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mischievouslittlecreature · 1 year ago

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Part 10: They Scream & They Cry

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: Fear comes to Gotham.

Word Count: 2,138

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has read this fic! I hope that you enjoyed it! Warnings for depictions of violence and kidnapping.

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Chapter 5: A Little Anarchy

By the time they got to the hole that Ra’s al Ghul’s men had blown in the side of the asylum, there was already chaos. Inmates, clothed in their bright red jumpsuits, hooting and hollering and racing through the streets. Screaming in the distance. It was wonderful.

Vanessa clutched tight to Jonathan’s hand, not particularly out of fear, but more so they wouldn’t get separated from each other in the crowd. Besides, she was little. There wasn’t a nonexistent possibility that she could get squished.

She had pulled her mask and goggles up in preparedness for whatever was coming. Someone tried to grab her and yank her away from Jonathan, and he rounded on them with a snarl, dousing them in a spray of toxin that sent them crashing to the ground and clutching their head as they screamed.

Pulling her tighter against him, Jonathan began to tug her along to the outskirts of the crowd.

BOOM!

One of the manhole covers near them exploded. Pipes burst as the pressure within them spiked, and white gas began to rise, encasing the entire neighborhood of the Narrows in a thick fog. Vanessa pressed her mask more firmly to her face, tightening the straps, just in case. All around them, people were beginning to cough as they sucked the fear toxin into their lungs.

Goddamn, al Ghul’s plan to vaporize the toxin they’d been pouring into the water supply actually worked.

It was very, very silent.

And then, steadily, as if rising from some deep, dark place, the screaming started.

Jonathan’s grip on her hand tightened, as he started pulling her in the direction of one of the horses that the riot police used. Its rider was dead, body hanging only by one stirrup and dragging along the ground behind it. Jonathan caught it by the reins.

“Are you insane?” she shouted up at him when he pulled himself up into the saddle.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” he said dryly, getting situated before holding out a hand to her. “Come on.”

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“I do. I rode horses every once in a while in Georgia. Come on,” the screams around them were beginning to grow in volume. “I won’t let you fall.”

She grabbed onto his hand, letting him pull her up to sit behind him in the saddle. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she squeezed. He patted her hands where they were interlaced against his stomach soothingly, then drove the horse into the beginnings of a light gallop.

It was admittedly better, up there on the horse. She could actually see what was going on, and there was less chance of them being victim to some of the things happening down there on the streets. The horse began to gallop faster, and she squeezed Jonathan tighter.

Through the fog and screams, she heard a familiar voice.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

What!? How the hell was she still alive?

Beneath her arms, she felt Jonathan tense, clearly having zoned in on the voice as well, steering the horse towards where Dawes was half bent over, clutching a terrified child in her arms.

“Of course they are!” he shouted.

“Crane?” Dawes asked.

“No,” he held up a wagging finger. “Scarecrow.”

Still clutching the child, Dawes turned tail and ran, Jonathan pushing the horse into a furious gallop after her, nearly trampling a few people still wandering the streets. It was hard to keep track of her in the fog. The horse’s hooves beat against the pavement like thunder.

“There you are!” Jonathan bellowed as he caught sight of Dawes again, pushing the horse towards her and the child. “There is nothing to fear but fear itself!” the horse suddenly lifted into a violent rear, and Vanessa yelped, clutching even tighter to Jonathan to keep from falling off. Dawes was reaching into her pocket, aiming something towards them. “I am here to help you!”

Before Vanessa could utter a warning, there was a zap, and then Jonathan’s back was arching, and he was screaming, the horse jerking as the sound spooked it. Vanessa made an alarmed sound as they began to pick up speed, one hand trying to keep Jonathan steady while she snatched the reins from him, yanking them back. The horse whinnied and reared again. It was really a miracle that she managed to keep both her and Jonathan from falling off of it.

“Jonathan…Jonathan, what–stop screaming–what happened?” she couldn’t see and the horse was still trotting, though it had slowed considerably.

“She tased me in the fucking face!”

“Oh,” that would explain the zap, then. “She didn’t hit your eyes, did she?”

“No,” his voice was still strained with pain.

“Okay…” she frowned, glancing around, trying to squint through the gas to figure out where they’d ended up. “Okay, here, just lean against me,” clutching the reins, she very cautiously pushed her heels into the horse’s sides until it began to pick up speed. Straining to see the street signs, she turned them down a street, galloping back up the hill. Jonathan rested against her with a whine. “I know, I know, not long, now…”

“Where are we going?” he mumbled.

“Back to Arkham. They have medical supplies.”

“Mm.”

It took some considerable wrangling of the horse, dodging deranged, screaming lunatics still racing through the streets, before she managed to get them back to Arkham. Dismounting with a grunt, she reached up, letting Jonathan grip her arms to help guide him off the horse. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning against her heavily as she half dragged him inside.

Poor thing. First Batman gassed him and slammed him against a wall, now this? He was having a really shit evening.

“Good God, what happened to Chelsea?” he asked as they limped past the secretary.

“Uhhh…” Vanessa started. He glanced at her and snorted.

“Oh.”

“I never liked her.”

“Clearly.”

Guiding him to the medical bay, she sat him down on a cot, taking off his mask to assess the damage. The burlap was lightly singed, his face reddened, with two puncture wounds from where the metal barbs had struck him on each cheek, almost like dimples. Grabbing some disinfectant and a cloth, she began to clean the wounds.

“How do you feel?”

“As if my head just got shaken like peanuts in a jar.”

She fumbled through the drawers until she found a bottle of painkillers, shaking a few out in her palm and giving them to him to swallow while she made him an ice pack.

“Lay back,” she ordered, nudging his shoulder until he laid down.

“Mm. Yes, doctor.”

She poked him in the shoulder affectionately before draping the ice pack over his face and sitting down next to him.

“Well, I don’t think that there'll be any permanent damage. You’re lucky she didn’t get your eyes.”

“Ah, yes. That’s how I feel right now. Lucky.”

Letting out a tiny huff of air that might have been a laugh, Vanessa stroked her fingers delicately through his soft hair. “Try to rest.”

“Mhm. What if someone comes in?”

“I’ll take care of them.”

He hummed like the thought pleased him greatly, settling back down heavily in the cot. Getting more comfortable in her seat, Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest, contenting herself to just remain watchfully at his side.

∗ ∗ ∗

He barely cracked an eye open before he was groaning, wincing at how sore his ribs were. His mind still felt a little fuzzy and paranoid from the toxin, and his face burned.

“Jonathan? You awake?”

“No.”

She laughed somewhere to his left. “I’ve got more water and painkillers if you need them,” I’d parked our car in the alley across the street. I went out and got our stuff. There’s granola bars and chips if you’re hungry. Oh!” he heard her moving around. “And I have your spare pair of glasses.”

“Oh, good,” pulling himself painfully into a sitting position, he took the frames from her delicately, replacing them on his nose. She held out another dose of painkillers and water for him, munching on a granola bar as she watched over him.

“I ducked out for a moment while you were sleeping to see the state of things. Managed to nab a newspaper,” she held it out to him. “Ra’s is dead.”

He grunted as he scanned over the front page. Figures. With the Batman running around, none of them were safe anymore.

“You went out?” he asked, shooting her an alarm look. Vanessa shrugged.

“It wasn’t so bad once the toxin cleared. And I had my ax,” she nodded at the newspaper. “Check out page four.”

He flipped the newspaper open and was greeted with his and Vanessa’s faces plastered on most wanted posters, with a reward for information. Sighing, he set the newspaper to the side, shooting Vanessa a look of deep regret, reaching out to cover her hands with his.

“I’m sorry.”

She raised one dark eyebrow. “It’s not your fault.”

“It kinda is.”

“Mm,” she tilted her head, leaning closer to him. “We’ll be fine,” she kissed his temple. “We’ve survived worse.”

He supposed that was true. “We can rebuild. Make a new lab,” he mumbled, as she settled more comfortably against his side.

“Yeah,” she agreed. He sucked in a deep breath, wincing at the way it strained his ribs. She stroked his hair. “We can worry about all that later. Right now you need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Jonathan,” she gave him a look, and he sighed, again flinching at the way it hurt his ribs. “Since the toxin dissipated, the Narrows are crawling with cops. I would imagine that Arkham is probably rather low on their list of places to search, so we have some time, but…”

“Then it's a good thing we know this place better than anyone. There are places here where we could hide that they would never look.”

Nodding, she rested her head cautiously on his shoulder, arms going loosely around him. Turning his head to kiss her forehead, he buried his nose in her hair, eyelids already beginning to grow heavy. She was warm. And comfortable.

“Go back to sleep, hon,” Vanessa said, stroking his back. “Once you’re better, we’ll get back to work.”

∗ ∗ ∗

The wind was howling outside, rain pelting the windows in big, fat droplets that thundered against the roof and sides of the building. Jamie shivered, a sharp crack of thunder making her jump. She hated thunderstorms; couldn’t really believe that she’d let Jordan convince her to move to this horrible city.

She shuffled down the hallway towards the kitchen where her husband was probably heating up some dinner. A bit of warm food would make her feel better, or at least quell the anxious lump in her chest. The sound of the rain was louder and she frowned, turning to peek into the bedroom.

The window was open, curtains blowing out into the room and rainwater getting all over the floor.

“Jordan, seriously? You left the window in the bedroom open again,” he was always doing things like that, his absentmindedness seeming to have gotten worse in the last couple of weeks. She shuffled forward quickly, hissing at the cold gust of air, batting the curtains away as she closed the window. Lightning flashed outside.

There was a pricking pain in her neck, sudden as a spider bite. And then a gloved hand was clapped tight around her mouth, and she was falling, falling, falling…

∗ ∗ ∗

“Hello, there.”

This had to be a nightmare. Just some horrible nightmare. Her arms and legs were bound to a chair, her head pounding. She didn’t know where Jordan was. It was so dark and cold…

And there were things looking out at her from the darkness, speaking to her. One of them stepped forward, and at the sight of the burlap mask she began to sob. Oh, God. It was one of them. One of the escaped monsters from the asylum. Oh, no. Oh, please, no…

“Please, please, please…” Jamie started to beg.

“Shh,” he cooed, coming closer to her. There was a canister of something in his hand. “None of that, now,” behind him, something in the dark moved, leaning closer, so that all she could see were two round, black goggles peering at her. Like two giant, monstrous eyes. “I just have one question for you,” the Scarecrow said. That was what they had called him in the papers, at least. The Scarecrow and his Shadow that followed him everywhere. He touched her face, ever so softly. “What are you afraid of?”

There was a burst of white gas, followed hastily by the sounds of screaming.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

#jonathan crane #the dark knight trilogy #jonathan crane x oc #vanessa sullivan #vanessa sullivan x jonathan crane #my ocs #my fanfiction #they scream & they cry

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lazaruspiss · 9 months ago

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your ship, character and fandom opinions are so based. i'm also a poly robin shipper so it's nice to see there are more of us here. anyway, i'd love to hear what are your all time favorite dc ships and why, and if you have any headcanons (sfw and nsfw) about them. or you can just ramble about any fic ideas you have, the ones you've mentioned already are very interesting.

thank u for the compliments and also the many things to talk about!! <3 mwah! (readmore added bc of length)

picking a favorite ship is so hard, because im a multishipper and real big on leaving my options open so that i have the most opportunity in any given story!! like, brudick and sladick are both ones i love for dark stories, but they each give such different angles and paths that you can take. all combinations of robins are dear to me for different reasons. and even within the context of one ship, i can usually come up with a lot of different directions that they can go it!!

i can't even say "X is my favorite for Y types of stories" because with a good pairing theres so much you can do with a variety of types of stories!! so. def cant pick a favorite, but i can list some that i like! they mostly involve Dick, bc my biases are quite obivious, lol.

Dick ships: Bruce, Slade, Talia, Slade/Talia, Tim, Jason, Steph, Damian (but it depends a lot on context, i see Dick as being very careful about not taking advantage), any poly robins combo, Slade/Rose, Tara

other ships: Slade/Rose, Slade/Talia, any robins together, Bruce/Talia (but only if Talia is having daddy issues about it), Nyssa/Talia (Nyssa repeatedly kills and revives her to make her understand her anger at Ra's. the rituals. they're intricate i swear-)(but also in arkham knight Nyssa compares her love for Talia to Bruce's explicitly romantic love for Talia and i've never been normal about that), any combo of the Al Ghuls tbh they're so mentally ill about each other

so uhhhhhh. really you could pitch any Dick ship at me and get me talking. if anyone wants to ask about that list ur welcome to lol

fic ideas!!! i have some shorter ones, like a Blackfire/Robin non-con based on that one scene from tt03, but i kinda wanna take this chance to ramble about my longer ideas!

u may have seen some of these, but i have a series called "days without incident" which is a bunch of shorter than usual fics stringing together random semi canon compliant scenes of Dick being in dangerous sexual situations, which are eventually going to end in a rlly angsty fic of Dick being assaulted and just accepting it. it sounds dark, and it is, but due to the length and format they really just serve as quick writing warm-ups more than anything.

DIDick AU. a friend of mine has been on the receiving end of so many DMs of me fleshing out these alter OCs, to the point that it would feel weird if I didn't write anything for it. the problem is that when I think about it, it all revolves around characters and there's no real plot line to use for it. I could just rant about it, bc figuring out what I want to do for a story about them is really tricky. it's also tough bc it's a teeny bit more personal than I usually go for. do /I/ have DID? unclear. I probably wouldn't tell you either way. anyways, it's an idea i want to more with but it's just more complicated to work on than most others.

suicide fic. "Where The Dead Stay Dead", title in reference to this being in a "Jason Stays Dead AU". i want to take a sort of dark comedy direction, but i have trouble controlling how the tone ends up when I write. Dick tries to kill himself post Jason's death + many other bad times but Slade just happens to pop in to try and bother him that day, and is uh. he doesn't know how to feel about it, the kid dying in front of him, but he drags Dick to a safe house and does some made-up comic book science fuckery to give Dick his healing factor. Dick is not very happy about this when he wakes up. the rest of the story follows an arrangement where Dick searches for a way to perma die and is generally a depressed grumpy bitch about everything, and Slade secretly tries to get him to stop doing that while trying to figure out a way to revive Jason. whichever ends up being easier. a lot of it would probably just be about Slade feeling lost with this "new" version of Dick, as well as the two of them swapping stories about dead loved ones and learning how to mourn.

timcel fic. that was the placeholder title, before i settled on "Nature's Order (As Told From Alpha To Beta)", but i still call it the timcel fic for short <3 the alpha in that title is Ra's, and the beta is Tim. the kick off for the story is that Ra's kidnaps omega Dick to use as a human incubator bc he and Talia had a spat that's left him heir-less, and he kidnaps Tim to make Dick more compliant. it's a really extreme take on "right wing alpha male pipeline, but omegaverse". it's gonna be a lot of bad times for Dick <3 i've talked about it so much with my friend that one time they mentioned basing smth partially off of Nature's Order Tim, and I think that's a good sign that I should really be writing this properly at this point. I have started chapter one! but bc it's gonna be a long one I want to get three chapters done before I start posting, bc having a few extra chapters written will help with my nerves a bit.

#asks #anon #uhhh that was a lot lol #feel free to ask follow up questions...?

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years ago

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Where There Is Change

Last Name Wayne

@maribat-bdbwm

First *** Previous *** Next

Okay so I know I diverged from cannon, but I think you’ll all like this.

~~~~~~~~~~

The moment that Damian agreed, they left.

She immediately placed their phones and electronics into storage, so this game would be a little more fun.

Mari "chose" the first place that they teleported to was Paris. The irony was not lost on her.

The place that kicked her out was the first place that would open up to her. But then again most of the city adored Marinette they loved Lady Scarlet even more, but that wasn't general knowledge.

She and Damian know it is a matter of time before B figures they left the country, but hey. They mostly stuck to going between super cities in the U.S. before. But right now, it mostly was her showing him around the city the museums and then getting really inspired by the scenery.

If she was prepared with several different sketch books and pencils for both of them it was an added bonus.

She knows she subconsciously picked Paris and after a few hours it might be smart to jump again. So, she let Damian decide on a place where he wanted to go. He did warn her that if they were spotted, they need to leave immediately, but she didn’t really see a problem with it.

Because granted they’re both Wayne's, and Wayne's if you know them well enough, they will be able to hand your ass back to you on a silver platter smiling as if it was the greatest thing in the world.

So, they jumped again.

This time it was her turn to be awed by what they saw.

They were in a small alcove completely hidden; in the cave they were in the face of it was covered by bushes. But looking out she saw the mountains in the far distance it appeared to be a lake no it was larger maybe it was the ocean. Right below her was a lush courtyard filled with plant she's only seen and one other place, but the heat here was tremendous, and the sea that she could see was in the wrong direction. Apart from being far, far, far too close to where she originally thought they were.

She was going to lean forward a bit and completely break through the bushes that were covering them when a hand pulled her back. She looks back and sees her little brother holding onto her.

"We have to stay hidden Nettie, are above the League of Assassins." He whispered so quiet she could barely hear him about ten inches away, so she’s not taking this lightly.

She nodded, and they stayed there, silent. The only sound was of graphite on paper.

Then everything changed.

On instinct Marinette shot out her arm, a wooden imperial yo-yo appeared in her hand, with a quick flick of her wrist she stopped the projectile, lodging it within the wood. A quick glance at her brother and she opened up portal behind him and pushed him through without a word, closing it behind him.

She knows that it’s more dangerous if they find him here than her, so she stayed behind.

She removed the projectile and examined it, a blow dart likely with poison, seeing as a liquid was seeping into the wood of the yo-yo. She created a replica of the dart and stored the poisonous one and her yo-yo back in storage.

She took a quick breath and punctured her arm where the dart should have originally landed. And fell to the ground, slumped down.

She kept her face relaxed her body limp and she felt three, four, five separate sickly deathly auras around her. She kept her breathing at minimum, light, almost as if she was asleep. They picked her up and moved her. She realized immediately that she was being taken down the mountain, taken deeper into the League of Assassins.

Five assassins she can take them. But the one thing repeatedly crossing her mind was one phrase.

'How dare these assholes mess with her family! Her little brother! They are going to pay!'

Because she is a Wayne, and Wayne’s protect their own.

She was eventually dropped in a large room, from what she can tell, if the echoes were any indication to what she was thinking the size of the room could be. There were three more auras in this room, aside from the ones she passed to get here. What surprised her was she recognized all three.

Still acting unconscious, she heard a woman’s voice, Talia Al Ghul, speak. "What business do you have to bring this child here?" It was phrased as a question but seemed more like a snarl or demand than anything else.

"She was captured on the grounds. She’s an unknown." Was what was reported by one of the people in who had dragged her down here.

Then she heard a chuckle.

"She’s awake." That voice, she recognizes that voice. Her entire previous plan was now completely out the window. So, she lazily pushes herself up, pulling out the dart once she was on her feet.

"Damn, I thought that would last a little longer." She finally looked up and saw Damian's clone, Heretic, Talia, and Al Ghul. But something was wrong, it was bothering her. Al Ghul, he, he… he wasn’t Demon, he wasn’t her Demon anymore. All she recognized now is his voice, at least that’s what she told herself, nothing else was the same as a person she once knew. The question now is why. "I really shouldn’t have introduced you to the Order, if the result would have been this?" A smirk on her lips and now standing cocky in the middle of a room full of assassins, she is stalling. He is acting like he knows her, but his aura is indecipherable, familiar, but not.

"You should not have, but then I wouldn’t be here today, to thank you, would I? After all you allowed our family to find these pits." ‘Our Family’ she dove into her memories, but now that she needed them, they were far away and fuzzy, God damn it.

"Hmmm, I suppose not. Right now, I really wish I had turned you into a cat permanently. I found the correct spell, so I actually can now." This elicited yet another chuckle from Al Ghul which had everyone else in the room on edge.

"Really now I love to see it, after all I wasn’t able to experience it before you vanished." She quirked an eyebrow at this response, but she didn’t care about his mind games, she was stalling, trying to find out what caused this change. All her mind supplied were the plants outside. Demon wasn’t good with plants, but he was with animals, so how.

"Really you don’t wanna know why am actually here?" She asked, looking so innocent, one might believe that she was there merely an accident or coincidence.

She then turned towards Heretic, death in her blue eyes was all anyone could see, but she didn’t kill him. No, she couldn't bring herself to kill him. He may have killed her baby brother, but he is

Damian’s clone, but that clone was nothing but a poor imitation of her brother. With a snap of her fingers, he transformed into a statue of a panther, mouth opening for a roar. In all accounts looking intimidating, but there’s no way to be scared of a statue.

"That was for killing my little brother." She crossed her arms now glaring daggers towards Talia.

"I wasn’t aware you had a little brother, Lady Cheng." Demon never called her Lady Cheng, no to him she was Malak (Angel), but…

That was when the pieces fell into place. That’s why the older Damian looks like a cross between Demon and Bruce. That’s why Damian turned into a panther cub. Damian is Amir’s reincarnation, the true soul of the black cat. That means, in front of her stood Ra’s, Amir’s older twin brother. That’s why he could read the journal, he is a miraculous soul. And only miraculous souls know the language of miracles, without decades of studying the script. It’s ingrained in them but only accessible after coming in contact with old magic, miraculous magic.

"One, the name is Wayne. Two that’s because at the time that I met the both of you 600 years ago, I didn’t even know I had siblings. So, get this through your head, I don’t care that he is your son or your grandson. He is my little brother. Nothing will stop me from making sure my family is safe." Her voice stayed level, emotion flitted in and out of it, in such a way that it almost seemed inhuman. For more reasons than one, she just sensed one of the Lazarus Pits.

"Scarlet." She heard gasped by the woman next to Ra’s.

"Correct." She glared at them walking closer as she said so. "My name is Marinette Wayne, and you best remember to never mess with creation. I would have thought you would remember that little Lǎohǔ (Tiger)."

By her walk over a sword had appeared in each hand, which she was now holding up to Lǎohǔ‘s neck, while the second was held right at the base of Talia's spine, almost daring her to move. The threat hung in the air, and both knew she was capable of following through.

"Well, I do believe it’s best to catch up over some tea." Lǎohǔ offered, many would have taken his offer. Because if the Demon’s head offers it, it would be your funeral if you refused, but she wasn’t just anyone. "After all we haven’t seen each other, in nearly 600 years, now have we, much must’ve happened to you."

"Hmmm... not really you’d be surprised. By what has become of my life been since meeting you." She decided to put away her blades, for the time being. Seeing as she couldn’t leave without destroying the Pits. The only surviving consequence of the Miraculous wish, cast ages ago. Now time to come up with a plan.

---

"Are you sure about this Pigtails?" Plagg spoke up.

"Ancient magic like this calls for a price." She sighed.

"We know, Marinette, but your little brother." Tikki voiced.

"I'll do everything I can to keep all of them safe." She spoke resolutely.

"But can you live with this?" Tikki asked.

"I have to be able to. Besides I'm pretty sure he is your true kitten, Plagg." She reassured.

Tikki and Plagg united their powers, and were able to destroy the pit, and every other one on Earth. Then disappeared. She opened a gate knowing what is coming.

---

Somewhere in the league of Assassins was the Demon's head and his daughter, looking royally pissed as they watch a timer tick down. Seeing as Marinette decided to freeze them with venom, so she could destroy the Lazarus Pits.

~~~~~~~~~~

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#mbdbwm2021 #maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #bio!dad bruce #bio!dad bruce wayne #who was I alluding to again?#time to find out #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #mdcu marinette #mdcu damian wayne #mdcu ras al ghul #mdcu talia al ghul #oc twin!ra’s

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thedarkknightswife · 3 years ago

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Nicola after she finds out Batman is her boss and that she been shit talking him while they were costume:

#OK LORE TIME so in the 2019 DC Superhero girls cartoon we All know that world's Bruce Wayne is a Kardashian #Nicola work for him as a personal assistant/glorified babysitter for the titans; she LOATHES Bruce for being a capitalist pig #yet at the same time she has a crush on Batman #but she doesnt know about it and Bruce isnt aware of HER secret superhero persona #so when they team up in-costume she giggles and tries desperately to 'be cool' in front of the dark knight while shittalking bruce #unaware shes basically insulting him to his face and hurting his feelings #but their relationship starts to improve OUTSIDE of costume as Nicole actually starts to enjoy hanging around the manor #and bruce wayne attempts to focus more on charity so he can shed his playboy facade a bit and have people take him seriously #BUT THEN the inevitable reveal happens and lets just say hearts are broken; nicola quits; and ra's al ghul swoops in for the kill :)#probably way too angsty for a colorful cartoon like DCSHG but its Batman; angst is unavoidable!#dcshg19 #batman #bruce wayne x oc #JamBats is the ship name #otp: kiss from a rose #dcshg bruce wayne #dcshg batman

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hollyharper · 3 years ago

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OC Design- Vailiki Wu-San Wilson (or Vailiki Al Ghul)

I’m not a fan of the purple dress, but don’t have any other idea. I was going for something sexy, like Talia’s style, but it failed

Much like Cassandra Cain, Vailiki was an attempt to breed the ‘perfect assassin’. After Rose Wilson inherited her father’s enhancements, the Al Ghul’s choose Slade to father this next project. Again, Shiva mothered the child. Ra’s took Vailiki from her mother when she was six months old, to ‘less the chance of outer influences corrupting her’. Talia trained Vailiki along with Damien. At a young age he displayed possessiveness towards the girl. This conserved Ras’, but Talia argued that Damien’s loyalty might keep her from straying. When Damien and was five, and Vailiki four and a half, they were officially betrothed to each other. From that point forward, Vailiki was treated as an Al Ghul. She wore the family colors, stood by the family, and even stayed in their special residences. The pair was inseparable. They trained tighter, sparred together, and had their first missions together. When Talia choose to send Damien to his father, Vailiki was left to fill his role as the Al Ghul heir.

#OC #oc #my oc #dc comics oc #al ghul family #ra's al ghul #talia al ghul #damien al ghul #damien wayne #Damien x oc #Damien Wayne x oc #digital art #original character #character design #my art

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evita-shelby · 2 years ago

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For @noforkingclue in their 2.5k celebration.

Been taken over by the Nolanverse!Scarecrow so I wrote something with the sentence starters they suggested

"you have to step out of this darkness and let them see you for who you are, like i have."

Gif by @lovealtars

It is a Johnathan Crane x OC written in second person pov like a reader insert

“You have to step out of this darkness and let them see you for who you are, like I have.” Johnathan holds your face in his hands and you feel pity for the man he is now.

He’s driven insane by his own weapon.

The antidote can only do so much, it can purge you of the toxin and immunize you, but whatever damage to your psyche it did, it can’t fix.

Johnathan Crane is no longer the brilliant man you seduced into the League of Shadows’ employment.

No longer the brilliant man you corrupted after discovering those shipments of blue flower compound in his apartment.

But you are no longer a slave, you are free and once Batman gets rid of all the other people ---people like Talia and Bane--- who will make him seek greener pastures, you will come in and take his company.

Now that Ra’s al Ghul is finally dead, you, Eva Leonor Smith Riley, can begin the rather simple task of taking over the entire world, one corporation at a time.

Only Wayne Enterprises stood in your path to glory, but unlike your husband, the joker, your former master and his daughter, you would not be defeated by the Bat.

“I will, my love, but not yet. Once Talia and Bane are dead, once Bruce Wayne and Batman are gone, I will step out of the shadows and into the light.” You say softly as you remind him that you have yet to win.

He may have lost, but your game has just begun.

You just needed to step out of Gotham for a while, just long enough to have your enemies take each other out.

“And you will be there with me, Johnathan.”

Sorta prequel to this (it is smut so you've been warned)

#eva smith shelby #eva smith x johnathan crane #johnathan crane (nolanverse) x oc

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 3 years ago

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TaskForceX!Delphia AU - i am not a woman, i’m a god (Rick Flag x AU!OC)

Summary: Ra's al Ghul has some devious plans - and calling Batman is completely off the table. So Amanda Waller decides to bring out The Oracle, ex-partner and somehow lover of the criminal mastermind, to quietly put his plans to an end. But what commanding officer Rick Flag never expected from this mission was to get jealous.

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 9368

Warnings: language, adult themes (drinking/alcohol, club scene), themes of abuse/manipulation/gaslighting, blood mention, gun mention, some seriously suggestive language, idiots in love, sadist themes (that may not be the right word here, if someone knows the right one please let me know)

if i go masterlist

A/N: Huge shoutout to @a-reader-and-a-writer @loverhymeswith and @reysorigins for beta reading this. You guys are seriously amazing and I love you all. This ones for you babes. And if you wanna get in The Mood while reading this piece, I suggest listening to this while reading:

The mission brief was in Conference Room D because Waller had put together a presentation—more like her assistant had put together a presentation, slapping their boss’s name on it so they wouldn’t get fired. Poor soul must be miserable.

The first slide was a long-distance shot of a man with a goatee and a fancy suit.

“Ra’s al Ghul—millionaire criminal mastermind whose one goal in life is to create environmental balance. He believes that to save the world, most of the human population on Earth must be destroyed,” Waller explained.

Rick flicked through the file as Waller talked. Going up against such heavy hitters was usually not Task Force X’s problem. Those were left to the real heroes, not a rowdy band of criminals who never got credit and were exceptionally expendable. That was the very reason the Task Force was even created.

“And he just got a brand-new toy.” The next slide came up, a grainy cell phone picture of some kind of stone archway. “The man we have planted inside Ghul’s regime tells us that this is a portal to another dimension. And on the other side? Soul-sucking demons that will kill everyone on this planet like the world's fastest virus. Ghul’s dreams will come true if he gets that portal opened.”

The slide clicked back to another picture of Ghul. “Apparently, he has the key to this portal on his person at all times. Doesn’t trust anyone with it, not even his safe. He plans to open the portal in five days once the ceremony has been prepared. So, we have five days to come up with a plan to get that key off him.”

“Easy,” Rick grunted as he flipped the file closed. “Storm the base, light it up—”

“This is not something that can be taken by brute force, Colonel. As much as I would love to see you up against Ra’s al Ghul, he’s too big a character for us to go up against in that capacity. This will need to be covert.”

“Why don’t we call up fuckin’ Batman then?” Rick asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Waller shook her head. “Can’t. Got in an altercation with Bane, broke his back, and hasn’t been seen since. Superman is off-world and Wonder Woman stepped through a portal of her own a few weeks ago. We’re all the world has left, Colonel.”

“Well, shit.”

That was not a positive outlook for the world, then.

“If you could take a look at the other file I gave you,” Waller said.

Rick’s brow furrowed as he lifted the file on Ghul, surprised to see that there was another underneath it. Was there more to this than interdimensional portals and soul-sucking demons? He opened the file only to be met with a half-lidded, blue-eyed stare and locks of white hair.

“Oracle?”

“That’s right, Colonel.” She clicked to the next slide to show a picture of Delphia Holman and Ra’s al Ghul together. “Delphia ‘Oracle’ Holman was found on the streets of Gotham by Ghul, beginning her career of crime as his right-hand woman— that is, until she left to join the ranks of Lex Luther, where she formed an even more�� Intimate relationship.”

He didn’t want to, but Rick stiffened at this. Jealousy like a sharp pain hit him in the gut, but he shook it off quickly with a roll of his shoulders and a clench of his jaw. God, what was wrong with him? She was just another criminal—an apathetic maniac who could see into the future, who scared him with how powerful she really was. Who had listened to him talk quietly about his childhood with a wonder and longing in her eyes that made him feel sick. Who warned him once that he was going to get seriously injured on a mission—and when he refused to hear it, she had saved him.

He could picture her face even now, lying on top of him after she had tackled him out of the way of the bullet that would have given him spinal surgery. He had never seen such conflict in someone’s eyes; there was a war going on inside her, and he didn’t understand why. Not until she scrambled away from him and marched off without another word.

“So, what’s the plan? Thought you didn’t like to bring out the Oracle unless absolutely necessary,” Rick stated as he crossed his arms.

“I don’t. But at this point, I’m desperate. Ra’s al Ghul goes to the same club in Gotham every Tuesday night: The Cherry. The plan is to have Oracle planted at the club—Ghul will ask to take her back to his penthouse suite, where she will steal the key. You and Blackguard will be her backup at the club.”

“Think she’ll agree to it?”

“She’ll agree if you tell her.”

Rick’s jaw ticked again. He was foolish to think that Waller hadn’t noticed whatever was going on between him and Delphia—if there was even anything there. But Waller noticed everything, it seemed. Even the potential for something.

“Fine.”

As Rick got up from his chair and exited the conference room, he could see Waller’s shit-eating smirk out of the corner of his eye. A grimace pulled at his mouth as he stalked down the hallway towards the penitentiary entrance.

Fuck Amanda Waller.

Delphia got thrown in solitary again for getting in a screaming match with one of the guards. She liked it better down there. It was quiet except for the growls of the crocodile man that lived down the hall, but she could easily tune that out. None of her few personal possessions were allowed in the cramped concrete space, but that didn’t matter much, either. She had gone most of her life without anything to call her own. All she had down here was a small cot, the sink, and the toilet. That was plenty to go by for the next two weeks.

So there she sat on her cot, legs crossed as she tried to scratch an itch underneath her power-dampening collar. It was always a real bitch to get under there.

Then there was a knock on the metal door of her cell.

She only glanced over at the window, still concentrated on getting her fingers beneath the harsh metal of her collar.

“What?”

“Hey, Holman.”

It was embarrassing how that stupid southern drawl made her instantly perk up. Her hands fell from that obnoxious hunk of metal and she sat up on her cot to get a proper look out the window. It had been six months since the last time she saw him. It was some mission that she didn’t even get used for—the situation was less dangerous than they thought. Her collar never came off once on that trip, and he apologized for it. Apologized. In a soft way that made bile rise in her throat.

“Gotta new assignment for ya,” Rick said as he slid the file through the bars of the window. “Not sure if you’re gonna like it.”

“Since when do I like any of the missions I go on?” She asked as she got up from the cot.

Delphia took the file from his hand, trying not to make eye contact before she opened it up. The task proved impossible; she really couldn’t help herself. Not when she hadn’t looked into those hazel eyes in six months. Before those eyes, nothing had ever felt like home.

With heat creeping up her neck, she opened the file. But all the warmth instantly drained from her body, replaced by a chilling fear when she saw Ra’s al Ghul’s picture pinned to the top.

“No,” she immediately said, pushing the file back through the bars before Rick could catch it, the splattering of paper on the floor audible through the door. “No. I refuse.”

“I’m sorry,” —There was that sick feeling rising in her throat again— “But I really don’t think you gotta choice. You’re the main player in Waller’s plan.”

“Don’t give a shit. I’m not doin’ it.”

Rick’s sigh reverberated through the metal door.

“You’ll get to save the world,” he tried.

Delphia stared at the concrete wall, arms crossed, lip caught so hard between her teeth that she was drawing blood. Ra’s was finally going to do it. All those nights of him waxing poetic about his plans to cleanse the world were finally coming true. She never believed them, no matter how many times she told him that his dream was right. Back then, she had nowhere else to go; Ra’s al Ghul was everything to her. Her source of income, the provider of the roof over her head… The first man to ever love her, know her—and he knew it. He took advantage of it, until she could finally get away.

And she hadn’t gone back to him since.

Delphia found herself asking quietly, “What’s his plan?”

“Some ancient portal to another dimension—soul-sucking demons,” Rick explained. “Gonna open it in five days.”

“Just put up the bat signal, and be done with it.”

“Can’t. We’re literally the world’s last hope.”

“The world’s fucking doomed then,” she sighed, finally looking back through the bars at Rick.

He looked at her so softly, so gently. If she said no again, she knew that would be the end of it. He would take her answer back to Waller and get ripped a new one. But if she really was the last thing standing between Ra’s al Ghul and his destruction of mankind... She would give anything to see his fucking face when she stopped him—for him to know that it was her, his loyal henchman, who foiled the plans that he had been working his entire life for. It would be payback and revenge and justice and redemption for everything he put her through.

Just one look, and Rick knew that she was in. He nodded solemnly, understandingly—like he knew what it would cost her to take this mission on. And maybe he did.

“How well you play with Blackguard?” He asked with a smirk.

“Alright,” she replied with a sigh, “He’s just a kid.”

“Well, you got my full permission to punch him in the face whenever you feel so inclined,” Rick said as he backed away from the window.

The metal door gave a loud buzz and click as it unlocked. Two guards rushed in and clamped a pair of cuffs around her wrists before she could blink. Delphia watched, her face heated, as Rick glared at the pair of them. The two guards instantly backed away, retreating to their posts on either side of her door like kicked dogs. Once they were back in their place, Rick cocked his head for her to follow him out of her cell.

It took her a long time to cross the threshold. Was she sure about this? Could she really take on Ra’s al Ghul? She feared returning to his side for a reason—it would be so easy to fall back into his comfortable lap and have the world at her fingertips once more. But she still bore the scars of all the times his kindness had turned on her. Ghul found a broken girl on the streets and twisted her, mangled her, and shaped her into something of his liking. A loyal pet that would do anything for him out of gratitude—that barely flinched when his anger turned on it. Would she be able to face him again without falling into those familiar patterns? Was she being set up to fail?

Her foot finally fell through the door, and she was out in the hallway with Rick. Her head twisted to look at him as they walked—all softness and determination.

If he was with her… Maybe she could.

After Delphia and Blackguard’s mission briefing, Rick rode with them in the transport vehicle to the tarmac. Blackguard tried to make light conversation, obviously excited about getting outside the prison and “doing something cool” for once. Rick tried to make conversation, talking about the handful of times he had been to a club before. But anytime Blackguard tried to include Delphia, she would just stare at him, her half-lidded eyes boring straight through him until he gave up with an uncomfortable cough.

Rick escorted the two of them onto the cargo plane for their trip to Gotham.

“Oh shit, are those fucking suits?” Blackguard asked as soon as they entered through the ramp.

“Well, yeah. We’re goin’ undercover—gotta look the part,” Rick explained as he punched the button to close the hatch. “I suggest y’all change before takeoff.”

At the back of the cargo hold towards the cockpit, there was a rack filled with clothes in an array of colors. Different styles of shoes were laid out on the floor and a handful of toiletries beside a makeshift mirror. Waller wanted to ensure that they blended in, so they wouldn’t be caught.

Rick watched curiously as Delphia approached the rack with Blackguard, her chapped hands and uneven nails reaching towards the clothes. There were several dress options for her. Blackguard already made his choice—a black suit with a black shirt and tie—taking the outfit from the rack to his seat with a smile. Rick slid in beside Delphia with a cocked brow; he had never been very good at picking out clothes.

“The bitch stole my clothes,” he heard her mumble.

“What?”

“Waller,” Delphia said as she swiped through the hangers one last time, “These are clothes from my old apartment. She took them.”

Rick didn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”

“Not sure what I expected to happen to all my stuff,” she muttered as she pulled a white garment from the rack and turned towards her seat, “Just — Didn’t think it’d be this.”

Rick sighed as he watched her go, glancing at the dresses she left behind. These were all hers? They didn’t look like much, hanging there, but he could tell that they would all cling to her body like water, ending well above the knee. He wondered if the one she decided to wear was anything like that. He had to shake his head to make himself stop thinking about it—her body in those dresses. It wasn’t right of him, and he knew it. So instead, he focused back on the suits.

He had no idea what to wear. When he pulled out a navy suit jacket, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Delphia looking at him with a shake of her head. Not that one? He put it back, pulling out a deep maroon jacket and pants. He saw her nod—a difficult task with the metal collar. She guided him the rest of the way with subtle facial expressions and shakes of her head.

In the end, his outfit was complete: A maroon suit, white shirt (no tie), and a pair of white trainers. Draping the clothes across a seat on the same side of the plane as Delphia, Rick began to unzip his jacket. The plane’s engine was already rumbling beneath his feet, right on schedule.

“Er—Flag?” Delphia asked.

“Yeah?”

She looked hesitant, lip caught between her teeth as her blue eyes kept dancing to Blackguard across the cargo hold, who had already stripped down to his underwear. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to resolve something inside herself—like she was gathering her courage and finally had enough.

She said, “Could you maybe… Stand…?”

She gestured vaguely to the space between her and Blackguard. God, how could he have forgotten? They usually have team members dress before missions in gender-split areas. But even then, Delphia always waited until everyone was gone before getting into her suit. He never expected her to be so modest—but maybe it was because she was trying to hide something. It scratched at his brain that he would never know the answer.

“Yeah, ’course,” he said understandingly.

He shifted to stand in front of her, hands on his hips and shoulders straight so he took up as much space as possible. Every muscle in his body was clenched tight when he heard the tough fabric of her prison uniform drop to the ground. His jaw ticked as he kept his eyes focused on the ceiling. He was able to keep still while sneaking past a motion sensor; keep his eyes ahead when his fellow men were left for dead. But this right here was his greatest temptation. It took every ounce of his self-control and willpower not to glance over his shoulder at her. He respected her and her wishes; she didn’t want to be seen in such a vulnerable state, and he was going to respect that. He was sure his mother would come down from heaven to smack him if he didn’t—once Delphia was done with him, of course.

While he was standing there, he made eye contact with Blackguard once or twice, but the boy was too distracted by his new suit to care.

The way she tapped between his shoulder blades nearly made him jump.

“M’done,” she muttered.

Rick tried to go back to his seat and finish getting changed—he really did. That’s what he wanted to do. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a pale shoulder, and he was a goner. The white coveralls she wore on missions and the bright orange prison uniform were the only things he had ever seen her in—until now. Her dress was white as snow, clinging to every curve. It showed off the hard muscle of her arms and legs, the thin straps on her shoulders barely holding the thing up. It came down just past her knee with a slit that traveled nearly the entire length of her leg.

Then, he saw them. All those scars.

The stark white and red marks barely poked out from the confines of her dress, clearly a deliberate choice so people wouldn’t ask questions. It looked like someone had kept a running count on her skin. He could see several tiny burns on her thigh from the snuffed cigarettes that made her scream.

Blue eyes drew him in, and he understood what they told him.

Don’t ask. Please just leave it alone.

So he did. He finally yanked himself back to his seat and started getting changed as the airplane took off. But every motion he made was hard and angry. As she put on her heels and strutted to the other end of the plane to do her hair and makeup, he couldn’t stop thinking about those marks. He knew what scars from combat looked like—and they looked nothing like that. Those were deliberate, used to cause her great harm. His blood was boiling, because he had a pretty good guess as to who had done that to her. And this mission was throwing her back into his arms. No wonder she didn’t want to do it.

Rick Flag had never experienced a morbid, red-hot desire to kill anyone… No. Not until this moment.

They were only thirty minutes from Gotham airport. From there, a car would pick them up and take them to The Cherry; loop the entrance three times so it wouldn’t look like they came to the club together. More importantly, so it looked like Delphia came to the club alone—looking for Ra’s al Ghul.

The mirror hung in the corner of the cargo hold was dingy and cracked. Delphia had finished her makeup and hair a while ago, done the way Ra’s liked it, but she still stared at herself through the cracks in that mirror. It had been so long since she looked like this—all dolled up and ready for a night on the town, save for the giant metal collar still clamped around her throat. Even before she got arrested, she worked alone. No need to accompany some big bad male to the club or his little team meetings, wanting her to be nothing more than a pretty thing on his arm.

That is, until they wanted their dirty work done. Until they wanted her to be a pretty weapon—sharp and beautiful with a mouth full of razors and a twisted sense of apathy.

She turned away from the glass with a sigh, noticing Rick sitting next to his neatly folded tactical uniform. He cleaned up nicely, she had to admit. The suit looked gorgeous against his tan skin. And she wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose, but the number of buttons left undone on his shirt was nearly obscene, exposing a good portion of his sternum to the world. To her. His eyebrows were buckled as he stared at a jar of hair product, probably deciding if he should do something with his hair.

“You should do it,” Delphia told him as she crossed the hold.

“Do what?” Rick asked.

“Something with your hair.” She gestured vaguely at his head as she sat down. “You’re not that close to a military cut—but if you wanna look like a fuckboy, you gotta commit.”

He huffed with a slight smile. It was shameful how that made a pathetic sort of pride rise in her chest; she made him smile.

“How should I do it, then?”

Delphia pointed at Blackguard across the cargo hold. “Ask the residential fuckboy.”

“Ya know, I resent that,” Blackguard said, then sighed and relented. “Push it back. You’ve got it short on the sides and long on top—it’ll look good.”

Rick looked back to Delphia for confirmation, and she nodded.

“Alright, fine.”

He got up and went over to the mirror. Delphia watched, head cocked to the side as he completely and totally fucked it up. He grunted in frustration as he tried to fix it, still failing miserably, the dirty blonde strands of hair sticking up in all different directions instead.

Delphia rose from her seat with a huff and took the jar from his hand. Rick turned to look at her with a furrowed brow, mouth pinched like he knew he messed up.

“Let me help,” she told him quietly.

Scooping a generous amount of product from the jar, she set the container on the metal edge of the cargo hold’s seam, smoothing the putty over her fingers before pushing it into his hair. His scalp felt warm beneath her hands, his breath fanning her face as she worked the product into his hair. She pushed it away from his face, smoothing it all down. She tried not to notice those dark eyes slip closed, his eyebrows lifted like he was enjoying it. She didn’t want to notice—not when she could so easily trail a hand down that thick neck of his and make it disappear under the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. It would be so easy. Too easy. She respected him too much to do anything like that. He was her commanding officer, the man in charge. And he was Rick Flag. He was too good, too caring, too sweet. She would only ruin him—twist him and shape him into something dark that matched her own soul, like everyone had done to her before. It’s a cycle that she was determined to break, even if that meant never getting an ounce of him. She swallowed thickly as she pulled a single lock of hair free and lay it over his forehead. It took every ounce of willpower she had to pull her hands away when she was finished.

No. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—get familiar.

Rick opened his eyes again and quirked a brow. “Good?”

“Good. Now you look like a real fuckboy.”

He nodded in thanks before moving around her and snatching a small plastic case from the floor. Delphia had to take a large, calming breath before she could turn and face him again.

“Alright, these are our comms.” Rick popped open the case to reveal a foamy inside, with little indents for three nude earpieces and three signal packs. “We’ll be using channel three.”

Delphia took an earpiece and a signal pack after Blackguard, shoving the little piece of plastic in her ear and the metal block into her clutch after she tuned it to the proper channel.

“Channel three check,” Rick’s voice echoed in the cargo hold as well as her ear.

“Channel three check,” came Blackguard’s drone.

Delphia took a breath as she buckled herself in for landing. “Channel three check.”

“Alright people,” Waller’s voice suddenly sounded off in her head like her conscience. “Let’s start the show.”

The plane landed with a soft thud and the pilot came over the intercom, informing them they had reached Gotham airport. Delphia unclipped herself from her seat and gathered up her clutch, ready for the hatch to open to get out of this stuffy tin can.

But then Rick approached her with the metal key to her collar, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Right—she had nearly forgotten it was on. He reached around the back of her neck and inserted the key, the collar clicking and hissing softly as it released. Delphia grunted quietly at the sudden decrease in pressure around her throat. Rick took the heavy contraption in one hand and tossed it into her empty seat, looking disgusted by it. She reached up and touched her neck for what felt like the first time in forever. The flesh felt raw and hot, likely a bright shade of red. It was made worse by the fact she was scratching at her skin like a dog with fleas. Good thing she put some concealer in her clutch.

“No funny business, Oracle,” Waller warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Delphia was dropped off at the club first. The way she looked at Rick sitting across from her when the valet opened the door made it felt like he had just been shot. For the entire ride from the airport, Blackguard was filling the silence with some story about his partying days before Belle Reve, while Delphia stared down at the floor with unfocused eyes and her arms crossed tight over her chest. But then the door opened, and her expression finally changed—from nothing to something Rick couldn’t quite place. Fear? Doubt? Either way, he felt his blood run cold as she stepped out of the car and the door shut behind her.

“I’m next, right?” Blackguard asked as he fidgeted with his suit pants.

“No,” Rick grunted, starting to lose his patience. “Just remember to use the fake name Waller put on the list—”

“Yeah, yeah, Winston Schmidt.”

“And if you try to steal this car while you’re alone… Just remember I will blow out your skull,” Waller said over comms.

Blackguard adjusted his pants one more time as the car pulled up to the curb once more. “Yeah, yeah.”

When the door opened this time, Rick slid out of the car and adjusted the lay of his jacket. There was a line of people waiting to get in to the right of the darkened glass door. A bouncer in an all-black suit stood at the beginning of the line with a clipboard in hand and an earpiece. He clearly had a sidearm hidden beneath his jacket—but then again, so did Rick. A bright red neon sign glowed above the door, shouting The Cherry to anyone that passed by, along with a cartoon depiction of a woman’s mouth sucking on a pair of cherries.

Rick straightened his shoulders and walked up to the door. The bouncer held out a hand, shifting his grip on the clipboard. The thumping bass could be heard from inside.

“Nick Miller,” Rick replied, trying to act nonchalant.

The bouncer scanned the list for a moment. Rick wondered if Delphia even had to say her name; she came here with Ra’s every Tuesday night for years. It was like a movie in his head: Her, walking up to the door with that white dress, the bouncer not being able to open the door for her fast enough…

“Found ya!” The bouncer finally exclaimed. Then he opened the door, letting the music wash over the sidewalk like a shadow. “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Miller.”

Rick nodded before stepping through the door.

Even though it was dark outside, it was nothing in comparison to the darkness of the club. The bass of the music pulsed through his veins. There were people everywhere, stuffed into every corner and crevice. The Cherry had two floors; on the main floor was the dancefloor and the bar, neon strobes and blacklights flickering all over the place. On the balcony, private booths overlooked the first floor, each one already filled by somebody important in Gotham. Rick couldn’t spot Ghul as he moved further into the club, squeezing past scantily clad girls and sweaty people.

“I’m inside,” he informed over comms.

“At the bar.” Delphia’s voice was barely a whisper over the loud music.

Rick searched for her as he found an empty column to lean against. She wasn’t hard to spot, her white hair seeming to glow in the dim lights of the club. She stood there sipping on a martini, hiding her mouth behind the glass, staring out at the dancefloor like she was exactly where she wanted to be.

“Think Ghul’s noticed you yet?” He asked as he observed a laughing pair of men slapping at each other’s backs as they walked past him.

“Oh, he has.”

“How do you know?” Blackguard questioned suddenly. “I’m inside, by the way.”

“Blackguard, get up to the second floor and watch from above.”

“He can’t,” Delphia said.

Rick sighed in annoyance. “Why not?”

“Ra’s is up there—third booth from the left. One of his men is stationed at the bottom of the stairs. There’s not anybody up there that he doesn’t want to be.”

“Is there a set of service stairs?”

“Yeah. Through the kitchens.”

Blackguard’s loud, disappointed sigh crackled in his ear. “I’m on it.”

Rick spotted Delphia across the club again. Even from that distance, he could tell that she was already looking over at him.

“You look stupid standing there without a drink,” she told him.

“You’re already at the bar.”

“Right. Undercover—separately.” She sat down her drink and called for the bartender to refill it. “Ra’s knows I’m here. He’s watching. But he doesn’t care.”

“You gonna make him care?”

Her drink was refilled, and she picked it up again. “He’s got a jealous streak. If I dance with some rando, he’s bound to send one of his men to come get me.”

Rick couldn’t fathom having to watch her grind against someone in this club. It was difficult enough having to watch her lean up against the bar, all that skin exposed with the sole intent of catching another man’s eye. His jaw clicked, and before he could even fully process what he was saying, he grunted out:

“No civilians.”

“Seriously?” Delphia scoffed. “Who the hell am I supposed to dance with then?”

“I volunteer!” Blackguard hissed quietly.

“No,” Rick all but barked. “You stay up there and watch our sixes.”

Delphia seemed to understand what he was getting at. From across the room, he watched her set down her drink and crook her finger at him—like she didn’t even know him. A thrill ran down his spine as he picked himself off the concrete pillar and made his way through the crowd to her. As he got closer, her red-painted lips twitched up in a smirk. For a moment—just a moment—he could pretend this was real. That they were actually meeting in this club for the first time, instead of being here on a mission. That she really wanted to get close to him, to dance with him. That she could look at him like she wanted him, and maybe he could do the same. That they were both free.

“Care for a drink?” She asked sweetly as he sidled up next to her at the bar, with a Cheshire cat smile that reminded him too much of Harley. “I’m buyin’.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he chuckled.

“Suit yourself,” Delphia sighed, picking up her nearly empty martini glass and leaning in close enough that he could smell her hair product over the booze. “So what’s a guy like you doin’ in a place like this?”

“Not entirely sure.” With one elbow on the bar, he watched her down the rest of her drink. “What’s a girl like you doin’ here?”

She turned to face him, so close they were chest-to-chest, and smirked. “Thinking terrible things, baby. Terrible things.”

Rick’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand her objective—to figure out that torn look in her eye.

But he couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him when she boldly slid her hand beneath the collar of his shirt. He knew he had left too many of the buttons undone. Her nails scratched across his chest, and he looked down at her while she watched his throat bob. Some primal instinct overcame him, and he latched onto her waist, pulling her flush against him. He could feel every devilish curve, the sharp points of her hip bone, those hidden ridges of muscle that no one would expect. Without even noticing, his other hand disappeared into that slit in her dress, feeling the mottled flesh of her thigh beneath his fingertips. Then her hand was clamped around his wrist, pulling it away. Her fingers barely curled around the entire thing.

“Sorry,” he muttered against her temple, cursing himself for taking it too far, moving to pull his hands away from her entirely.

“No—it’s okay.” She gently grabbed the hand that left her waist, putting it back, her fingers trailing up his arm and back to his chest.

Christ, he felt like he was going to fucking explode. She could probably see it too. It was written all over his solemn expression; the incessant bob of his throat; the way he breathed deeply right into her ear. He really couldn’t help it. Not when her fingers, delicate as a brushstroke, ghosted over the buttons of his shirt, dancing around the top of his pants. It made him gulp and squeeze her waist a bit tighter.

She leaned up, her chest fully pressed into his, and spoke into his jaw.

“Take me to dance?”

Rick didn’t say a word before grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the bar. They disappeared into the crowd and situated themselves in the closest thing they could find to an empty spot on the dancefloor. Nerves bunched in Rick’s gut as he tugged Delphia into him—this was the part he didn’t know how to do. He never had been one for dancing.

Apparently, she could read it all over him. Her hands snaked around the back of his neck as she pressed her hips flush against his. “Just follow my lead,” she whispered.

Delphia made it look so easy. She moved her hips in time to the beat, rolled them up into his thigh as she practically dangled from his neck. Rick followed as best he could, keeping his face buried in her hair so she couldn’t see how blown out his pupils were. He kept his hands on her waist, making it seem like he was the one guiding the show, instead of the other way around.

She paused for a moment, breathing heavily. “Rick?”

“Hmm?” He hummed into her hairline.

“Touch me.”

“I can’t,” he breathed, holding on to his last thread of sanity, though her scent was driving him to the edge of intoxication. “You deserve…”

He couldn’t find what he wanted to say. She doesn’t deserve it? No. She deserved to be happy, loved, supported—all the things she had never felt an ounce of in her life.

She deserves better? Yeah. Maybe that was it. She deserved better than him feeling her up in a club. She deserved respect, boundaries—she deserved the right to dictate where someone’s hands fell on her body. He wanted her to have that. He never wanted to do something she didn’t want. Her entire life, things had happened to her that she didn’t want. He couldn’t imagine that that kid on the street wanted to become a criminal—to be turned into a weapon and a monster who did terrible things just for kicks. No… Delphia never did anything just for the fun of it. She found no satisfaction in hurting people. She wasn’t Harley crazy and she wasn’t Peacemaker justified. She was just a girl who never got any external love and support. And who could hold that against her?

A groan got stuck in Rick’s throat as her hands took hold of his and slid them down past her hips and over the curve of her ass. Of their own accord, those hands traveled back up her back to card through the tips of her white hair. Another groan nearly choked him when her lips pressed against his exposed collarbone—not some accidental brush. A kiss. What was that supposed to mean?

But then she glanced over his shoulder at the balcony, and it was like a bucket of ice had been dumped on his head. Right. This wasn’t just him and her meeting in this too-loud club; this was a mission. There was a mark Delphia was trying to get the attention of. She was a criminal and he was her commanding officer. He had gotten so lost in the moment he had nearly forgotten. But he wanted this moment back—that little pocket of time where nothing else mattered but the pretty girl in the white dress and the boy who just wanted her to feel loved.

Before his mind could fully catch up with what was happening, a man pulled at Delphia’s arm and whispered in her ear for her to follow. Rick watched her go with an expression that he hoped would read somewhere between angry and disappointed—not full-blown devastated, like he was really feeling.

As she was led away, Delphia looked back over her shoulder at him one last time. He wanted to tell her not to go.

“Delphia! Darling!” Ra’s al Ghul greeted as he stood from his usual curved booth. He looked relatively the same. Maybe a little older. More grey on those temples. He wore a velvet, forest green suit and a black-as-night tie—his usual color combination.

Something deep and terrible twisted in Delphia’s gut when he took hold of her shoulders and kissed both her cheeks. Memories flashed before her eyes… Those same hands, punching her in the gut. Those same lips, screaming at her to be better, harder, crueler than she ever wanted to be.

“Good to see you, Ra’s,” she told him, faking her casual, jovial demeanor so well.

“Everyone—make room!” Ra’s told his full table with a wave of his hands. “The Oracle has returned to our circle!”

Delphia watched as some poor soul had to get out of the booth, being escorted away so she could sit down. Ra’s patted the open spot of leather beside him and propped his arm on the back of the booth. She sat with a smile, her skin feeling like it was crawling with spiders.

“Now, now—I thought… You were arrested, dear Delphia,” Ra’s said, glancing around at the group to make sure he had their attention. “Locked up in Belle Reve.”

“Just a rumour.” She put on the silky voice and mischievous smile that she knew he liked. “You know I’d never let anyone catch me.”

“Mm, except the Batman, of course.” He squeezed her shoulder hard, and it took everything in her to keep from flinching.

She smiled again. “You know that wasn’t anything personal, darling. He was only a means to an end.”

Ra’s grinned around at the table, messing with the straw poking out of his drink. Then he looked back at her with a glint in his eye that made bile rise in her throat.

“Just like everyone else to you, yes?”

His expression instantly changed. He looked intrigued, like a cat finding a mouse to play with in the walls of its home. Scooting closer to her, he chuckled devilishly. Oh, no. She must have betrayed something in her expression—some slight quirk or dip that made him take notice. A crack—a weakness.

“Who was that man you were dancing with earlier?”

“No one,” she instantly replied. “Just some guy.”

“No, no—I can see it.” He pointed at her face with a smirk. “You belong to someone else now. How very sad.”

“I haven’t belonged to anyone in a long time, Ra’s.”

That was true. She belonged to no one. But still, the words shot through her chest like an arrow laced with poison. For so long, her heart had been caged in, walled with iron and set with defences. No one was allowed in, and nothing was allowed out.

But Rick fucking Flag. He had somehow wormed his way in; made her think that maybe she could be a good person. Because he killed, he maimed, he did terrible things—but somehow, he was still good. He was still kind, he still cared, and he still had that sense of sympathy that had been lost to her lifetimes ago. He always made her wonder: Could she be good like that?

It felt like corruption, in a way. Weakening. Like her defenses were being torn down and she would be left vulnerable to attack. But wasn’t baring your heart and soul strength? Wasn’t it harder to be made of soft flesh than solid stone? Rick Flag wasn’t making her into something of his own liking—no. He was untwisting, demangling, and relaxing her into whatever shape she wanted to be. She didn’t know what that shape was yet, and he was okay with that. God, it made her heart ache and her stomach burn. It made panic rise in her throat, because she didn’t know what to do with all that kindness—all the goodness he bestowed her, like some heavy crown. It was too much and never enough. No… She couldn’t get familiar.

Her inner strife had made sitting next to Ra’s al Goul—the man that turned her into a monster—that much harder.

“So, Oracle, what brings you here tonight?” Ra’s asked casually over the lip of his drink, like he hadn’t just wrecked her mind and soul.

She sunk back into the ruse with ease, leaning against his side, running her finger over the rim of the drink he bought just for her. “Heard Batman got his back busted, and it will finally be done.”

A flip was switched. Ra’s stiffened beside her, leaned into her conspiratorially with eyebrows knitted together in fury. “How did you hear of this?”

“Word gets around in our circles fast, you know that,” she said, “Is it true?”

He shifted in his seat, pulled at the leg of his pants as his arm fell behind her, wrapping around her waist possessively. “Yes,” he growled in her ear.

“That’s amazing, Ra’s,” she breathed against his jawline. “It’s finally happening. The world will be cleansed.”

It was amazing how Delphia still knew how to get him going, letting him lose his defenses. Repeating his sentiments about the impurities of the world and its need for cleansing always seemed to do the trick. He groaned before he dove into her neck, mouthing at it greedily.

“Come with me to my hotel?” Ra’s asked as he peppered kisses along her shoulder. “I’ve missed you…”

Delphia paled at the thought, but kept up appearances. This was part of the plan. Make Ra’s trust her enough to get close, really close, so she could take the key from him. If she did it now, he would know that it was her. He knew her sleight of hand because he was the one who taught her that skill in the first place. He had to be good and comfortable, maybe even knocked out cold, before she could lift anything off of him.

“Why’re you staying at a hotel and not your penthouse?” She questioned quietly.

This detail made a wrinkle in Waller’s plan. She had assured Delphia that there was a suite in Ra’s building where the two men could camp out and wait for her return. Staying in a hotel obviously changed things.

“It’s near the airport,” he explained. “We leave bright and early for Siberia tomorrow for the ceremony to begin. Come with me, darling. Come with me.”

Delphia pulled his face from her neck, forcing their eyes to meet; something he always forced her to do when he wanted the truth. It was a sign that he could trust her. “Of course, darling. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Waller barked distant commands in her ear. “Economos, get us a room in the Gotham International Hotel, now!”

All according to plan.

Rick stood at the window, watching the sun rise over the Gotham skyline. It was a beautiful sight. Clouds painted pink and orange like giant balls of cotton candy rose up and up over the sky, the sun’s rays painting the blue hues even lighter. The dark buildings of Gotham stood in stark contrast to the majesty of nature, but Rick couldn’t pay attention even if he tried.

His earpiece was still shoved tight into his eardrum in case there would be the slightest sound over Blackguard’s snoring. But after a few more minutes of waiting in tense silence, the comm giving him absolutely nothing, he gave up with a frustrated groan.

Delphia had been silent for nearly six hours. Rick began to feel like a monster was gnawing at his insides, making it all feel wrong. He never should have taken his earpiece out last night—but when his eardrums were filled with pornographic moans and the sounds of slapping skin, he really couldn’t take it anymore. He dug the plastic out of his ear and chucked it onto his mattress, Blackguard telling him to put it back quick, because it was getting to the good part.

Rick sat on the empty bed where Blackguard wasn’t lying spread eagle in his underwear, pulling a hand over his face. He was exhausted down to the bone, which only made the worries eating at him all the more apparent. Is this what it felt like? To be a deer injured in the woods, waiting for buzzards to finish the job? Surely Delphia wouldn’t have run away with Ra’s. She would’ve known that Waller would blow her brains out before she could even make the door. No—what Rick really worried about was the possibility that Ra’s al Ghul had done something terrible. Caught her in the act of stealing from him and silenced her forever. Any chance at a good life, stolen from her… Any chance Rick had of telling her that he felt something for her, completely gone. It made his leg bounce and sweat accumulate on his palms.

“Flag,” —Waller’s voice nearly made him jump— “Heard anything from Oracle?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied.

“Her tracker still says she’s one floor above you. Presidential suite.”

Rick grunted. “Want me to make sure she’s still on mission?”

Yes, the mission… This had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to make sure she was okay—that she was alive.

“No, let’s wait it out.” The hope for something to do deflated from Rick’s chest. “Ghul’s flight leaves in an hour. See what happens then.”

It took a few more minutes of jittering nerves before Rick was off the bed, moving into the hallway, leaving Waller’s planted tracker behind. As far as she was concerned, he was still in his hotel room following orders.

In the stairwell, he took the steps two at a time to reach the top floor, quietly shutting the door behind him. He crept down the hallway until he reached the corner, sticking his back to the wall so he could peek around and see what was going on.

There was one guard posted outside the presidential suite’s double doors. He turned with a yawn to look down the other hallway, and that’s when Rick made his move. He quietly snuck up on the guard, catlike, and caught him in a headlock—hand clamping tight over his mouth and nose. The guard only struggled for a moment before passing out from lack of oxygen, and Rick lowered him to the floor as the last breaths of conscienceness left him.

Pulling the pocketknife from his tactical pants, Rick made quick work of picking the lock on the door, and then he was inside.

The presidential suite was a whole lot nicer than the room they had downstairs. But apparently, Ra’s al Ghul and Delphia made easy work of wrecking the place. A lamp was in a million pieces on the floor, an armchair turned over on its side, papers from the desk scattered everywhere. Rick tiptoed around the mess, careful not to bump anything.

Then he saw the bed, its crisp white sheets in a torrent with Ghul tangled up in them, hairy legs exposed, lying on his stomach. He was still out cold, and Delphia was right there next to him, tucked under the covers with her white hair fanned out like a halo above her.

Rick took a step forward, but didn’t see the empty liquor bottle in his path. His boot crashed into it lightly, sending it twirling over the carpet. He stopped the curse on his tongue with a grimace.

Ghul only groaned in his sleep, mumbling incoherently as he tried to nestle back into the blankets. Delphia sat straight up on the bed, a thread of Ether shooting out of her palm as a deadly spear. But when she saw it was only Rick, she relaxed—quickly sending the Ether she had formed through one of Ghul’s ears and out the other side. Rick had seen her use her powers this way before as a way to show people a vision of the future. Or, in this case: Keep Ghul asleep long enough for the two of them to leave.

Rick’s fists tightened at his sides at the state she was in. There was an angry bruise under her left eye, her bottom lip cut and swollen, her right cheekbone even worse. Black and blue handprints wrapped around her throat. Rick felt like his entire body was on fire as he made eye contact with her. Delphia never looked so small, so weak. She was always such a loud presence, though she never said much. She was powerful and devastating. But now she just looked like that scared little girl that she never let the world catch a glimpse of.

He turned as she got out of the bed, just realizing that she was completely naked. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to take hold of the reins of his self-control—if he didn’t, he was sure he would shoot Ra’s al Ghul in his sleep right there. Rick couldn’t fathom a psyche that justified hurting her like that. Laying hands on anyone like that.

The way she tapped between his shoulder blades nearly made him jump.

Delphia was back in her dress and high heels, clutch buried under her arm, a rekindled fire in her eyes. She was furious as she stared up at Rick for a moment before heading towards the door, and Rick followed her out of the room like a lost dog.

With a swipe of her hand, she put a thread of Ether into the guard's head—some vision to make him think he had fallen asleep. Rick watched her march down the hallway with anger boiling in his blood and a feeling of guilt gnawing at his stomach. It wasn’t until they got into the stairwell that she finally turned on him, backing him against the wall with a finger to his chest and a fury in her eyes that put the fear of God in him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Flag?” She questioned through a hiss, digging her finger into his sternum. “I had it under control.”

Rick couldn’t find the words to say. His mouth opened and closed like a freshly caught fish. When words finally slipped past his lips, they were probably the wrong ones:

“He hurt you.”

Fuck. Why the fuck did he say that?

He watched as her face twitched and cracked. As that busted lip trembled. As the fire was put out from her eyes. Her hand fell flat against his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

Then she whispered, “Of course he did. Ra’s is… An intelligent man who—succumbs to his baser instincts when it comes to pleasure.”

“He gets off on beating you up?”

“To put it less delicately.”

She pulled her hand from his chest, and he wanted to reach out to put it back; feel that heat through his shirt again. But he didn’t. He let her gently touch the bruises around her throat and wanted nothing more than to storm back down to the presidential suite and strangle Ra’s al Ghul. No—he wanted more than that. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to make sure she was okay. He wanted to make sure that she knew she was safe with him. But he couldn’t do any of those things. He just couldn’t.

A crude thought appeared in his mind, one that he couldn’t get a handle on before it slipped out of his mouth.

“Do you…?”

“No.” Delphia looked up at him through hooded eyes. “He’s never really cared for my pleasure, and last night only reminded me.”

I would make you feel good, Rick thought to himself as his hands twitched at his sides, a silent plea to reach out and touch her. He would make her feel so good. He would make sure she finished, twice at the least. Because that’s what she deserved.

God, she could probably see all these sinful thoughts passing through his brain. See it in the bob of his throat, the twitch of his hands, the darkening of his eyes. He didn’t want to think them, tried to beat them down and shove them into a corner where he could go back to being professional. But it was all out now. The tiger of his desire was free, and he really didn’t know if he wanted to push it back in its cage. For a moment—just a moment—he could pretend that this was their moment. That this was it. They were just two people caught in a stairwell, ready to show each other their cards.

Delphia didn’t stop him as his feet carried him closer, standing chest-to-chest. Maybe because deep down, she knew he would treat her right. But then she put a hand to his chest, her broken lip caught between her teeth.

“Don’t get familiar, Colonel.”

They walked back in silence to the room where Blackguard was most likely still sleeping. They were no longer two people who met in some club and danced; no longer those people caught in a moment of uncertainty in a stairwell. They were Rick Flag and Delphia Holman once more; the commanding officer and the criminal under his charge.

To Rick’s surprise, Blackguard was sitting at the end of his bed, fully dressed. He looked excited and unsurprised by Delphia’s bruised state when they walked into the room.

“Did you get it?” he asked.

Delphia pulled her clutch from under her arm and out of it she pulled a stone disk. She flipped it over in her hand once before she tossed it to Blackguard, who caught it with ease.

“Waller’s got transport incoming—Ghul’s gonna wake up soon enough and realize his key is missing, so we gotta move fast,” Rick said.

“Er — guys?” Blackguard spoke up unsurely.

“What?”

He held up the key with a worried expression pinching his face. “This says ‘Made in China' on the back.”

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Delphia screeched as she snatched the disk out of Blackguard’s hands. She inspected it for a moment before looking up at Rick with wide, terrified eyes. “It’s fucking fake.”

“Well, shit.”

Taglist (if you would like to be added just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins

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obislittleone · 4 years ago

Text

Cruel Irony

1/?

Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Barely anyone writes for this IMMACULATE character so I guess the responsibility falls on me.... but it's fine whatever

Series Summary: Growing up where she did, Moyra is taught very well in the art of assassination. As the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, she sits highly amongst the brotherhood known as the League of Shadows. When her father orders her to lure a stranger from the outside to be recruited amongst the mysterious clan, she will question everything she's ever believed.

Chapter warnings: none really in this one because like ya know introductory stuff it's chill

Never was it warm here, on this Godforsaken Island. The cold endowed everything, and the only thing warm enough to allow her to sleep at night in the brutal weather was a woolen blanket her mother had given to the young girl as a baby. Though it was too small for her full form to fit beneath, she curled up close to herself in hopes that it's heat would engulf her body whole.

She had several other thermal blankets to sleep with, ones that her Father would give to all the brothers. She had come to an understanding at an early age about what her father was, and what he did. He was one of the most skilled fighters in all the world. He taught and trained all brothers how to use their bodies to accomplish great things. Bringing the world to justice was his one mission in life, and he believed in it firmly.

She had been raised in the same ideals that he had put out onto his recruits, and never failed to follow them wholeheartedly. Her father was so kind an loving towards her as a girl, he truly was everything a child dreams of having in a father. After they lost her mother, though, She hadn't been able to easily cope with her grief. For reasons unknown, she didn't go through the mental stages properly, and her father had longed to help the poor girl... so he began to train her as a soldier in the league of which hers and his ancestors fought. He showed her how to release my anger, and use it to your advantage. By the time she was fifteen, she was a fully lethal weapon, capable of mass destruction. Her father warned her of what such power could do to someone who did not wield it correctly, and guided her to where she understood what she could, and could not do with those special abilities.

As soon as she swore the oath, she too was among the great brotherhood of protectors and bringers of justice. She was a soldier in the league of shadows.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Moyra was seventeen the first time she saw him, Bruce Wayne. Her father had sent her to scout the village, looking for promising people that could possibly join the ranks as one of their own. She’d quickly spotted a man, tall, dark, and sweet looking. She almost thought nothing of him until she saw him expertly rob one of the food stands with one quick swipe. He did it so effortlessly, and kept the clerk distracted the whole time. Moyra felt an instant intrigue to the man, wanting to know if he was someone her father would have interest in. She followed him around the city to see what else he had on his agenda, and to her surprise, all he did was find a humble corner to eat his stolen food in. She watched from the rooftop of the building nearby, finding that he looked to be a common street rat, just like every other non working man in this city. She was about to shake off the strange feeling about him and walk away. He wasn't League material, he was just a handsome thief. She heaved a sigh and prepared to leave, but what he did next caught her eye for a second time. He gave some of his food to a starving street child.

Most men in this city didn't like to share their possessions anyways, but make it a street urchin who steals to get by, and that percentage goes down even further. Perhaps, he was different. Even if she was wrong about him, and was only making this decision based off of pure impulse, this man still had a quality about him that she couldn't quite describe. He was so dangerously mysterious, and had a story behind his eyes. He had a different past than any other common street rat, and she would one day hear it lest she never forget his face as long as she shall live.

She had returned to her father that day, telling him about the strange thief that shared his keepings with a child. He asked me if he had the makings of a soldier and to his question I had to think for a moment, deciding eventually that there was no answer.

Since she had never before been intrigued by another man in the city, her father was also invested. It was her next assignment to follow the street rat for a few days more. Perhaps if she could observe him on a closer level than rooftops, maybe she could prove that he was exactly who she father was looking for, and not just a waste of their time.

It took her about an hour to find him the next day when she went looking. He stayed pretty close within the boundaries of the city, and hung around the sketchy and stereotypical areas that were known for city scum. This man was nothing if not a contradiction, and that was something she learned about him quickly. A man who stole to survive, opting to travel around as a loner to keep from having attachment..... and yet he was so kind, and gentle. He was a good man on the inside, and it was her intention to eventually bring him back to the league of shadows, so more of those qualities could be brought to light.

She had been leaning in a doorway, acting as if she were minding her own business for the duration of time she’d occupied the space. She had been stalking him for about two months now, and nearly had all the information needed of him. It was quite the thing, really. He lived his life everyday and had no idea this assassin of a woman had been on the trail of every whim..... but maybe she shouldn't have been so confident about herself.

She dropped my charade when he left the stand he'd been cornering for a while. He smiled at the passersby and when he was out of sight she went on with the path, going in the same route he went but lagging behind enough to avoid his suspicions. Others were none the wiser, so she did not need to keep up appearances for them.

He took a turn today that she hadn't expected, for he made his way into an abandoned home, with the windows busted out and the door barely hanging on it's hinges. She saw him go inside then walk right back out, and immediately she was curious as to what sort of drop by he'd just made. Was he leaving something there? Did he take something that someone left him? Was there another person living in the home? The questions were plaguing her mind and she simply had to know.

She waited just a small moment longer to enter the home, knowing that if he caught her, she would have to put on quite the show. She saw him turn around another house and figured now was her chance.

She did check this time and made sure no one else was watching before she casually strode right through the front door of the house. It was nearly pitch black throughout, but there was a light in what looked like a bedroom. She went to inspect it but had completely lost all her attentive training by cause of sheer curiosity. She compromised her footing just to see what was in the room. She didn't detect the trap that was set on the ground. A simple trap really, but quite effective, as she stepped in the circle of rope, it tightened near instantly around her ankle, the weight of the sand bag that was suspended had heaved her up in the air within a moment.

She groaned in slight pain of the tight rope on her ankle before she went to reach for the dagger she always carried at the hip. She was almost able to reach it when she felt another knife pressed against her throat. Any breath left in her lungs had hitched as she tried to remember the correct maneuver to rid herself of this situation. For the life of her, she could not focus on what she had been thoroughly taught.

"You've been following me for two weeks..." The man of mystery stepped around to view her from the front. Normally. this would give her a huge advantage, for now he was in her line of sight, but given it was the man she desired to recruit, she wouldn't hurt him if she did not have to.

The words he'd uttered went through her processing unit, and she quickly scoffed comdeically at his words. "Two months."

His eyebrows raised, but he did not dwell too much on that fact. He had a point riled up in his mind and he wanted to get to it.

"I know Falconi sent you to kill me. If you tell me how he found my location, I'll let you live," He bargained, bringing the knife away from the place that would have incited any real danger.

"Bold of you to assume you have that power," she said, the blood rushing to her face as she kept swinging by the rope. This was starting to get less fun, and besides, he didn't even have a proper accusation on the poor girl, nothing to string her from the ceiling for, anyway. To asert some dominance over the clearly inexperienced man, she quickly grabbed her dagger and threw it to where the rope was tied. She dropped like a fly, but landed on her feet like it was nothing. If you'd had the years of training she did, it really was nothing. Time and hours were spent to perfect a landing like that, so she hoped it looked as cool as it felt.

The man stumbled back a bit, holding his knife up again to fend her off, but the poor thing didn't even know how to defend himself properly.

"First of all, you're holding it all wrong," she gestured to the knife, slowly and gently approaching him and somehow getting her hands on his. He stiffened for a moment but relaxed when she simply opened his grasp and corrected the way he wrapped his hands around the end of the blade. "Second of all, I've never heard of the man you speak of."

His brows furrowed and he dropped the hand that possessed his weapon, which even at it's finest use was still pathetic.

"So you aren't trying to kill me?" He puzzled. Already some of the pieces were beginning to fit together. He must be on the run, off the grid so he can escape this Falconi character.

"If I wanted to kill you, why would I have spent two months following you?"

He heaved a sigh and shook his head. He misread everything, so he was bound to be confused. Most of all, about the real reason he had a stalker.

"What do you want with me?" Leaned against the wall, seeing as she had stood down and he was in no real danger, and never really was. It would remain that way as long as he didn't upset her reasoning for being here.

"I don't want anything with you," a lie… He'd drawn her in to his mysterious being from the beginning. She didn't know what it was thats she even wanted but there was something for sure. "My father does."

"Who is your father?" He was acting way too casual with her now, especially given the fact that she had outsmarted his trap and even corrected his knife hold. Clearly, some part of him had to know she was dangerous, but he did not show an ounce of fear. Maybe he saw in her an ally? He was obviously being chased by someone, given his suspicions of her employer.

"He's a man with much intention for you, I believe you are an asset to our cause," she explained, giving as little detail as possible. If he wasn't who her father wanted, then she couldn't just have a random man with too much input about the League.

"What cause?"

"You don't get to ask anymore questions until you answer me one..." she came closer to him, seeing if she would have had any intimidation effect on him whatsoever. He still shown no fear, in any way. "What's your name?"

He scoffed at her as if the question was completely insane, as if his name was the biggest secret he ever had. Little did she know that currently, it was.

"Tell me yours first." He looked her in the eye, searching deeply for any reason he should give his trust. She didn't know if he found one but she certainly did. He had an innocence about him few men possessed these days. It had seen the cruelty of violence, but somehow remained pure even still. His story was slowly showing itself to to her, though not in the ways she wanted it to. She had so many questions, but one at a time would have to be the key to getting the answers.

"Moyra Ducard," She said without a moment's hesitation. His surprise outweighed his other thoughts. He took a deep breath and licked his lips.

"I must be out of my mind....." he muttered, straightening himself up and continuing. "I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne."

Okay so I decided to start this one first but after I post my Tadashi Hamada series epilogue I'll start the first chapter of my Jerome x reader story so keep an eye out for both of those!

Tags are open

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman #bale!batman x reader #christian bale #batman begins

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