* 𝑘̳┈𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙴part𝘆͡.
@batregret
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⠀⠀ʿʾ🧣. ⠀⠀⠀﹔ bαred ⠀⠀all ⠀⠀ 𝙼𝚈 ⠀⠀ ܑleaves ⠀⠀⠀!
𐔌 ⠀🗯️⠀⠀r ᵉ̷d———HOOD ͡ ⠀ ﹐̲⠀
Joined April 2025
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘀 this is all i * ever was. the most 𝚟̳┈iolent 𝐬𝐢𝐧 [ ... ], the fire that will cons̱ume everything. ⠀⠀⠀
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some dream.. sounds more like a nightmare to me. have you seen the sorta sandwiches people make around here? i’ll have to pass on that.
Last night i dreamed I was ketchup, @batregret.. and you were mustard.
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⠀ ⠀⠀ ݁ ⠀⠀ ˛⠀⠀𝗻ot ⠀even ⠀ d𝐞𝗮𝘁h ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀can ⠀⠀ pull ⠀⠀𝕞e⠀’ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a𝚠ay⠀ from ⠀ 𝓨𝐎𝐔 !⠀⠀︵⠀⠀🐿 ⠀
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he keeps his hands low, hovered atop his weapons. guns resting at his sides like secrets he’s tired of keeping. “ … well, spit it out. just what are you up to? ”
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀… he hears her voice, how sickeningly sweet it is, and he answers it. “ you and i’ve got different ideas on what’s fun. ”
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there she is, perched on the edge, legs swinging over nothing, and he can’t help the annoyance bubbling at the sight——at her looking so calm——for looking like she knows the shape of gotham better than him.
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it pulls him and he lets it. his body rising. boots scraping against the grimy roof she sits, as he lands behind her.
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“ guess it’s my lucky night. ” he mumbles, pointing his grappling hook to the rooftops. .. and out the hook goes. a silver line. a cord meant to drag him back into trouble.
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so he chases. he always does. he chases and calls it duty, when really it’s an itch. an old ache shaped like a badge, found beneath his skin, always just insatiable enough to hold his attention.
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perhaps he should turn away. go home and clean his guns. pretend he is something more than the city has made him. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t because he 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭.
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he sees her first as a color that doesn’t belong; pink bleeding into black, like a wound the sky can’t close. … nestled just where the city thins, past the advertisements and halos.
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“ i say it’s about time we go out for a night on the town. ” there is confidence in the way he speaks——rough and aggressive, yet contradictingly warm.
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he inhales, ribs opening like some file drawer of old crimes. and he exhales; the past thins out. “ anyway, i was thinkin’ we’re about done watching from behind the screen. ”
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and he stretches. slow, deliberate. his shoulders rolling, spine unthreading, arms flung wide. “ hell, i’ll even take 𝐫𝐞𝐝. ”
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“ c’mon .. we’ve been over this whole ‘ benefactor ’ thing plenty of times by now. just jason’ll work. ” he says, sinking back into his chair like a man easing into a verdict.
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the room still smells of plans——schemes covered by curtains threaded of a night sky. it smells of ink, and breath. it smells like the burnt sugar of risk, and a burger he hadn’t finished.
" my dear benefactor, @batregret .. do you need my help ? " (⌒‿⌒)
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⠀⠀ so ci o path .ᐟ —— why does everyone get that wrong . ᐣ ⠀⠀
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