☆·uʍoɹɟ ♦

[dcnnctroy-deactivated20170619]

@damagedjokes

  Donna just wanted a few hours of feeling normal, all the bad things that had been happening in her life, she just wanted a break. A few of her friends, if that’s what you can call them, convinced her a club was the best place. On arrival it seemed like it was going to be a fine night. However, Donna didn’t know who owned the club, or who was planning on showing up.

   After an hour or so a man, a clown like man, entered. As he was walking through the crowd Donna stared, knowing exactly who the man was.

   “Holy shit.” She whispered it, the silence of the room as they waited for him to take his place was deafening until he words broke it. Apparently, she was the only one in the place who didn’t know anything about the club.

[damagedjokes-blog]

♦ “Ahhh. Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Drinks on me, boys! We have a celebration that needs to get under way! Ehh ha ha ha!” 

Or rather, it was that the pale man had said something along those lines to the brawny men around him. It was hard to tell what conversations could be carried on. The music within the dance hall was deafening, a form of gospel and swing-infused electronica filled the air. Bass drops and the serenade of grouped horns throughout the verses; ah, the rapture of it all.  “The Fun House”, as it was lovingly called by its handler was awash in ecstasy and alcohol-fueled dancing and rabble-rousing. That VIP was eponymously known as The Joker, no alias or identity had been confirmed past that. He was The Clown Prince of Crime; and anyone who knew Gotham City knew that this club was deep within his territory. It appeared that Donna Troy was unfamiliar with Gotham, after all.

[damagedjokes-blog]

@americanasitgets

♦ Wasn’t this a familiar scene? The Joker, seated in an interrogation room, handcuffed to the table itself. A boy could learn to love this. In fact, one would think that the GCPD would’ve learned by now that this was a waste of effort by sheer example of the man they were holding. No. No, no, no, no, no. Something was definitely off about this situation, and the pale man could feel that even through the erratic thought pattern that he had been blessed with. It was time to play the waiting game; to see who was pulling the strings behind this little prank. Joker slumped slightly, his usually orderly, emerald hair drooping a few strands in front of his stone, icy hues. “Come out, come out, wherever you areeeee.” When the room’s doors let out a loud shudder, it seemed that those were the magic words. The large metal frame swung open, revealing only pitch blackness for a moment. There was a pause, then a flash of red, yellow, and blue. A suit? Bats?! No. It was someone else. A tall, muscular figure, with sleek, jet black hair and eyes as blue as the ocean. Superman. “Ooooh.” The pale man couldn’t help but let out a noise of surprise. “Now. They were all saying that you were dead.” He paused, flashing a grin of chrome-covered teeth with a slight snarl at the man. “But, you look pretty good for a dead guy. Been working out? I’d say you could use a little more sun. Then again.. Who am I to talk? Ahhhh Hah. Hah. Hah.”

[rxttenqueen]

           — her shirt was covered in blood, her pale ( bleached ) arms smeared with the dark red liquid. She did not care though, it did not matter at the very moment. All that mattered was the man in front of her, the man tied to the medical bed, the man whose stomach and chest were already carved with bloody lines that had been done by the tip of her blade ( her KING’s gift ) Harley giggled quietly, looking up when the door opened and the Clown walked inside. “I couldn’t help myself, sweetie.” The blonde explained innocently, leaning away from their victim as she crossed her hands behind her back, putting on an innocent act ( and hiding the dirty knife ) “I broguth him in as you asked, he’s all yours now!”  ♡  @damagedjokes // starter call  ♡

[damagedjokes-blog]

♦ God. Didn’t she look so good in red? His painted lips couldn’t help but stretch wide at the sight of her. “You know, you’re getting real good at that.” His fingers traced out the lines carved into the blotchy flesh of their victim in the air; almost as if he were directing some sort of symphony. “I’m pretty sure we can find a few more bits of bare canvas on him before we complete this masterpiece.” The man’s gasps were ignored as the pale man flashed a chrome grin over to his lovely assistant. “Tsk. Good help is always so hard to find. Gotta do everything ourselves, don’t we?” Latex gloves were slid along his fingers, saving him from the mess that Harley delighted in. “Has he told you any about he told the Bat about us?” 

[damagedjokes-blog]

             ♦ Desire becomes surrender ---                                           Surrender becomes power. ♦

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