#id; steven

[aspectorofthemoon-blog]

Slip

@robin-decoded (x.)

Marc grunted as he got back on his feet. God, what the fuck hit him?

𝚃𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚊' 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚡.

𝐈𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞?

𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

Alright. Point made. Now shut the fuck up. You’re not helping.

He dusted himself off with an irritated huff. Gotham wasn’t unfamiliar territory. If he was lost, then he wouldn’t be for long. Just need to know what goddamn street he was on…

“I know Gotham. I’m not lost. Just don’t know how the hell I got here from Hell’s Kitchen.” Half joking and half suspicious, he tilted his head at the vigilante standing across from him and kept his voice low. “Wouldn’t happen to know how that went down, would you?”

[aspectorofthemoon-blog]

⟡

Be careful of this one, Steven…

If anyone knew how to get him to freeze, it was Khonshu. Steven had stopped to talk to Tim, and he figured it would have been a normal conversation. But no. Of course not. The god in his head just had to intervene and get his blood pressure up already.

This one is not of our world...

Steven pressed his lips, mulling over Khonshu's warning. Mentally running through every possiblity of who or what could actually be standing in front of him. ‘Who the hell is he, then?…’

Steven waited, but there was no reply.

‘Khonshu?…’

…Maybe he was just being paranoid.

Fuck. Had he taken his meds this morning?

The sound of the boy clearing his throat snapped him out of his thoughts, and he gave a nervous laugh.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to space out on you. How's your family doing?”

[aspectorofthemoon-blog]

“How much death have you seen?”

He didn't speak. He didn't tense up. He didn't move a step forward or back. Instead, he tilted his head in confusion. Why would someone want to know that?

Don't answer them, Daniel...

‟Why?” He didn't plan to. Not outright, at least. However, the question left his lips regardless.

𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬.

𝙽𝙾𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜.

Daniel gritted his teeth and almost huffed at his counterparts' commentary in frustration. He wasn't naïve. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't a little kid. He knew better than to spill his guts, to spill his trauma and his secrets, to a stranger.

But he was curious. Perhaps too curious for his own good…

“Why do you need to know?”