Nightwing, (accidental?) Agent of SHIELD.

Four

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Everyone neeeeeds to go and watch Baby Driver

So. Good.

Edgar Wright I'm so glad you're British we've done something right this year. Thank you.

Anyway!! Have some more of this useless story ahahah

//IM ACCEPTING PROMPTS FROM ANYONE, CAN BE FANDOM-RELATED (tho warming:: I'm not really that into anime) OR AN ORIGINAL WORK, AND A ONESHOT OR A STORY. THIS ISN'T A COMMISSION. THIS IS JUST ME WANTING TO HAVE SOMETHING TO WRITE OVER SUMMER HOLIDAYS THAT AT LEAST ONE PERSON WILL READ.
LEAVE PROMPTS HERE--->
OR PM ME//

Here's some of my fav bois going on a domestic adventure!!!

And Tony kind of makes an appearance!!! Yay!!!

Brooklyn is much nicer than Gotham. It's an easily recognised fact that just about every major (and minor!) city in North America is nicer than Gotham - apart from maybe Blüdhaven, which might as well be its own angsty universe - but it's still weird for Dick to see proof of that with his own two eyes.

Their apartment building is in an old fashioned chunk of Brooklyn, and not the gothic granite and limestone kind of old fashioned either, but a red-brick, terraced windows, painted-on advertisements kind of old fashioned. It's pleasing to the eye, muted and warm and slightly industrial, and Dick trails the tips of his fingers against the apartment building as they walk out and feels a spark of familiarity shoot down his nerve endings. Maybe it's something to do with the little clay flower pots everywhere, or the washing lines hung up, or moms and dads walking hand in hand with their toddlers with the sticky cheeks, but Dick feels a kinship with this street block. He's reminded of oil stoves in a rickety caravan, of the smell of his aunt's simmering stew, of the whistling kettle making the hot water for his dad's coffee, of dipping light bulbs in coloured ink with his cousin and making their corner of the caravan into a magical Peter Pan-worthy den, of running across dirt roads barefoot with a stick in one hand like a sword and a broken compass in the other like a pirate.

And strangely, it doesn't hurt to think about. It tastes more like copper than iron in his mouth; sharper and warmer than blood. Dick's almost certain that he'd forgotten that he'd even remembered all of those little things...but hey, it's the little things that tend to stick with you, right?

(And the bodies. Dick will never forget the bodies.)

Brooklyn is artsy and eclectic and running on it's own time, and Dick wonders how he's ever supposed to go back to Gotham after getting a glimpse of this freedom. Maybe he'll like it a little less after bumping into a horde of hipsters, but for now it's just about the most perfect place he's stepped foot in for the last five years.

"Were you already local before you moved here?" Captain Rogers asks them - well, asks Roy, because Dick had an idea about a block back to drag the sharp end of their apartment keys gently against all the old buildings they walk past, and red and brown dust floats across his hand like rust. Barnes is almost as absorbed with the action as Dick is, but his focus is more on the key than it is the brick residue.

"I'm from Star City, actually." Says Roy plainly. Dick doesn't say he's a Gotham boy, even though his run-of-the-mill Gotham accent (which is not the same as a freaking Jersey accent, okay? However said that was an idiot) probably speaks for itself. He'd learnt most of his English in Gotham...there was no escaping the accent.

"Dick, you don't sound like a Star City kid," Rogers says over his shoulder. "Where are you from?" Dick stops dragging the keys against the walls as they take a corner, and chucks them back to Roy's open palm when he gets a dirty look from the redhead for scratching them. Wide eyed, he blinks, and stuffs his hands into his pockets.