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dc-and-arfrona · 1 year

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Lullabies

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Jason Todd x Gn!Reader

Jason Todd and you adopt a kid!

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 1200+

Masterlist

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The night air was crisp as you walked the streets of Gotham City, the dimly lit alleys casting eerie shadows on the walls. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, walked by your side, his presence bringing a sense of security amidst the chaos that surrounded you both. Despite the constant danger, there was something comforting about having him by your side.

As the two of you turned a corner, you caught sight of a poster on a lamppost—a picture of an adorable child with the words "Adopt a Child, Change a Life" written in bold letters. You stopped in your tracks, your gaze fixed on the image. A longing, a yearning welled up within you—a desire to provide a loving home for a child who needed it most.

"Jason," you spoke softly, breaking the silence that hung in the air. "I've been thinking... I want to adopt."

Jason slowed his pace, casting a glance your way. His piercing blue eyes held a mix of curiosity and concern. "Adopt? Are you sure about this, [Y/N]?"

You nodded, your determination shining through. "Yes, I am. I've been thinking about it for a while now, and I believe it's the right thing for me. I want to make a difference in a child's life, to give them the love and care they deserve."

Jason's expression softened, his gaze fixed on you intently. "You know it won't be easy, right? Parenting is a huge responsibility, especially in this city."

You took a deep breath, knowing the challenges that awaited you. "I understand, Jason. It won't be a walk in the park, but I'm willing to put in the effort. Besides, with you by my side, I know we can handle anything that comes our way."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Jason's lips, a mixture of emotions dancing in his eyes. "You really are something, [Y/N]. Your heart is pure, and your determination is unmatched. Any child would be lucky to have you as their parent."

Your heart warmed at his words, grateful for his support. "Thank you, Jason. That means a lot to me. I believe that together we can create a loving and safe home for a child who needs it."

Jason's hand found its way to yours, his touch reassuring. "I'm with you every step of the way, [Y/N]. We'll navigate this new chapter together. Just promise me one thing—promise me you won't lose sight of your own happiness in the process. Being a parent is fulfilling, but it can also be challenging. You deserve to be happy too."

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling the strength and love that flowed through the connection. "I promise, Jason. I won't forget about myself in this journey. We'll find a balance and make sure we take care of each other."

He nodded, a sense of determination mirrored in his eyes. "Then let's do this. Let's bring joy and love into a child's life, and in turn, they'll bring it into ours."

With those words, the weight of the decision lifted off your shoulders, replaced by excitement and hope. Together, you and Jason embarked on a new adventure—a path filled with challenges, but also with immeasurable rewards. Hand in hand, you walked towards the future, ready to welcome a child into your lives and create a family built on love, trust, and the unwavering bond between the two of you.

Time had passed since that fateful conversation when you and Jason decided to open your hearts and home to a child in need. The paperwork, the interviews, and the waiting had finally led to this moment—the moment when you became parents.

As you stood in the doorway of your child's bedroom, a soft smile tugged at your lips. The room was adorned with toys and colorful decorations, a sanctuary of love and warmth. There, in the dim glow of a nightlight, Jason sat on a small rocking chair, cradling your new child in his arms.

You watched with awe as Jason read a storybook in a hushed voice, his voice filled with tenderness and care. The child's eyes sparkled with delight, completely captivated by the tale unfolding before them. It was a sight that filled your heart with immeasurable joy.

The story reached its end, and as the final words left Jason's lips, you saw a yawn escape his own mouth. He looked down at your child, a playful smile dancing on his tired face. "Looks like someone's getting sleepy, huh?" he whispered.

The child let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer to Jason's chest. You couldn't help but feel a rush of affection as you witnessed the bond forming between them—two souls finding solace and love in each other's presence.

Jason's eyes began to droop, his exhaustion catching up to him. With utmost care, he stood up from the rocking chair, gently placing your child into their crib. He leaned against the edge of the crib, watching over them with a protective gaze.

But sleep wouldn't be denied any longer. As the soft lullaby of the night embraced the room, you saw Jason's eyes flutter shut, his head slowly tilting to the side. He had succumbed to the tranquility that filled the space, finding comfort in the presence of your child.

Moved by the sight, you stepped forward, your steps barely making a sound on the carpeted floor. You retrieved a soft blanket from a nearby shelf and approached the crib, careful not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. Gently, you draped the blanket over Jason, ensuring he stayed warm in his slumber.

With a tender touch, you brushed a strand of hair away from Jason's face, the gesture filled with love and admiration. Then, you turned your attention to your child, tucked safely in their crib. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss on their forehead, whispering words of love and protection.

In that moment, surrounded by the peacefulness of the room, you realized how your lives had changed. You had become a family—a family built on love, understanding, and the shared desire to make a difference in each other's lives.

With a final glance at Jason and your child, you made your way out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. As you settled into your own bed, your heart was filled with gratitude for the blessings life had bestowed upon you.

In the stillness of the night, you found solace and comfort, knowing that your dreams were intertwined with those you held dear. And as you drifted off to sleep, the image of Jason and your child, wrapped in warmth and love, lingered in your mind—a testament to the beautiful journey you had embarked upon together.

#Jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagines #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #red hood imagines #dc #dc imagines #dc universe #robin x reader

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multi-esme · 1 year

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Selina's update

Sitting on the rooftop of a building, Selina sighs as she looks down to see the crimes of Gotham going about along with the city night activities. Having been let to roam around while her son was safe at home, she began to miss the chasing scene, the thrill.

"I knew I'd find you somewhere up here," hearing the voice of Seojun as he came to sit down next to her, Selina doesn't answer. "No shiny pieces today?" He asks. He enjoyed finding her alone without the Batman around. It gave him more of a chance to talk freely with her.

"He doesn't like it when I steal..." She mutters, only making the detective quirk a brow in questioning.

"He? As in Batman?" Seojun asks. "I thought you were single?"

Staring at a car driving on the street, she freezes as she doesn't want anyone to know that she was married to both Batman and Daniel, who were the same person.

"I am..." She answers calmly with a smile. "He may not like it, but I love the thrill of him chasing me."

"What if I chased you?"

With a mischievous grin, she takes his chin between her fingers and leans in to where there was only a bit of distance between them. "Oh darling, you wouldn't be able to catch up to me~" She purrs, making the detective blush at her flirting.

"I think I can," Seojun says as Selina lets go of him and gets up. "I may not be the Bat, but I think I can give you that thrill."

Looking him over as she walked backwards to the edge of the rooftop, Selina smiles from behind her goggles. "Just don't go dressing up as Daredevil again or the Bat. I don't think he'll like to know that a detective is using a costume to be like him."

#catwoman.esme ✿

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allzelemonz · 2 years

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Gaslight Hatter: Jervis Tetch X Gender Neutral Reader

Prompt: 12 Days of AU, Historic Pronouns: None Mentioned *Reader is a cop and the first female cop in America would have just joined the force around this time so there’s no room for pronoun plot holes, use what you want Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence Warnings: Mentions of murder/serial murder, based on the comic not the movie, reader is a cop but a cool one I guess, Reader referred to as an Alice by Hatter, I hope you’ve read the book Summary: 1890s Gotham is facing a new threat after the demise of Jack the Ripper. A madman dressed as the beloved Hatter from a popular storybook who has a pension for playing dress up with the young adults of the city. As an officer working under Inspector Gordon, it’s your job to protect the people.

With rumors of a giant bat taking down Jack the Ripper crime in Gotham has been down. Playful characters like the Joker and more scary ones like Double Man have all been quiet. However, working with Inspector Gordon has made it clear that there will always be something unexpected. Rumors have been circulating that the Inspector is working with the Batman, but no one seems intent on acting on it with all of the threats that could come up. Particularly the newest one, a man dressed as a book character.

The Inspector introduced him as The Hatter, a man emulating the character of the same name from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel materials. The books had been published only a few decades ago and most people now have a deep love for them, but this man is clearly obsessed. He has kidnapped and murdered several blond citizens from the streets and dressed them up as the little girl Alice and other characters like the White Rabbit. Most of his victims have been young, around your age, those that would have grown up with the book read to them at bedtime.

His last victim was left by the docks, a young man with longer than average blond hair adorned with a blue bow and dressed in a yellow suit. As he was a grown up male Alice. Before that it was a man dressed in a waistcoat with hair burned and fried into white. Before that it was a young woman dressed as the Cheshire Cat. Every last one of them disappeared one night and reappeared a week later with an immaculately detailed costume. All of them seen as a failure on the part of Gotham’s police and its notorious Inspector Gordon.

So he assigns patrols to be doubled and warns against lawmen going after the Bat. Your patrol with your partner is one of many, a short shift in a poor part of town during the dead of night. He is nervous, evident by his fiddling with his belt buckle and the consistent glances over his shoulder.

“We’ll never find him if you keep doing that.” You mutter.

‘Then I will continue, I have no intention of running into that madman.”

“It’s our job.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “Our job is stopping muggers, not hysteric villains.”

A sound of a trash can hitting the ground makes your partner nearly jump out of his skin. His knuckles turn white as he grips his billy club and faces the alleyway that the noise came from. You hold an arm in front of him to calm him down. When you turn your head you see the figure that has him so spooked and draw your club as well, but the firearm on your other hip is tempting.

The figure disappears as it steps backwards into the shadows. Your partner pushes past you and runs down the alley, a sudden burst of bravery apparently taking over him. You follow, against your better judgment, but you can’t leave your partner chasing after shadows. They outpace you just enough to lose you around a corner and it forces you to make a guess as to which way they ran. By the time you catch up with them you find the Hatter standing above your unconscious partner.

He does look like the Hatter from the story in what he wears, but his stature is much different. He’s a handsome looking man with greasy hair hidden under his tall hat, a man you might mistake for a common beggar on the street. He holds a watch in his hand and sways it back and forth with a sneer on his face. It is only now that you recall the features of your partner, young and blond, a perfect Alice.

“No need for an extra Alice, deer. Run along, get out of here.”

“You’re under arrest.”

He chuckles. “No, no, no, I can’t. I have a show.”

He raises his hands above his head and widens his eyes. The sparkle in them could be wonder or craze. And his words, he rhymes.

“Let him go, get to your show.”

“There is no show without Alice!” He snaps, forgetting his rhyme. “I want him, I need him. I need an Alice” He whispers just loud enough for you to hear.

“Take me.” You offer.

He chuckles again. “You are no Alice! You are too mean to be Alice.”

“I’m sorry, let’s talk over tea.”

The offer tempts him, he looks at his watch and smiles. His eyes meet yours as soon as he looks away from the watch. “Your hair wants cutting.”

The look on his face seems to hint at something. A line. It’s a line from the book. It has to be. A story you’d heard many times, but the line is so specific it’s hard to find. You knit your eyebrows, mentally searching for it.

“You should learn not to make personal remarks.” You say once you land on it.

The Hatter smiles and looks at you expectantly. There’s more for you to say. You go through the scene in your head, thinking hard.

“It's very rude.” You finish, half questioning the sentence.

“Good! Very good!” He claps his hands in excitement. “You are Alice.”

“I am, Hatter. Now, please, let’s go.”

Your hand is held out to him and he smiles as he runs to you to take it. He’s giddy with excitement as he looks at you. An Alice, the Alice he’d been looking for. Better than the others and much more fun than any White Rabbit.

“We’ll have fun, won’t we, Alice?”

A grin spreads across his face and his grip on your hand tightens. You don’t notice until it’s too late, the watch in front of your eyes swaying back and forth. Your vision goes blurry, then dark. The Hatter picks you up and hoists you over his shoulder, leaving the other Alice behind.

#mad hatter #mad hatter x reader #mad hatter x gender neutral reader #mad hatter x male reader #jervis tetch #jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch x gender neutral reader #jervis tetch x male reader #gotham x reader #gotham #gotham by gaslight #gotham by gaslight x reader #jarvis tetch #jarvis tetch x reader #jarvis tetch x gender neutral reader #au #12 days of au #historical au

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riddle-me-ri · 1 year

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Hello!! :D Hope your day has gone well!!

What are your thoughts on various Mad Hatters? Which one is your current favorite??

(Also could you recommend a Jervis comic mayhaps?? Been wanting to try read Batman Rogue comics ^^)

💤

Asdfghh where how where how...where do I begin with the mad lads asdfghh I'll give a tiny explanation as to why I love the versions I write for, that's a decent place to start lol. So, sorry not sorry you've opened the floodgates lmao, because of that there's a read more tab, sorry if you weren't quite expecting this lengthy response.

Arkhamverse Jervis: Definitely one of my favorite voices for him by far (Roddy for BTAS/TNBA is still a huge favorite). Also, his voice tapes with Strange in City absolutely twist my heart every time (not to mention the end of his mission when you go back to see him. He only wanted a friend hng), I think they could've done a lot with him, his short mission in City left much to be desired. The Wonderland hallucination in Origins and the storybook from Knight where amazing. While the writing is a wee topsy turvy, I do adore how they showed progression to his unyielding mental state (via, rhyming, literally Batman or anyone being Alice, and any word associated with Wonderland must be a part of it in Knight). And in City hinted at just how unnerved Jervis can be about himself and how he feels when he's lucid. I definitely get inspired by a lot of his character beats and traumas for sure (in my writing btw lmao)

BTAS Jervis: Ahaha the golden mad lad, my first Hatter encounter! I've always been a fan of Alice in Wonderland when I was watching BTAS (wanting to know what the hype was about as an animation student) so when I saw an episode called Mad as a Hatter I was intrigued lmao. I had no idea Jervis even existed and what a super strong intro episode too. Again Roddy is probably my favorite voice for him. Just...it's so warm and pleasant to listen to. I also appreciate that they didn't make this Hatter a one-trick pony? Nowadays a lot of DC writers sorta stick to the kidnapping/murdering women thing but BTAS Jervis literally tried to stop Batman before Batman could even do anything, so he can get Batman out of the way, he stole from Gotham's elite so he can run away on an island of his own? Also probably one of the more mentally stable of the Hatters and definitely the most romantic.

TNBA Jervis: Aww Ratter, sweet mad lad. I love rodents so the fact that the fandom has dubbed this version ratter and for the right reasons makes me so incredibly giddy. He's supposed to technically be BTAS just a different design, and as jarring as the changes may be, I think it still works, and again we see different motivations of Jervis other than him finding an Alice.

Secret Six (2006) Jervis: Hehehehe definitely one of my favorite Jervi. I absolutely love this mad, brilliant, druggy, powerful, silly nudist. This version is a prime example of just how powerful Jervis can be and why he should be depicted more as a threat (I have a thought that most of the time, Jervis leans more into his whimsy/playful attributes as a way to catch enemies off-guard, that's not to say he isn't that way in general, but I can see him using it to his utmost advantage). Also just wanna point out that this version was written by a woman, Gail Simone, who has canonically pinned Jervis to having amazing rizz and not to mention fangirls/fanboys that wanna marry him (and has an incredible "head" game) and I will forever love her for that.

Joker's Asylum Jervis: Aww, ohh, dear sweet mad lad, gotta grab tissues for this guy. One of the stronger of the Mad Hatter-centric comics. This comic delves into Jervis' psyche which a lot of DC writers almost refuse to even look at or consider (like...guys, I can do it...if I can do it I KNOW you can too). This comic shows what the Arkham games hint at, and that's that Jervis has/feels REMORSE. Probably one of the few rogues that do, he genuinely can't help it. He wants to get better, he wants to not be a threat. He wants companionship but fails miserably every time and the cycle continues. When I read this comic, it wouldn't leave my head for days. It is definitely what inspired my fic Love and Suds because my story is somewhat of an "what if" scenario like what if he did have someone there when he was spiraling and trying to fight off the delusions and madness.

Gotham Jervis: asdfgjkjj it...it took some time for me to like this one lmao. I have grievances across the board with Gotham as a whole. What they did to Jervis is no exception to that, he's interesting that he's a pure hypnotist and how apparently there are rules to that. It's one of the first (if not the only time?) Jervis isn't a scientist, but purely a hypnotist (before becoming a hypnotist criminal, it happens). I won't go too deep into him, esp. if you haven't seen this version but yeah just...he has potential he really does, he's just another example of a Jervis done dirty (and not the fun way)

Harley Quinn The Animated Series Jervis: red-head jervis, red-head jervis, red-head jervis my beloved. I love Jervis with red hair almost as much as blonde (and that's just personal preference cause I'm blonde lmao) From an artist stand point, his design is just really, really appealing to me. The bright complimenting colors, the wild spiky hair, the teeth, and the coke fingernail was a neat added detail (a buddy for S6 for sure). He was so criminally underused I will never forgive the show for what they did (him and other rogues as well). He's also very giddy, fun, but also still demented and violent.

To say the least...I can't choose just one current solidary favorite, I have grown to love them all in various ways, from their design to their personalities and voices. But my top three will definitely have to be; BTAS, Arkhamverse, and Secret Six. Joker's Asylum is also a super super close fourth. When I write for my "general" Hatter, I usually borrow traits, traumas, and mannerisms from these four.

As for comics I would recommend, here's a couple Jervis-centric ones to get you started. Also be weary and make sure you have an ad-blocker just in case. You shouldn't have to know too much backstory from other comics to understand them.

Secret Six (2006) Issue #1

Joker's Asylum: Mad Hatter

Sorry this got so long lmao, but thank you for letting me infodump and fixate on the Mad Lads, I've been having a rough time lately, and this has definitely lifted my spirits thinking about these guys lol.

#ri rambles #ri answers #sleepy anon 💤#high key wanna nickname you dormy lol #what are your thoughts ask meme #long post is long #I'm so sorry #but also I couldn't help it lol #I hope y'all don't mind

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kalinjdra · 2 years

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For the ask game! 31 and 37!! 😄

hehe! i shan't shut up now :) 31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Ohohohohoho, I am a firm believer that canon is my sandbox that I am free to play with however I wish! I will twist canon in my hands like silly putty >;3c Personally, I will incorporate things from canon if I think they're cool or under-rated and I go out of my way to read source materials and nonfiction just to make my writing more grounded. Currently reading the War Games just to know *how* to change it for a fic (mutter mutter why do i do this to myself...) So yeah! I love a good canon compliant fic once in a while but I most often kick it straight to the curb :)

37. Talk about your current wips.

-Questionable Decisions: this is a short little oneshot that ive plotted out about JayTim, proposals and accidental baby acquisition. I have like 12 scenes for that and no idea what the wordcount will be. My main problem writing it currently is that the characters get drunk but I have minimal experience in that so I don't know how to write :( buts its okay there's always other stuff to work on -Triple Trouble side fics: I have side fics planned out for my series TT which is a TodoDeku ABO fic (with minimal ABO) and kids. ...I really like sudden child acquisition, okay? Anyways, I ended up finishing the "main" fic which is about Izuku's kids (3 of them hence the name lol) getting kidnapped form camp, Todoroki's agency is in charge of handling it and literally everyone goes like "uhhhh yo these kids more or less look like you or your siblings" and then yeah meetcute stuff where the main couple doesn't even *meet* each other until the last chapter. Very on brand for me lol. Anyyyyways I promised a few one-shots for the series consisting of: Christmas fic, Baby Shouto fic, TodoDeku first meeting fic, and Moving In fic. This was around Christmas time so I was going to do that first. I did /NOT/ end up actually writing them, though Christmas fic has a valiant start and will probably be a two-shot where they celebrate Christmas with Izuku's side of the family and New Years' with Shouto's side of the family. Hm. There is a surprising amount of worldbuilding for this series despite it only being 17k... -Reflection: this is Harry Potter grows up in Gotham fic! with minimal influence on the bats! this one is written... in an unusual style for me and I've been working for this one for about a year or so? its currently only 6k but its a little past the trolls scene and I want to finish 1st year before I post it. the one song that encapsulates this fic is Eight by Sleeping At Last. anyways here's a snippet :) ---

hari potter grows up in gotham.

it changes nothing. (it changes everything.) ---

hari potter smiles shyly under the floating candles. his green eyes seem luminescent with the reflection of golden lights. his skin seems bronze, a picture perfect storybook hero cast from metal. these people desperately want a hero. a savior is all they see.

hari potter is a reflection. he adapts. he takes your expectations, your sterotypes and shows what you want to see.

after all, hari potter may be the boy-who-lived but he was a gothamite before that. ---

hari potter is swept under the inviting wing of gryffindor and why shouldn't he? he's a carbon copy of his father, after all. from his bird's nest hair, to his round glasses, to the way his nose slopes downwards.

hari potter is brave. he's saved all of britain from you-know-who! what else can he be other than a gryffindor? who else could face the greatest dark lord of their age! there are books about his death-defying stunts as a five year-old facing down a dracula, a novel about him destroying a cursed catacomb, a memoir about the adventures he's had. hari potter is brave.

(hari potter is brave. hari potter lived in gotham city. he's seen monsters come out of the sewers and has been mugged with a gun pressed to his temple. he remembers when the clown hid a bomb in the street over. he remembers seeing the cloud of dust flying outward, the slow collapse of the building. he remembers running, running so hard, hoping so hard to the edge of that rubble. pleasepleaseplease don't let him die. dig with bloody fingers and wiggle into tight crevasses. looking for a person, his very best friend majid. he remembers a firefighter dragging him away. five hours later, majid is carried out broken and blue. three days later, he attends the funeral. hari potter is brave.

hari potter is more than a cold halloween night.)

---

last but not least, Keystone: this is currently my largest and longest running fic and I literally posted the first chapter on a whim and a random person commented and encouraged so now here we are 10 chapters later. basic plot is Harry sends a letter to adult!Tim Drake because he really doesn't want to live with the Dursleys anymore, Tim essentially plans out a convoluted, multi step plan that has Jason pick up Harry from a train station to take him to a safe place (features: the Jewelry Protection Squad! cool gay vampire professors! Jason killing werewolves! and more!) Btw, the fic is currently on ch10 and the last 7 chapters have literally spanned the events of two days. I need help... anyways! I am currently writing a scene where Harry + Jason discuss with the Goblins about the Potter estate, land ownership and I get to hint at a larger but oppressed wizarding world! World building! From there, we might or might not get to the bunker where it'll be peace for Jason+Harry while they wait for the jewelry Protection Squad to do its thing. While that's happening, I'll be writing about what's going on Gotham and why Tim didn't just have Harry come over to Gotham. I am also currently reading War Games (and prbly No Man's Land later on) just to figure out how I can move around Keystone's Batclan characters and what might have changed and what stayed the same.

aaaand yah that's about it! thanks for asking! i really enjoyed talking about these :D

#kali speaks #keystone #reflection #triple trouble #questionable decisions #my writing

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cherysims · 5 years

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‘‘ Even if it takes all night or a hundred years, need a place to hide, but I can't find one near ’’

#Harley quinn #harlivy #poison ivy #catwoman #storybook #the sims #harley quinn the sims #dc comics #gotham city sirens #harley #quinn #sirens #story #fanart #simblr #screenshot #ts4

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soulmate-game · 4 years

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New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic dickinette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat fic #platonic brucinette #older sister Marinette

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adhdnursegoat · 5 days

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whew! I have made all my banners for selfshiptober!

This series will be called Gotham City Storybook

I do hope yall enjoy. I can't wait for October 1st!

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itsmalachitenow · 3 years

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BAT001- Down the Rabbit Hole

BAT001 – Case #0212403, taken from the files of Office 31 of the Gotham City Police Department

Statement of Alice Pleasance, regarding her close encounter with one Jervis Tetch.

-STATEMENT BEGINS-

I know. I know, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I know I don’t match the picture on my driver’s license. I’ve been meaning to get it redone. But when you’ve been missing for a month and a half, a lot of things you mean to get done get piled up, and it takes awhile to deal with them. If the hair dye and piercings bother you that much, I can just leave.

…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…all of this has been awful for me. I think coming in and saying what happened, getting it all put down on paper, will help me process it. At least, that’s what my therapist says. You’ll have to bear with me. A lot of it is blurry now.

So….here we go. From the top.

It started with a hole in the road.

It was February 13th. …I don’t actually remember which day I disappeared, but that was apparently the last time anyone had seen me, so that’s what we’re going with. I remember feeling…sad. Lonely. You know that feeling when you see couples walking around everywhere and you’re single? Yeah. That’s it.

I was heading home. I work…worked at…a division of Wayne Enterprises. I was a secretary. I can’t do it anymore, though, after what that bastard did to me. But we’ll get to that.

I was taking a different route from usual. I thought I’d pick up some takeout on the way home, maybe a tub of ice cream, really treat myself, you know? To hell with valentine’s day and to hell with romance. Who needs love, right?

And…I guess part of me was hoping I’d find something interesting. Something to brighten up my day.

I turned down the street corner and was debating what I’d order from Dragon Palace when I saw the hole.

Now…you have to understand. This was a big hole. It was big enough to take up the entire street. I wondered if there was some kind of renovation going on with the sewers or repaving the road, but there wasn’t any kind of construction equipment or signs anywhere.

…but there was a stuffed rabbit.

It was a battered old thing. I think it used to be white, but now it was more of a dingy yellow color, with patches of fur scuffed off. Honestly, I got a creepy vibe from it. I remember staring into its big glass eyes and wondering if the kid who’d dropped it was better off for losing it.

And then it moved.

Not on its own, of course. I’m not an idiot. Something…tugged it, towards the hole, and it skidded across the pavement until the tugging stopped.

By that point, I was ready to get the hell out of there and go home the usual way. This is Gotham. I knew something fishy was going on, and I didn’t want any part in it. So I tried to turn around…

…and stopped.

Maybe that’s the wrong way to say it. I guess I should say, something stopped me from turning.

I could still move my feet, my arms, my head! But whatever had grabbed me wasn’t letting me do anything with them.

I saw the rabbit skitter a few feet forward again.

But this time, some force pulled me after it. It was…like someone wrapped a rope around me, and was pulling it like they were pulling the stuffed toy.

By that point, I was wondering if I was dreaming. I had to be, right? Even then, I recognized the similarities to that story—Alice in Wonderland? I know this is Gotham, and things are weird in Gotham, but girls named Alice don’t just chase a toy rabbit into a hole that spawned in the middle of the street. They don’t!

But it kept going. The rabbit would move, and then I’d move. It would move, then I would move. Until eventually the rabbit disappeared down the pit, and I was standing at the very edge of it.

My heart was beating so hard I could hear it, watching that stuffed toy fall into the darkness. I remember listening for it, waiting to hear it hit the ground…

…but somehow, some part of me knew that I wouldn’t.

I tried to fight back. But whatever was pulling me didn’t like that, and it gave one more hard yank. The next thing I knew, I was tumbling down, down, down into the dark.

This is where it all gets blurry for me. So…sorry in advance, I guess.

I was screaming. I remember that much, even though everything after the fall is…murky. I was screaming my head off as I fell down that pit. But somehow, the landing didn’t kill me. I hit something soft…mushrooms? Were they mushrooms? I think they were.

But now the rabbit was back in sight, and now I could see what was moving it. There was a bright red string attached to it, and it was pulling the thing along.

And now there was a bright red string attached to me, coming out of my chest, and it was pulling me right along after it.

I don’t remember how long I ran. It was a very long hallway, with twists and turns…I remember doors. But I didn’t give them so much as a second glance. I wouldn’t have, even if I weren’t struggling to keep my balance with the thread pulling me along. Some part of me knew…that they weren’t for me. Does that make sense?

Whatever. The doors don’t matter. The hallway doesn’t matter—it eventually gave way to…all these bright colors. It seemed like the landscape was changing itself around me. I remember flowers bigger than me, ones that waved to me as I passed them, I remember a technicolor forest…

…but we didn’t stop until we reached the tea party.

It was a huge table, about twenty feet long, covered in all kinds of teapots and cups. There were a few people sitting there. But…it was wrong. The whole thing was wrong.

A man and an older woman were seated across from eachother, drinking tea and chattering about something I couldn’t hear. But none of their movements were on their own—they had red string, the same kind that was attached to me, wrapped around all their limbs. Like puppets…they were like human puppets, being guided through the motions, with half-lidded and glassy eyes.

And sitting between the two of them was a man. That bastard—Jervis Tetch. I know his name now, but at the time I just thought he looked like the Mad Hatter had stepped straight out of the storybook. His fingers were entwined in red string, and he was playing cat’s cradle with them. Do you know that game? The one where you take a large loop of string and make shapes with it? That’s what he was doing—staring intently at his fingers as he moved the string and contorted it.

…and then he looked at me.

He stopped his hands, and the others at the table stopped what they were doing. They just…hung there, like marionettes. Lifeless.

Those huge red eyes were boring into me. He said my name, like a question. “Alice?” He tilted his head at me, like a kid might do at an unexpected toy.

I didn’t say anything. At least, I don’t think I did. I didn’t understand anything that was going on.

And then he smiled at me. That smile…it was horrible to look at. It curled across his face, wider than any human’s should be, with more teeth than any human should have. And what he said next, I remember more clearly than anything else in that horrible place.

“Your hair wants cutting.”

He never did, though. Cut my hair, I mean. In fact, I think my hair was his favorite thing about me—the way he’d coo to me as he brushed it…he ended up putting those same strings on me that those other people had. I couldn’t fight back—he was stronger than I was, especially once the strings were on. My limbs just…stopped working.

The rest of it is mostly a fever dream. We had tea parties and played croquet and ran about, all with me in some hideous Alice dress and parroting the things he wanted me to say. I begged him to let me go, of course. But he’d just tut and tap my nose. Something about me being ‘naughty’. Oh, I could’ve killed him.

None of it felt real. It was…it was bad. That’s the only way I can think to summarize it. Icky. Not right. Wrong. Jesus—listening to myself is painful. Any of those words, amplified a hundred times, wouldn’t be enough to describe the sensation that went on down there, down in ‘Wonderland.’

I saw him kill a man down there. Or maybe the man was already dead. Either way, when the Hatter took a pair of scissors out of his coat and cut the threads holding him up, he didn’t try to get back up again. The Hatter just shook his head, and I watched the dead-eyed man sink down into the floor like quicksand. How many others had he done that to??

Toys. We were all toys, to be discarded when we were too broken to be fun anymore.

There were dozens of people down there.

Not just anyone, either—some of them…some of them I recognized. Cheryl Reed, an older woman who worked in the same building as me—she was down there too, dressed up all in red and crowing for decapitation. She didn’t recognize me, even when I pleaded her to. Or maybe she was just pretending. When the Hatter stomped his foot and demanded we ‘stop that nonsense’, neither of us felt like fighting back.

Neither of us wanted to end up like that man on the floor.

…thinking back…I don’t think all of us were tied up. There was a man who was…different. I know he was different, because he could walk around on his own. No strings. And I never saw the Hatter dress him. Instead of the gaudy colorful clothes he put us in, this person was walking around in a drab brown business suit. He was…tall, yes, he was tall. Taller than the Hatter by at least a foot or two. Brown hair. Glasses…a very sharp chin.

He’d show up sometimes. The Hatter would get very excited when he came to the table, and he made me curtsey to him the first time he came. Introduced him as…J…something. It was a J name. Jonah? James? I guess it doesn’t matter. The name the Hatter gave him was ‘the March Hare’. Whoever he was, the March Hare made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in helping me, or any of us. He’d sit down and talk to the Hatter. I could never follow the conversation, or remember it clearly. …always something about ‘spirals’, I think.

But the important bit here is that the March Hare could leave.

He had a pair of scissors in his pocket, and he’d just….cut through the air, tear a large dark hole into reality, and step through it. The Hatter would stitch it back together with the same red thread he used on the rest of us, though the closed rip would eventually fade into nothing.

It’s how I escaped.

See, most of the time he would take me with him wherever he was going or whatever game he was playing. I was his favorite that way. But everyone else, he’d have them doing something on their own without him having to constantly keep an eye on them. I guess you could call it ‘autopilot’.

After some romp with the Walrus and the Carpenter, we were coming back to the tea table, and I saw a chance at salvation. The Hatter’s scissors weren’t in his pocket anymore—they were laying there, on the floor, just under the tablecloth. He must have dropped them! I knew I had to act fast—who knew when I’d get another chance?

I brought up some fake inconsistency—that the Carpenter had a limb loose, or something like that. I remember how agitated he got. Insisting to me that no, the Carpenter did not have a loose limb, all the strings were still tightly in place. But I kept insisting, and he actually started to doubt himself to the point where he finally buckled and was going to go back and check. He tried to bring me along, but I huffed and said my feet were tired, I wanted to sit down and drink my tea and eat my biscuits.

Normally he would’ve scolded me and made me come along anyway, but I think by that point I’d stressed him out enough that he just let me sit as he hurried off, and for the first time in what felt like years, I was alone again.

It took…a lot of effort, to move on my own. It’s probably the hardest thing I’d ever done. But I managed to pull against the strings, to bend down, to pick up the scissors. And I cut myself free.

The minute the blades cut through the first strand of thread, I knew I’d made a mistake. He’d felt it. And he was coming back. Fortunately, with my arm free, it was much easier to get the rest of the string off of me.

I almost didn’t get out. By the time I was off my strings, the Hatter was practically flying back towards me, angrier than I’d ever seen him. He was screaming at me, screaming at me to stop, that he’d punish me if I went any further.

I tried swinging the scissors through the air, and I almost sobbed when nothing was happening. No portal was appearing, no salvation was coming…I was going to be a doll forever, or until he decided he was done with me.

But then, a thought drifted through my mind. It was something one of my old lecturers at university had said. The gist of it isn’t really important here—but I remembered the phrase ‘fabric of reality.’

When I was thinking of that phrase, suddenly I felt the blade of the scissors catch on something, and I was quick to pull it down. Like you’d tear through a sheet of fabric in your way.

Just before he could grab hold of me, I dove into the hole I’d made.

And then I woke up.

…well…I woke up on the pavement, with paramedics and a crowd gathered around me, along with reporters. The missing Alice Pleasance, returned home in strange clothes, and…you know the rest. Read the newspaper articles if you really want a rehash of that. Honestly, lying there on the street, I thought it really was a dream, that maybe I’d just gotten hit by a car or something and blacked out….but there’s a problem with that. One, I’d been missing for a month and a half, and two, I still had the Hatter’s scissors. I’m leaving them with you. Lord knows I don’t want them. And maybe they’ll help in your investigation.

I cut my hair. It was the first thing I did once I was out of the hospital. I threw out most of my old clothes, all of them were too close to the costumes he had me in for my liking. And every time I looked in the mirror, I saw Alice. Sweet, sassy, stupid Alice, from the books. …I can’t even think of those books now without feeling sick.

I had to quit my job. I can’t focus for long periods anymore, no matter how hard I try. I just lose track of the time, and all of a sudden it’s four hours later than when I last checked. Most of the time, I just stay in nowadays.

…and that’s not all…

Sometimes, when I look around outside…I can see red strings everywhere. Covering everyone. Guiding them. Controlling them. It’s not real. I know it’s not real. And most of the time, I can blink a few times or rub my eyes, and the strings will be gone.

Jervis Tetch…that monster…he ruined my life.

I don’t know how you’d go about capturing someone like that.

But I really hope this helps you catch him.

Archivist Notes: The scissors Ms. Pleasance included with her statement are now in artifact storage, awaiting inspection. If what Ms. Pleasance says is true, this marks the first documented case where someone’s ever escaped from Jervis Tetch—alive, anyway, instead of lying dead in some back alley as if they’d dropped from the sky.

One other thing to note is the description of the ‘March Hare.’ It might be a stretch, but it aligns very closely with a missing person’s report that’s currently ongoing. The case of one Jonathan Crane, missing for at least a year, and appearing in proximity to dangerous individuals. Something to look in to.

-END DOCUMENT-

#batmagnus archives #batman #the magnus archives #my writing #tma #alice pleasance #jervis tetch #mad hatter #the mad hatter #batman au #magnus archives au

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vln-vibes · 5 years

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Of Legends, Fairy Tales and Folklore

AKA A MariBat, Ever After High inspired AU

In the World there are certain stories that are universally known. They're known as Legends or Fairy Tales. Every knew the big stories; The Classics of Grimm Tales - Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears etc etc. They even created a new celebration for such stories; Legacy Day. It was a rare event that everyone wished to see; the day the Stories and Legends pledged to follow their story to the tea, no games, no divergence, a perfect recreation through and through. But there were other Legends that began to emerge like those of the Miraculous; The Miraculous were items blessed by the gods of the universe and they always played out the same stories. The Ladybug and the Black Cat would always retrieve the stolen Butterfly, it was always stolen back from the guardians after. The Ladybug would recruit other heroes to aide in their journey and become the next Guardian. The Ladybug and the Black Cat would get together and live their happily ever after.

However people were often unaware of the Folktales- divergent stories that took a split with each incarnation. They began with the story of Bruce Thomas Wayne, an aristocratic boy who lost those dear to him at a young age. His story should have ended that day, he would live his days reclused in his castle, never to see the light of day... However that was not how his story went. He took his mourning and channeled it to create a new Legend. He became the Batman, a champion against the evil of the world to ensure no one would be destined for a tragic ending. Then came Richard John Grayson. The day his world came crashing he was destined to become the Talon, a weapon for the Court of Owls and Gotham’s dirty aristocrats; Bruce saved him from a miserable ending and the story of Robin was born. Batman and Robin became folktales; to show that not everything was set in stone, that there were multiple paths to a single beginning. Jason Peter Todd, Timothy Jackson Drake and Stephanie Brown all took on their own incarnations and versions of Robin; each unique in their own way but maintaining their mission to rid the world of its tragic endings that were deemed to be destiny. Along the way came the tales of Batgirl, Batwoman, Black Bat, Spoiler and Signal.

Damian Wayne-al Ghul was one such spirit who was saved. His destiny was to become the ultimate weapon for his family. A culmination of the greatest of the world. When he was at his perfect state he would become the vessel for the Demon. His destiny would not be kind. The story of Batman and Robin were what brought him hope, the small amount he allowed himself. When he finally left the dreaded compound, he was finally able to see that he didn't have to be a weapon for his grandfather. Thus the story of the Fifth Robin began.

Each person selected to be a Story or a Legend was born with a mark, one which would represent their role in the story. When they reached the age of 10 they would wake up to find a blank book, one which only they could read and could never be lost or destroyed. Marinette Dupain-Cheng did not know what to think when she saw the Ladybug mark over her heart, she ensured no one could see it as she knew it would be important for later in her life. The book that appeared when she was ten told her snippets of her story, she could never know too much lest she face unforeseen consequences.

"The young Ladybug was loved by all.... Ladybug knew what this moment meant, after all she knew since she was a little girl... The Ladybug and the Black Cat were loved by all, regarded as the best in history... She was abandoned by her friends, all quick to leave her for the next big thing... Ladybug knew she could not deny destiny... Ladybug fell for ..."

Marinette did her best to be a good friend, always accommodating, always compassionate and always willing to help her friends.... She never wanted to lose them. When she met Adrien Agreste she thought something clicked, as though he was her destiny to meet. She had felt the same when she met Chloe, Kim, Alix, Max, Nathaniel,(maybe Nino) but something felt different, something she could not place her finger on. The day she found a small black box in her bedroom she knew what it meant, after all she had known since she was a little girl. The day she met the small Kwami she could not help but think that she was hiding something, her eyes looked saddened before smiling and introducing herself.

As soon as Ladybug made an appearance on the rooftops along with Chat Noir everyone was talking about Legacy Day. The Parisians couldn't help but see when their Ladybug would finally announce their Legacy day. Everyone wanted their favorite heroes to get a reassure Happily Ever After.

The Folktales or Justice League , honestly they had no idea who came up with the name, did not know how much progress Ladybug's story had made. "No one truly knows how different each story of the Ladybug is" Diana, the Princess of Thymescara, and current Wonder Woman explained to Batman and Superman, a new folktale with unprecedented beginning, "My mother was once Ladybug, but to be the Ladybug there is always a price. Each and every one is cursed with a robbed happily ever after, a fact many ignore. My mother, after retrieving the Butterfly, was betrayed by her Black Cat; he wanted my mother to be his happily ever after, when she refused he murdered her, its how she was chosen to be Queen of Thymescara by the goddesses. Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the steak for refusing to sign the Storybook of Legends, they accused her of being a witch and of terrible crimes, that she had deceived them and was not the true Ladybug. Even those that signed did not live happy lives after the story was done... I can't help but want to save this Ladybug from the same ending"

Adrien Agreste was always told he was born for greatness. His mother and aunt said so the moment his cat mark came out. They wondered which tale would be his or if he and Felix would play their tale; The Twin Rings. He knew he would be getting his happily ever after so he put up with his father's ridiculous standards, the overbearing work and overly sheltered life. Someday, he knew, he would get to see the real world, make friends, he'd get his happily ever after. The moment he met Ladybug he knew it was heading for the right direction. Meanwhile Plagg is sure that Adrien is a cat but not his Black Cat. He of course can't really do anything about it and ever since his mother passed, Adrien's father locked up all their Books. Because Adrien technically knows they're in his father's safe its not considered lost so it can't reappear to him; he has no clue about his story but he thinks it’ll all play out in the end. Ladybug liked Chat Noir but she did not want him to be her happily ever after... she was beginning to doubt if she would even get one. The more time she spent as Ladybug, the greater her magic and her ability to read the past tales of Ladybug. They all began so grand and courageous but... the closer they got to the ending the more tragic she began to find them. Even those that signed the storybook of legend would eventually fail to protect the butterfly, thus the cycle continued. Tikki does eventually confess about the thing with Ladybugs and Marinette isn't surprised, its actually something all Ladybugs end up realizing and just strive forward with it. A few did try to change the story but by that point it was too late; Tikki has hope Marinette still has time to change or decide to stick with the story. With the introduction of "Lila Rossi", the supposed granddaughter of the one Pied Piper of Hamlet and Ermellina, not to mention she was destined Fox of the Miraculous; the Ladybug began to feel her friends move away... they no longer needed her. Or that was what she believed. As it turned out her classmates who had their own Book and story were aware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing who would try to destroy their stories. Many chose to play along with her, to see how it was possible for her to change stories while other stood firmly on their ground and had unknowingly allied themselves to the Ladybug, the test for their own stories. What they don’t realize is that Lila's actually a Page Ripper, like a dream-eater except for stories, she lives off of or just enjoys destroying stories because she knows hers will end with her being stuck with a terrible ending, in her opinion. She refuses to realize that she only get the terrible ending because she began to destroy other stories.When she saw Marinette she recognized her as definite main character for a Story and began her vendetta against her At this point she already has Ryuuko, Viperion and Queen Bee as her permanent holders, she made a mistake of choosing Alya as the Fox (one her book warned about, and now Alya thinks its supposed to be for Lila.) In reality she has no clue who or if there is even a person who was meant to be the Fox in this version of the story or if she's just supposed to give it to whoever she deems worthy. The Kwami tell her not to worry about it and just choose allies she is sure about. She does eventually recruit other temporary holders but she’s unsure if she could trust them after Rena Rouge. Everything began to change once more when they ventured to Gotham, the city of Folktales as it was home to the Batman. Their class had been enraptured by the newest story Lila had come up with, about convincing a story to finally follow their destiny and sign their storybook of legends, when she was called out for the fact that it was not her call to make... No one had to follow any so call destiny or story. "Do you not understand! Without the stories the world will fall apart!" she had yelled out

"And I believe you have no clue where you are. Here, no one has to follow their stories, everyone is free to make their own decisions and create their own version of their story" "And how would you know!" some angry yells began before he took out a book, it was a deep emerald green, easily mistaken for black at a glance, with golden details and cuffs, at the center was a ruby gem, in cursive the spine said 'Damian Wayne' where it once said Ibn al Xu'ffasch That was how the young Ladybug was introduced to the concept of Folktales and met the young Robin.

Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, knows that she at some point gains a protege but it should have happened some time ago (around the time one of her old friend’s passed away), she's not sure how she feels about that. Marinette isn’t sure if she want to sign the Storybook of Legends, truly no one on her team is, but the Parisians are getting persistent. Even city officials are breathing down her neck and she can’t help but think of Jeanne.

Damian's story of Robin begins to transition into a weird mix about becoming a cat of some sort and of breaking a curse.

All anyone is sure of is that

The End is just the Beginning

#MariBat #MariBat au #Ever after high au #Miraculous Au #Daminette #Lila Salt #Lila Bashing #Alya Salt #Alya bashing #damian x marinette #damian wayne au #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng

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rosesloveletters · 4 years

Text

Alone in the Dark.

pairing: Heath Ledger Joker x Fem. Reader

word count: 5,244

warnings: strong language, violence, murder, blood, theft, female vs. male attackers.

summary: J’s the hero in this one - reader and J meet for the very first time.

Have you ever had to write one of those stories in school about a moment in your life that somehow defined you as a person? One of those ‘personal narratives’ that requires you to dig down deep into your life and realize what events have led you to… this. This one, single moment that you are living right now. A certain life-defining event that is somehow solely responsible for shaping you into the person that you have become. You know, those kinds of moments.

You always made those stories up. They were always based in truth; however, you could not say that your life was one of great excitement. Perhaps, from the outside looking in, it appeared more thrilling than it was. But for you, your life wasn’t out of some fairytale storybook. Save those for the rich and famous. The ones who deserve it. For you, it was much more complicated than that.

xxx

You shuddered and drew your thread-bare jacket around your thin frame as tight as you could. The icy wind whipped your hair in a frenzy and bit straight through your clothes. December in Gotham City was brutal no matter what they told you and you hadn’t earned quite enough money yet for a decent coat, at least not as long as food and housing were a necessity.

It was dark already, and you were on the way to your car. You’d had to park rather far from the building. Christmas was right around the corner and Gotham’s residents were hard at work preparing for the season. When you had arrived to work this morning, the streets had been lined with cars as far as the eye could see, but were empty now, save for a few cars lined up along the curb a way down from the direction you were headed. Usually you never had to work late, but your place of employment was short staffed as it was and it seemed as if every damned person in the city couldn’t think of anything else they might possibly prefer to do this time of the year, like spending time with family, other than shopping. You snorted at the thought. It was ridiculous. What were you thinking, really? It was something that even youwanted to do. But things were different now. The world was a much different place than it had been merely a year ago, but no one wanted to admit it. Everyone carried on as they always had, you supposed. But things were very different, yes. Gotham was struggling. The city was on the precipice of disaster, even though no one had any clue what that disaster would be. The world had chewed you up and spit you back out in a somehow worse-off spot than you’d been in before. Things always change.

Christmas had always held a sacred place in your heart. Christmas meant family. A warm place to come home to. Loved ones all around. But was it? That was what you had always told yourself, ever since day one. And for a long time, that was what it had been. But ideals change. Nothing is permanent. Nothing in this world…

You were supposed to go to college a year ago. That was also something you had told yourself. You were supposed to. But who had decided that? When had you? Had you simply submitted to it because there had been no other option? No, it couldn’t be. Or maybe it was because you didn’t know what else was out there. You didn’t know that there were other choices laid out for you and that you had the option to pick.

You lived a cookie-cutter life before you cut yourself down to where you were now. The perfect student, perfect grades, perfect family, perfect life. You spat in the face of it now. The thought made you sick. You wanted to make something of yourself. You didn’t want your family to be the reason you reached success. You had always been that way, or at least that was what your father always said.

You were independent. You did things your way, or not at all. When you had told your parents you weren’t going to school, all hell broke loose. It made you laugh now, it really did. Those walls couldn’t hold you now, the home that had become your own prison cell. You had moved out shortly after.

There were no hard feelings between you and your parents now. Everything had worked out fine in the end. But that was the thing about Christmas: it made you think of what could’ve been. You could’ve been the perfect student, a part of the perfect family, the perfect daughter…

But it was never about making yourself into a huge success, world-renowned or even have the neighbors know your name. It was about yourself. For once in your miserable life you were determined to do something for yourself, simply for the joy of having the freedom to choose. And what was better than living for yourself?

Walking alone in the dark wasn’t ideal. The city was in a constant state of unrest. Had been for years. Most were too afraid to say why. What put the city that way was something the “adults” refused to speak about, no matter how hard you pressed nor how far you were willing to dig for the truth. Especially not when the one who was asking was a young girl. Lucky for you, you weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. Unfortunately you never got the chance. You supposed it was because people were afraid. Perhaps afraid that if they spoke of it, somehow that would make those horrible events spin into motion, as stupid as that was. You were tired and weary from the way things were and the way Gotham’s citizens had become. They were all close-minded freaks. No one thought for themselves and the ones who did were viewed as different. They were so quick to judge. Judgement before knowledge was what you always said. That was Gotham for you.

You saw your car at the end of the alley. You were paranoid and always looking over your shoulder, quickening your pace at every noise you heard. It was sad in itself that you had to be so frightened at every turn. You were jumpier tonight for some reason. Maybe it was a difference in the atmosphere or possibly something more sinister that changed your behavior. You felt eyes on your back. They burned into your back as you scrambled for your car keys at the bottom of your purse. A hand grabbed the strap of your bag and you screamed. You whirled on your heel and tore the strap from your attacker’s grasp.

That brief moment in time was just enough. You felt a presence loom up behind you; heard footsteps on the pavement. You started to turn around when you felt hands wrap around your neck, grasping tightly and blocking your airway. You dropped your keys in your struggle to free yourself. You flailed in your assailant’s arms, clawing desperately at their arms to try and free yourself but they were too strong. Your struggles got weaker and weaker, your vision swam and darkened at the edges.

“Ease up, will you?!” you heard the first assailant growl at the other, “check her bag. Get the money and lets go.”

By that time, they were swarming. Your eyes saw hundreds, when in reality there were maybe five or six men. The one with his hand wrapped tightly around your neck loosened his grip and ripped your purse off your shoulder. He dumped its contents onto the street and scrambled for the wallet. You stood there, facing them down with a solid expression, “take it and go. I don’t want any trouble.”

The man who had appeared first, which you had noted was wearing a shimmering gold chain around his neck, spoke, “Of course you don’t. Lucky for you, neither do we. Had a good night, haven’t we boys?”

Several of the men cackled. You had no idea what that meant, but it seemed like the sort of inside joke you wouldn’t wish to be a part of. They were closing in on you and it rose the hairs on the back of your neck; fight or flight coursed through your veins. Gold chain made the first move. One swift punch to the gut and you were on your knees in front of him. You doubled over, let out a groan of pain and he slapped you. You let out a pained little shriek and the men surrounding gold chain laughed. You had no idea what they planned on doing to you. Were they going to kill you? You didn’t want to die like this. Not in an alleyway at the hands of some up and coming gang. You had to get away from them. You had to survive at all costs. You hadto.

The catwalk above the men creaked, footsteps barely audible on the fire escape. One of them looked up, barely managing to spot a booted foot pass by in the split second between light and the shadows. He jerked his chin at gold chain, catching his leader’s attention as he eyed the catwalk, “looks like we got company, boss.”

Gold chain turned on you, “who’s with you?” he spat in your face, grabbing you by the collar and shaking you like a ragdoll, “who is with you?!”

“I- I don’t…” you stammered, “no one. I…”

That only seemed to enrage him further, “you ain’t getting outta here that easy, honey,” he shouted as he reached inside his coat and slowly pulled out a gun, brandishing it close enough for you to see in the darkness. The barrel glinted dimly in the light, “and if I don’t have answers in the next ten seconds, then I’m gonna blow your brains out!”

The man towering above you roared with rage, waving his weapon in your face just as an explosion of gunfire rang out throughout the alley. You let out a loud scream and scrambled backward as gold chain toppled to the ground where you’d just been, dark, warm blood seeping from three large bullet wounds on his back.

His cronies stood there in horror, looking to the heavens where the shots had indiscernibly come from and took out their own weapons. The darkness hid their opponent, who shot down each of them, one by one. They tried to run as they fired bullets in every direction, two nearly escaping out past your car at the end of the alley, but two shadowy figures appeared to block their path.

You were a sitting duck. Your heart hammered in your chest. It was a race against time and you were losing. A routine alleyway jump turned gang shootout; you had to fucking get out of Gotham.

You quickly stepped into the shadows in one fell swoop and your back connected with the musty brick wall as you pressed myself as far into the darkness as you could. You silently prayed that the veiled assassins couldn’t see in the dark any better than you could. You sidestepped along the wall and stopped dead at the sound of more gunfire.

Your head snapped in the direction of the noise and you nearly fell to your knees again with fear. The two figures were still between you and your car. You noticed the guns they wielded were some sort of military grade weaponry, assault rifles you assumed, poised and ready to go. Not only that, but these assassins were masked. Clearly they were here for the killing. One way or another, someone was going to die at their hands. The hollowed out eyes of their masks stared forth, black as night themselves, as the figures started to walk forward.

Your heart sank. Of course they you were still here.

One of the masked men stopped and retrieved a duffel bag off one of the corpses’ backs. They unzipped it, turned to the other and nodded slowly. The bag was loaded down with cash. Both figures started to laugh. It was a twisted sort of laughter. The kind that made you sick to your stomach and made your head ache.

They were close enough now for you to tell that their masks were just as bizarre in nature as their laughter. They were Halloween clown masks, almost like they’d been purchased at the supermarket. The sharp lines of the clown makeup cut through the darkness like a knife and your legs shook as you fought the urge to run. If you ran, they’d shoot you dead. But if you stayed put, you faced the same fate only slower. You grimaced and tried not to cry. You had to make a decision. No one could help you now. You bitterly realized that you had never once felt so utterly alone than in that moment. You’d been alone most of your life it seemed like, but not once had you ever noticed. Not until now.

The fire escape ladder groaned in protest underneath the extra weight of a person walking down. As horrific as it sounded in your own brain, it sounded as if there were a spring in their step as they descended. The silhouette glided off the bottom step and turned around. Their coat fluttered in the frigid winter wind but this newcomer seemed unfazed by what Gotham’s weather forecast had to offer, “seems a wholelot of trouble justfor a few thousands, wouldn’t everyone agree?”

From their voice, it was clear the newcomer was male. It was that very voice that could make people irreversibly sick the longer they heard it. Nothing in your wildest dreams, well nightmares, could conjure up a sadistic drawl like that. A tone so lighthearted and almost jovial that it became sinister, backed up with sharp, cutting syllables and flicks of the tongue at each exaggerated word.

The light just barely reached the toes of the man’s boots. His goons had been nodding at his words, one of them still clutching the duffel of cash. It was vile how they cackled, sharing a laugh like one you might share with close friends after one of them had told a particularly funny joke. But the laughing was cut short by the sound of two piercing gunshots and both goons fell backwards onto the cold pavement. You put a hand over your mouth to silence your gasp of surprise.

Three more goons appeared from the shadows, surrounding the man who had just shot his own cronies in cold blood. From point blank range. You didn’t want to be here witnessing this.

You waited. Waited for your chance. You just needed a small enough of a window in order to run. Wait for them to get distracted and run. Run. Just run.

The man took one step, the light revealing the leg of his purple trousers now spattered with little red flecks of blood. His presence was menacing. He must’ve been at least six feet tall, but was thin and lanky, like he hadn’t had a good meal his entire life. The long trench coat he wore bulked up his figure, but the way his muscles jumped and bunched together showed a difference in his body-type that he was quite possibly trying to hide. Perhaps it wasn’t his body-type at all. Was that blood coming from beneath his coat?

You stuttered out a gasp as he came into the light. His greasy, cheaply-dyed green hair reached his shoulders and hung in his face, bright against the stark white greasepaint on his face. Unlike his goons, he wore no mask. His face was painted, like warpaint, but warped and cracked in places from the applicant’s poor choice of redoing it over the old stuff, coupled with the sweat and grease that threatened to take it off on its own. The creases in his forehead were void of the white paint and it was beginning to come off at the sides as well. His eyes appeared sunken in like a skeleton where the area had been painted black; a smokey eye gone horribly, morbidly wrong. Those piercing eyes shifted and he turned. His lips were a crude red color, cut sharp across his face and coating the terrifying scars at the corners of his bloody lips. A bloody smile…

Your pulse throbbed and your heart was in your throat. Whoever he was, he meant business. You just hoped he had no business with you at all.

He inhaled and set his jaw, picked up one of the assault rifles the corpse at his feet had dropped and held it loosely at his side, “now,” his blood-red mouth split into a maniacal grin and those wicked fingers twisted on the gun. He could play that weapon like it was a piano, “get me that girl.”

His tongue darted out and flicked against his bottom lip as his eyes scanned the area for any glimpse of you, “come out and play…we knowyou’re still here.”

You knew he was talking to you just then. You ran. You knew you didn’t have a chance, but you had to try. The last thing you wanted was your parents to have to stomach how you died: in an alley in downtown Gotham at the hands of some no-name criminal. You heard footsteps as they rushed you, chasing you down the alley as you ran further and further away from your car, your only beacon of hope. They’d been blocking that direction anyway. Something caught your heel and you tripped and rolled, fetching up against the curb of the broken sidewalk as the wind was knocked out of you. A masked face swam into your line of vision as they grabbed you by your shoulders and hauled you forward.

You were dragged back to their leader. He stood in wait, watching as his faithful little pets brought you to him, ready and willing to be his loyal servants until he got bored and decided to take their precious lives, which he already held in the palm of his malignant hand.

You were thrown to your knees at his feet. You were all scraped up by then and you could feel blood seeping through the knees of your jeans. A line of the stuff had already begun to leak down your face from a cut on your temple but you ignored it. Despite your fear, you forced yourself to look up at him. You weren’t afraid to meet his gaze. You wouldn’t let yourself be afraid.

He held your gaze, that wicked grin still plastered on his face, “do you believe in luck, sweet cheeks?” he asked and you winced at his tone.

When you didn’t answer, he did, “well, I don’t. I have to say, I almost feel bad,” he chattered as he circled you, “just at the wrong place at the wrong time, weren’t we?”

He gripped your chin when you finally had to look away and dragged your gaze back to his. He met you with that sickening smirk on his face and you ripped your chin out of his gloved hand. He chuckled darkly, clicking his tongue. He lifted the gun and set the barrel right against your forehead, between the eyes. You gulped and resigned yourself to your fate. He put his finger on the trigger. But sometimes fate has a funny way of working. The man lifted the gun away from your forehead and fired three shots behind you, and the three goons that had appeared at his side before all fell to the ground, still and lifeless.

A single tear slipped down your cheek and you voice shook, “why are you doing this?”

He began to laugh and it sent a chill through you. He tossed the weapon aside.

He stopped. Thank god, he stopped. He had dropped the gun and all of your thoughts ceased for a moment. All you heard was silence. Everything following that sentence came in slow motion as he pulled you off the ground. You exhaled, releasing a breath of relief, though you should have felt far from safety.

“Have to-ah…give ‘em a good show. It’s all part of the game, sweets.” He was being gentle with you now and it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t he just trying to kill you? There was something very, very wrong here. He had issues, surely. No sane person could shift so quickly, so drastically, and not seem to notice. You put a pin in that thought and kept it to yourself.

“I don’t understand…” “Have ta keep up appearances,” he responded quickly and made a popping noise with his mouth, “never let ‘em see the real ‘you’.”

You were so hopelessly confused. What was he talking about and why was he helping you? You would have sworn his sole mission in life was to kill you or at least injure you and leave you for dead, but the longer he held you in his arms proved differently. Had he actually been trying to helpyou? That couldn’t be right…

“Those sick bastards didn’t hurt ya too bad, right?” the man asked while checking you over for cuts or bruises that he couldn’t already see.

“Uh…I-I don’t think so…look I just…I wanna get to my car. I need to get to my car, please. I need to go home. Please…Please let me go home.”

You sniffled pitifully and you hated yourself for getting emotional. All crying did was make you feel weak and disgusted with yourself, but maybe it would appeal to this man’s better nature and he’d let you go. It was apparent he had a soft spot for you for some reason. Maybe you could sway him to let you leave. The strange man holding you in the alley didn’t seem to even notice you were crying. He looked off in the distance and pointed at a spot behind you, “that your car there?”

You glanced over your shoulder and nodded, “yeah.”

He put his arm around your shoulders and started to walk in that direction. You tensed up and shook your head, fearful of letting him get too close, “Thank you…but…I can get over there on my own. I’m alright enough to walk.”

“I’m notasking…I’m doing.”

“Why are you helping me?” You had begun to panic now. Your heart was beating away in your chest and no amount of deep breaths would calm you down now. Who was this strange man and what was his motive? The paint on his face terrified you beyond belief. What was he hiding? Who was he beneath the “mask”? Or was he hidingfromsomething? The fact that you couldn’t see his face upset you. You needed to know who he was and where he had come from.

The man offered little of a response to your question and you decided you’d had enough. You were putting your damn foot down. What little shred of bravery still hung intact took over in that instant and rage flared up within you, “I said…why are you helping me?”

Maybe it was your tone that made him pause, or just the sheer stupidity you must have possessed to address him like that, but your words make him glance down at you. There was no emotion in his eyes whatsoever to lead to any assumption that he might feel guilty for what he had done here tonight.

You continued, “I don’t know who you are and what you want from me, but please just go. I just want to go home and sleep. I have work tomorrow and I’m exhausted and cold and scared. Just…” you let out a soft sigh of defeat, “if you’re worried about me telling on you…don’t be. I mean…look at me, I…”

You stopped when you heard him snicker, “you’re going to tell on me?” he chortled, “that’s rich, sweets.”

“N-No, I said I’m not-”

He cut you off, “look, doll,” the nickname rolled off his scarred lips, “I have-ah…looked at ya. These…pigs that found you tonight? They…stole somethin’ from me.”

You put the pieces together and came to the realization that the bag of cash must’ve belonged to this man and those other guys had stolen it from him. You didn’t interrupt as he continued, his voice much deeper with distaste, “I don’t like…men takin’ advantage of a girl like that. Mighta gone easier on ‘em if I hadn’t seen you beggin’ for your life.”

You stared at him the whole time he was speaking. Was he serious? You had just watched him gun down a dozen men right in front of you without batting an eye, and now he just turned around and seemed concernedfor your safety? Who wasthis guy? Gotham had its fair share of ruthless criminals, but for the life of you, you’d never heard a damn word about a man in clown makeup. You kept up with relevant news, current events and everything…surely you couldn’t have missed it? You didn’t know what to do or say. You didn’t know whether to be afraid, disgusted, even repulsed. You only knew that you weren’t feeling the way you should be.

You couldn’t deny the creeping feeling of safety that had somehow snuck up on you. Your mind rationalized that if this man had any desire to kill you, he would have done so already in the shoot-out. That made enough sense to you that you let him walk you to your car without further interruption. You’d never known a man to care about what happened to you. You supposed that was why you were out here in the middle of the night, walking to your car all by yourself. No one cared what happened to you. What made this stranger care?

You stopped at the driver’s side door and let out a small squeak of despair, “my keys!” you turned to look over your shoulder, “they took my purse and dumped everything out!”

You’d been so startled that you had completely forgotten about your purse and your belongings. The longer things were taking, the more you began to panic. What if he was just playing with you, knowing you couldn’t escape from him? How cruel would thatbe?

“Right,” the man licked his lips again, an odd trait you’d already begun to pick up on, “that.”

He turned and took several strides back toward the scene. He knew you couldn’t go anywhere without your keys. You weren’t stupid enough to run, but you didn’t feel like you had a reason to. He found your purse right away and you watched him as he kicked at the dark ground, searching for your things with his foot. Every so often he’d bend over and pick something up and shove it in your bag. The more you watched him, the more apparent it became that something was wrong. From what you could tell, he was limping just slightly. If you hadn’t been watching him so intently, you might have overlooked it. Eventually he came back and thrust the bag in your arms “keysare inside.”

“You’re hurt.”

The man didn’t say anything, but you watched the corner of his eye twitch, like what you’d said had upset him. You thought before that you had seen blood coming from beneath his purple trench. He had to be hiding a wound, and a pretty bad one if it gave him a limp. Without thinking, your arm extended and you reached for the corner of his trench to pull it back enough to expose the wound. He grabbed your wrist in a flash and you felt your bones begin to grind together painfully in his strong grip. You let out a small cry, “I was just…I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, “go on. Get outta here.”

You nodded quickly and he let go of your wrist. You immediately dug in your purse and found your keys. You unlocked the door and got in, but didn’t shut the door immediately, “thank you,” you said suddenly, surprising yourself with your words, “thank you for not letting those assholes kill me.”

The man tilted his head, the tiniest smirk appearing on his painted lips as he bit the inside of his cheek, “uh-huh,” he grumbled a little to himself as he fished in his coat for something. Your stomach dropped, thinking he might pull out another gun, but he didn’t. He pulled a small card out of his coat and handed it to you. Your fingers brushed his gloved ones as he handed it over, “here. Find yourself in another…uh, situationlike this one…here’s my card.”

“Um, thanks,” you didn’t know what to say. Was he a paid assassin? A hitman? You turned the card over in your hands, expecting to see some kind of bizarre business name written on the back of it, but no. What he had handed you was a mundane playing card from a deck. It had a figure on it, like some cards normally do. You knew the different suits, the kings, the queens… He’d given you the Joker. You looked up from the card to ask him a question, but he was gone. You felt your breath leave you like you’d just had the wind knocked out of your lungs. It was eerie being out here alone, especially after so much had happened. It was quiet now, but the thickness still hung in the air. It was suspenseful not knowing what was to come next. It was one thing to watch a thriller on television, it was another to be a part of one.

Oddly enough, you’d felt safer with that man here with you. You still could only wonder why he had let you go or what you meant to him. Did you remind him of somebody and that’s why he decided not to kill you? His motive was still unclear to you. All you knew was that you were not as scared as you should be. You had always thought that if something really awful happened to you, something like this, you would panic. You thought for the longest time that you would either freeze up, or cry or scream or beg. But you had found an unsettling calmness during this. One you hadn’t seen coming. In spite of the guns and yelling and blood and murder, you were calm. You once joked with close friends that Gotham’s citizens were desensitized when it came to crime, but not once did you think that it was actually true rather than a macabre stereotype. This night showed you the horrifying reality of that statement and you wanted to hate yourself for becoming a part of it but how could you? You didn’t even know who this man was, but the fact that he had savedyou rather than harm you was everything. Sure, it was purely happenstance. But it happened. It was real.

You dreamed of someone stepping up and keeping you safe like that. And you didn’t exactly give a damn about what happened to scumbags like the gang members who had come after you tonight. You just wished you knew who this ‘Joker’ guy was. You never anticipated meeting someone like that in your reality. (You also never anticipated him to come tumbling in through your bedroom window about a week later.)

#biblio :: 📖

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dcreadingguide · 4 years

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Halloween Comic Rec’s (2020)

For this oh so spooky month we have ten comics to recommend to you all, they are split up into two groups: Spooky Comics & Halloween Anthology Comics.

TW's For Our Reading Guides is a TW guide for all our reading guides though at the time of posting this the list of TW’s for this reading guide isn’t done, if you’d like to help the doc is set up so you all can comment TW’s onto the list

Under the cut is all the recommendations, starting with the spooky comics.

Spooky Comics

Gotham Academy

“WELCOME TO GOTHAM ACADEMY! Gotham City's most prestigious prep school is a very weird place. It's got a spooky campus, oddball teachers, and rich benefactors always dropping by...like that weirdo Bruce Wayne. But nothing is as strange is the students! Like, what's up with Olive Silverlock? Is she crazy or what? Where did she go last summer? And what's the deal with her creepy mom? And how come that Freshman MAPS is always following her around? And is she still going out with Kyle? P.S. Did you hear the rumor about the ghost in the North Hall?! GOTHAM ACADEMY is a new, monthly teen drama set in the shadow of Batman and the craziness of Gotham City, with new characters and old plus a secret tie to Gotham's past”This is honestly one of my favorite comics along with one of the best ones i’ve read. It really has a great spooky mood and really makes you care about what happens to the kids in the comic. It also has a canonically queer character who is a MLM.

Gotham Academy

Gotham Academy: Endgame (Tie-In for a event in comics, unneeded to understand Second Semester)

Gotham Academy: Second Semester

Lumberjanes/Gotham Academy (Crossover)

Zatanna And The House Of Secrets

“Welcome to the magical, mystical, topsy-turvy world of the House of Secrets, where Zatanna embarks on a journey of self-discovery and adventure...all with her pet rabbit, Pocus, at her side.Zatanna and her stage magician father live in a special house, the House of Secrets, which is full of magic, puzzles, mysterious doors, and storybook creatures-it's the house everyone in the neighborhood talks about but avoids. Not that Zatanna cares, though, because she is perfectly content.But at school one day, Zatanna stands up to a bully and everything changes- including her friends. Suddenly, Zatanna isn't so sure about her place in the world, and when she returns home to tell her father, he's gone missing, lost within their own home.With thrilling twists from writer Matthew Cody and dazzling artwork by Yoshi Yoshitani, Zatanna and the House of Secrets will delight readers at the turn of every page-and the opening of every door!”

Seven Soldiers: Klarion the Witch Boy

“Welcome to the magical, mystical, topsy-turvy world of the House of Secrets, where Zatanna embarks on a journey of self-discovery and adventure...all with her pet rabbit, Pocus, at her side.With thrilling twists from writer Matthew Cody and dazzling artwork by Yoshi Yoshitani, Zatanna and the House of Secrets will delight readers at the turn of every page-and the opening of every door!”

Year One: Batman/Scarecrow

“Think you know everything there is to know about the Scarecrow and his origin? Think again! YEAR ONE: BATMAN/SCARECROW goes back to the very beginning, to Jonathan Crane's birth and questionable lineage, and follows his story up to his first appearance taking on Batman and Robin! A trail of death and straw leads the Dynamic Duo in a race to identify and stop Gotham's newest serial killer, but the demons that shaped the Scarecrow aren't so easily revealed!”

Halloween Anthology Comics

Infinite Halloween Special

“It's Halloween Night, and the inmates at Arkham Asylum are preparing to break out. They have already escaped from their cells and killed several guards, and the Joker tells them that they have to wait until midnight for the guard change if they want the outer doors of the asylum to be open when they leave. To kill time, he has them all sit around and tell scary stories.“

DC Universe Halloween Special 2008

“The Horror! The Horror! Could this be the final Halloween for the DCU? Evil has won, and there are no treats! Witness tales of terror featuring Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, The Titans, El Diablo, Faust and others by past, present and future DC greats.

The ghosts of Ralph and Sue Dibney host a collection of Halloween tales involving various heroes and villains in the DC Universe.”

DC Halloween Special ’09

“Darkness falls across the land as the DC Universe faces its greatest horror in this Halloween special filled with all-new stories! Watch as Guy Gardner continues his quest to share Halloween with the cosmos and his fellow alien Green Lantern Corps members. In another tale, Red Robin finds the true, deadly meaning of the sinister holiday while overseas on his quest to find Bruce Wayne. Meanwhile, Bizarro receives neither trick nor treat in his own backwards celebration of the spookiest night of the year on his home world. Plus, 10 other ghoulish tales to fill you with fright this Halloween!”

DCU Halloween Special 2010

“The annual event you've been dying to read is here! The DCU HALLOWEEN SPECIAL returns with a bang, featuring all-star talent and all of your favorite characters! What happens when the DC Universe's premier heroes are thrown together with some of the spookiest heroes and villains? Scares are sure to ensue!”

Cursed Comics Cavalcade

“Horror! Death! Uh... Face-punching! Witness ten all-new stories that promise to be the most terrifying, most shocking and most horrific comic that DC Comics has ever published! (Hyperbole much?) Batman, Wonder Woman, Guy Gardner, Swamp Thing, Zatanna and more of your favorite heroes face unspeakable horrors from the streets of Gotham City to the darkest sectors of the universe.”

Secrets of Sinister House (2019)

“Witness what hides within the Sinister House-the DCU’s most horrific secrets and mysteries! Travel alongside Harley Quinn, John Constantine, Detective Chimp, Zatanna, the Atom and others as they face this macabre devastation firsthand! And in the bowels of this dark mansion…we return to the world of the legendary Red Rain to meet once again with the dreaded vampire Batman. Don’t miss this year’s DC Halloween special-because if you do, it’ll haunt you!”

#dcedit #comicedit #reading guide #dc #comic recs #dc comics #DC reading guide #halloween #Teekl’s Recs #Our Reading Guides

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