HEY.
OTTY HERE.
Well. Otty's mun. Just popping in to see if any of my mutuals might ~magestically~ still be alive, posting, active, lurking, etc. I haven't been active in an incredibly long but amazingly quick TWO WHOLE ASS YEARS. That boggles my mind. I loved this Tumblr so much.
I have a lot of updates. I will be posting a little bit over the next while to get back into the spin of things. If you want to unfollow I totally understand! I kind of want to overhaul this blog. I will probably be replying to some starters soon. You can also expect an update post on my personal life if you are interested at all in where I went or what I've been up to.
I miss you all so much. <3
Hello @ anyone who follows this blog. My recent job has led to complete exhaustion and significantly less free time but I'm going to try my damndest to keep this running. Our threads are important to me in even the busiest and toughest of times. Will update if things get any more or less hectic. I love you & ty for your patience.
She stood and sauntered over to him. “Alright, Grayson..” Ottaline said so quietly it was barely a whisper. She grabbed a plate and gently traced around it’s perimeter with her finger before throwing it to the ground. It split into two pieces only, a disappointing attempt.
“Guess I just don’t have it in me today.” She laughed, then gazed at him. “But I’d like to see you break a few more…”
He laughed when she only broke it in two, his eyes shinning “You need to try and actually SLAM them. Brake them to all hell. Take out every single frustration of the day out on them” he grabbed up another plate, then brought it down on the counter, hard, and watched it fall apart before his eyes.
She jumped a little this time, but her heart fluttered with excitement. Ottaline grabbed another and mirrored his action, bringing it down on the counter with a little more force. The plate shattered and she laughed in delight. It was invigorating. “So…” She smirked. “What do you take your frustration out on after you’ve run out of plates?” She grabbed another and hurled it into the ground, face lit up with pure ecstasy.
“When a small time con artist makes an impression at La Bayadère by murdering the entire cast and crew, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Gotham’s most feared criminal.”
I decided to compile all existing parts of oh-come-to-daddy’s and my collaborated fanfic/RP so it is easier to read! I will be sure to update this as more is written. You can read the story as a whole below the break or read our individual parts ( part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven)
Ottaline was in careful speculation, trying to determine the man's exact level of bonkers as his smile fell and was replaced with a look of seriousness for a dreadful handful of seconds before exploding with laughter. Yes, he was off the charts insane. Some believed The Joker had murdered somewhere in the range of six to seven hundred people, but it'd be no surprise if the number exceeded a thousand, even two thousand. However... word of mouth meant very little when it came to truly understanding a man like this. Just because she’d heard a few of his names and had a rough estimate of his kill count, Ottaline had hardly done enough of her "homework" to see through him as easily as she could so many others. The guy had street credit for being a maniac, and that was all she really knew with any certainty. His brand of work, his resources, and his motivations for crime were all a mystery to her... just as hers were to him.
What she couldn't quite decipher was if his inquisitive and bubbly attitude was genuine, if The Joker was really impressed with Ottaline and her work, or if it was all just an act. A show put on to appease her. She'd never admit it, but she loved how the thought of his approval stroked her ego. Maybe Ottaline had been too quick to surrender herself to be whisked away here with some deluded belief things were going to work out well, but MAYBE she'd just gained an incredible ally.
Fuck it, she thought, throwing her head back and downing the glass of whiskey like it was a cup of apple juice. She shook her head shuddering slightly but grew a large grin of her own as the rush hit her. She got to her feet at once. “It’d be my pleasure.” The woman sauntered toward the intimidating criminal and perched ever tentatively next to him. Despite her fear, she radiated with confidence.
“Mon nom.. est Ottaline.” she began softly, resting her hands in her lap. “Et je tuer pour le bien du peuple…” her eyes sparkled as she said this, and she cleared her throat a little before repeating, “I plot executions for the good of the people. And I take great, great pride in it. Tonight, I… took it upon myself to end the horrible cycle of slavery at the theatre in Gotham." The brunette could not keep the satisfaction off her face as she spoke. "Yesterday afternoon, three of the Keystone city's councilmen 'mysteriously disappeared’ after I watched them loudly catcall a little girl on the street from their cheap yellow sports car. She couldn't have been older than twelve. They called he a bitch when she didn't respond, and one even got out and tried to pull her into the vehicle with him."
She trailed off for a moment, deep in thought. "They would’ve done fair bit more than name-calling if she hadn’t managed to slip out of the one’s grasp. I called a good friend who was in the area to follow the kid while I tracked the politicians. Let's just say they won't be harassing anyone anytime in the near future... Alas, I did have to go back and kill her, too. There was no way she would've made it long there, all pretty and scared on the streets like an innocent baby doe. Too stupid and afraid to stick up for herself." She chuckled, wobbling toward him a little with a wink. "I did her a favour and made it nice and quick, though Trouble had some fun disposing of everyone later.”
Ottaline had never really spoken about any of this aloud before, but it felt incredible to talk about. She was dangerously close to coming in contact with The Joker when a loud female shriek came from somewhere in the house. She sat up in alarm, looking around for a source, when the sound of steps bounding along the ceiling and continued shrilling down a flight of stairs indicated that it could only be...
He sighed and looked down at the plates that were already broken in front of him “Just…a bad day” he had to deal with so many idiots in work and to many people slipped through the cracks. “come on…. why dont you brake this stuff with me?”
She stood and sauntered over to him. “Alright, Grayson..” Ottaline said so quietly it was barely a whisper. She grabbed a plate and gently traced around it’s perimeter with her finger before throwing it to the ground. It split into two pieces only, a disappointing attempt.
“Guess I just don’t have it in me today.” She laughed, then gazed at him. “But I’d like to see you break a few more...”
“Unusual? Well, in the beginning it was unusual to hear vague sounds of wood creaking, as if someone walked and looked over the shop whilst being closed and empty…but now it’s a common thing for me.” He hadn’t talked about that with anyone but his father and the old owners of the building, yet he felt the woman before him wasn’t connected to any of the aforementioned people. How she managed to simply FEEL mixed vibes from a structure made of brick and cement made him curious, considering not many clients spoke about sensing something strange within the place.
“Careful there, miss,” he voiced before she caught herself, eyebrows slowly rising at her question. “Why, yes…there’s a floor upstairs. It’s where I live.” Domenic paused, narrowing his eyes in wonder. “You say the place called you over? Is that what someone would call a sixth sense, or is there something I am terribly missing here?”
She listened with great interest as he mentioned the creaking sounds and the apartment above, taking in the information and nodding. Whatever this unexplainable feeling was, it was resonating high above their heads, and it felt like it was working against gravity to pull her there. Her stomach rumbled a little, a combination of both hunger and uncertainty. Ottaline laughed sheepishly. “I’ll take one of your finest teas, please. And it didn’t, uh.. It didn’t literally call me over. I don’t quite believe in any of that sixth sense bologna.”
Her smile was replaced with a slightly more distraught expression, brows pulling together in recollection. “I believe in energy. And I think everyone is able to feel it, but only if it’s meant for them. I’ve only experienced anything like this once before, and it was... malevolent. I felt I wanted to get as far away from it as possible.” She shuddered. “This, though... it’s different. This feeling in my gut says I needed to come here, like there’s something undiscovered in these walls. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I just need to know if you are on board with me or if you simply think I sound like a batshit lunatic.”
Ottaline stayed looking at the ceiling. “Whatever is going creak in the night... maybe it’s been trying to tell you something.”
friendly reminder that if we write together i do not want you to feel pressured or stressed about our thread/s. i am slow™ and i do not expect you to reply quickly, reply lengthily, or reply /at all/ if you cannot find the insp / muse for it. i will not resent you in any way if i see you replying to other threads on my dash. i will not resent you if i see you doing everything B U T writing on the dash. if i follow you and we’ve plotted or have been writing together, i enjoy seeing you on my dash. period. you replying to me in any timeline is not a condition of my liking / supporting / appreciating you. so pls don’t apologize for taking your time. pls don’t apologize for dropping threads. write what you want to when you want to and feel free to come to me if you ever want to start something new / plot something / rework a starter i’ve written you.
“Shame.” Her tone was still light and amused. “But I do have a weakness for being called ‘princess’.” She winked. “Just tell me what to call you. Hell, I’ll even take a fake. How’s ‘Buck’?”
