh bruising and raw, a single blow enough to stagger foe. wind rushing from their lungs, light stolen from their eyes instantly, body crumples as if cut from strings. one blow, a single strike refined again &. again, it's all cass needs. countless hours training, countless time in the dark, violence comes as naturally as drawing breath. ( oh, daughter of shiva, bloodshed shall be your voice. ) / a shadow taunts. metal whistles through stale air, bat pinging off raised forearm, bones rattle—— a throbbing ache spreads—— thug's features going from proud to worry. a blow like that could've done more, ripped a scream from even toughest brutes, yet [...] nothing comes other than a sharp blow 'pon windpipe then the stars. without words, without voice, maybe cassandra forgot how to scream.
she listens to harley even if she does not speak. listening / watching, it's their curse and talent. to watch, to read, to choke on words jumbling inside own throat. she is silence. the swiftest of blows. the sharpest of blades. her strikes hollow, her movements fluid, empty of all except poise and intent. the battlefield speaks to her with blood and gore. it's words an unending story, a tale she read since she was born—— the only honesty afforded her. it intertwines itself with her; it makes her part of that same story, a character scrawled into its margins—— never once the focus, a mere player, a mere second to events before her. [...] she accepts it, for better or worse, that her mother sired a weapon. a tool to point &. aim—— but she chooses for herself now. her family steered her between right and wrong, far kinder, far more helpful, far greater than that woman had been. it's why she knows to help—— and help with every inch of flesh no matter how marred. she is batgirl; protector.
focus shifts to harley, to frantic swings of painted bat, to laughter from lipstick stained lips. she is chaos—— wild and free. she is loud, she speaks with a voice that rings through the night, she fights and fights hard. if battles with cass were full of silence, then harls would be full of fanfare. a violent collage of splatter and laughter. blows come with brutal efficiency. movements fluid if not spontaneous. filled with a subdued sense of glee, an effort to give performance. if cass's story fills itself with gore then surely harley's fills itself with fireworks, violent and hot. ( a storm clad in red and black with painted face ! no less a storm, even wilder than one, perhaps ! ) this woman is no bit player, no character fit for the sidelines—— she owns her story, tragedy and all. she chooses to be more, becomes more and help. she is harley quinn; hero.
both are broken glass, one shattered then reformed while the other continues to crack. jagged deep cracks, spread and spread, only racing towards inevitable—— to shattering. [...] sharp strike from the elbow brings the final goon to knee knees, swift pivot and sharp kick leaves them slumping in place. sirens echo in the distance, the sounds of gcpd racing through gloomy streets, red and blue, cut the darkness like an arrow of light. they'll come, soon. still, cass takes time to turn over harley's words. to consider what she meant, what she means—— to the smile sitting on her lips, to the kindness sitting in her gaze [...] a look that reminds her of those close to her, of when they care. shoulders lower, loosening tension.
❛ i'll ... remember that, quinn. ❜
tires screech as the first car arrives at the end of the alley; it's a split second—— maybe less, but it's enough for attention to waver. when blue hues turn to find cass again, there's no one in sight. she's close, though, watching from the rooftop as harley hurries to put some distance between herself and law enforcement. a smart move, considering. lips curl beneath mask, a bit more at ease, first crack ... beginning to mend.
@metanoen
【 @metanoen , magik to cass | 'Why stay somewhere safe and comfortable when we could be in mortal peril?' | bg3 party banter , accepting.
gotham streets don't look any kinder from above, a place where no angels dare tread, a den of crime. a gentle breeze brings no leaves, only litter, and a chill with the scent of filth. it's home [...] where people she cares for stay, more than enough to dawn the cowl, to protect and save / to risk life and limb once more. mask sits drawn up, only revealing lips, only enough to drink and eat. usually alone, usually with steph—— although [...] maybe blondes were drawn to them in some strange, cosmic sort of way. same hair color, far from the same.
magik, something sits about her, something harsh &. craggy. like stone polished smooth yet edges going unworn, unseen until it cuts ( and cuts deep. ) steph's loud, quick-witted, funny. magik [...] a bit quieter, quick-witted at times, a little less funny. jokes often coming with a more deadpan edge, still, quite clever. still, quite funny. [...] just like others, cass knows a survivor—— a fighter—— those carving out paths themselves. some with capes and cowls while hers done with ethereal sword. ( wants to touch it, hard to ask if she can. )
scrutiny [...] truth. words were far from lies, spoken with conviction, without masking. it's the shifting of weight, the alertness to small changes, the subtle lean off rooftop to see further—— signs of hunting. jason. she reminds them of jason, sometimes wild, sometimes kind, carrying burdens. burger wrapper balls itself in fist, thrown off the edge into a trashcan below, no littering. too much already. a small detour, that should be enough, always enough if lives are saved.
❛ docks, ❜ she decides, a quick affirmation. ❛ don't fall behind. ❜ it's not stern [...] in fact, it's a light taunt. only picked up by those close, only given to those same people, a peek beneath cowl soon drawn down &. nimble frame flung from rooftop. falling, falling—— swinging from building to building with grapple line, knowing other could easily follow close behind.
【 @metanoen , momo says | ❛ well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions. ❜ | * mixed bag prompts , accepting.
single digits hooks collar, a sole insignificant gesture, a mere passive act—— a hair faster than the wretched limb that swipes at her head. eyes barely lift from screen, mid-session of another doom scroll, one of several ... hundred today alone. ( boring ! ) word pursues endless, a tireless hunt, it brings with it nothing aside from lethargy. even company barely keeps the weight from becoming crushing, from becoming too much to bear—— a nice dip in a newly formed star—— maybe that'll perk him up. give a new sense of life to this tiresome one. at least, that's what he thought !
countless tomes, artifacts, treasures ( and collectibles! ) were littered around. brad's den of trinkets, rightfully bought—— &. otherwise. guess it only makes sense momo would've been a little curious ... ah, the ken takakura stuff. right. ❛ y'know, cuginetta, trynna meet ken takakura nearly got you ... er, hold on. ❜ a wince, trying to work out something, a sluggishness sits on tongue, dulling clever wit. ❛ lemme do that again. ❜
——————————CUT ! CHANGE SCENE ! ACTION !
single digits hooks collar, a burst of speed behind such gesture, a quick act of heroism—— a hair faster than the wretched limb that swipes at her head. eyes barely lift from screen, mid-session of another doom scroll, one of several ... hundred today alone. ( better ! ) ❛ guess you had a hand in letting this one out, didn't you, cuginetta? don't worry. i'm here before things get out of hand. ❜ lips twist into a smirk, a flash of pearly white teeth, all too pleased with himself. ❛ oh, oh ! let me give you a hand ! ❜ fingers snap, a surge of light—— a flicker of lights, film case snaps shut, and a decrepit limb falls to the floor with a hollow thud. gently releases collar, rolling the severed limb off into some far corner.
❛ guess you could say im ... pretty handy. ❜
【 @metanoen | emma's fingers slink and then pull; scalp captured from behind, tilting his head back and back until his throat is exposed. up on her tip-toes, so they can see eye to eye, and her smile is all red lips and teeth. " thane, darling, i'm bored. " and then she releases him, just like that, watching his hair spring back into place as she steps around him. face to face, a painted blue nail taps his nose. " do something about it, won't you ? i think we should get away somewhere. somewhere i don't have to smell logan's reek from across the city or listen to summers' latest lecture on politics. just us. " | unprompted.
mind touch; intermingling—— dancing. a song of them / a waltz of empathy 'pon telepathy. it tangles and twists, telling thane of emma's presence. ( of her strut, of her prowling. ) then, she comes. digits like claws, catching hold, pulling forth prey ... a lioness. grey locks part, silky and loose, a warmth seeping from her laid claim, to him—— to body, to mind, to heart, to soul. thin lips curl into a smile, an apparition of his delight. ( it's kind, yet mischievous lurks beneath it all. ) centuries of wisdom, the cunning of a shrewd king lurks beneath all acts. it defines him. it becomes him. &. he never felt more like a king than when he's in her grasp.
silver eyes worship, silver eyes adore, assessing each note and tone. ( she is art. carved &. perfect. ) drawing eyes, making them yearn for touch—— yet knowingly, she denies. a twinge of disappointment rings out, still, nonetheless gaze adulates her when she appears. pupils, thin slits, grow wide and a light rumble begins in the king's chest. he lays claim; he hunts now. step brings them closer, arms looping loosely around her waist. stormy hues gleam, something hungry beneath pools of quick silver. forms press closer, warmth ebbing between them. it's greedy—— a greed only royals might taste.
❛ that's dangerous. you get oh so tricky when you get bored. ❜ laugh comes gentle, only so tender with her. giving her a peer behind porcelain mask, letting her see each gear clink and whirr &. glimpse beast hidden within cages of eloquence. ( it hunts her. prowling the depths mind, it brushes against thin prison bars, eager to reach ... to pounce. ) ❛ you must think the world of me to give much such a tall order. we both know logan's stench could reach the hells themselves. ❜ as for summers' ... those lectures never truly end.
cheek brushes against her own, gentle although insistent. nudging her head to side, exposing same tread of neck she did so sweetly to him. lips trace beautiful jaw, nipping and kissing where he pleases. he follows curve from back to forth, leaving no inch unclaimed—— tender longing, devouring need. it chases itself in every action. an ouroboros of wants and needs. then, he brings himself closer to her pretty neck—— close enough to hear faint drum of pulse. warm breath sits over frail veins, so frail ... so exposed. then, it's thane's turn to retreat, to flee from the final moments, offering a kiss on her cheek instead.
❛ murozia's lovely this time of year. ❜ and to see emma clad in murozian silks ... sounds quite delightful. ❛ i'll make the arrangements. ❜