This is just a bunch of nonsense about the batboys and well the reader.
This book is only written for fun and for me to explore and get better at writing. Also just a heads up about my writing skills, they aren't perfect. Feel free to request. Hope...
Hi! @PunkMewtwo requested this story and it involves the prompt 46 (A: That's a really good cosplay...almost like the real thing. B: Sweetheart, I am the real thing.). Cosplay options (If you don't like any of them feel free to use your own cosplay ideas):
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
My outfit fits me perfectly, each item flattering my curves elegantly and hiding my physical flaws spectacularly, yet I still feel insecure. I'd spent all morning rehearsing for scenarios that have a fifty, fifty per cent chance of happening. But regardless of the futility, I always do it. People tend to notice the uncharacteristic, characteristics that you have when in cosplay. They will all see my stupid clunky walk, about as graceful as a short-legged chicken. I stand and almost trip over my chair, letting out an involuntary moan. I throw a few necessities in my bag such as food, my phone, my purse, a sewing kit, the convention entry badge and a few other items. I exit my apartment building with caution, silently hoping none of my neighbours have noticed me despite it being five-thirty in the morning.
A woman watches me with the gaze of a stranger, with aloof judgement. I can already tell that she has made an opinion of me. I find myself to be way more aware of how people look at me whilst I'm in cosplay. Maybe most people are mulling over dinner options and their next coffee, but to me, it seems as if they are judging my every move. I finally reach the train station, groaning as I realise I have to wait another ten minutes for the next train.
I pick at a few loose strands of hair, the ones that don't co-operate with the costume. There is only one advantage of waking up at five-thirty in the morning, being alone on the train. The train finally arrives and without a struggle, I find a seat with generous elbow room and a window seat all to myself. The train takes a plunge, inching forward at an excruciating pace. It rocks back and forth, its relentless whining and groaning comparable to a resident of any nursing home.
As the journey continues the carriage begins to fill, most are cosplayers but some are men and women who just want to get to work. Many of us stir up conversations and compliment the hard work the other has put into their costume as a way to pass time. Some even take pictures with one another. The train pulls up to our stop causing everyone to get up and head for the opening doors. I stick to the middle of the crowd, thankful that the make-up and wig conceal my identity. The crowd has a life of its own, the vibrant clothes shine in the morning light. There is chatter between everyone, old friends catching up, new friends being made. It's busy for sure, but the hustle and bustle can bring a life to this event I wouldn't want to be without.
People ask to stop and take photos of me with shy smiles, some even going as far as telling me how realistic it looks. As time goes on I find myself relaxing into the environment around me, grinning and laughing when I see other people with similar costumes waving at me. A man in a black and blue suit, much like Nightwing's, catches my eye, he looks as if he almost belongs here, but not quite. His eyes, although entirely covered by his mask, has the potential to be the most beautiful colour in the world. His ruffled black hair shines under the light. His soft sharp lips are very attractive and captivating. There is an authenticity about the muscles the suit accentuates, telling me that there is no way that they could be fake. His soft lips stretch into a smile when he notices I'm watching him.
"That's a really good cosplay...almost like the real thing," I compliment him.
"Sweetheart, I am the real thing." He smirks playfully.
We take a photo together before moving on and mingling with others. I notice a group of men dressed as the ventriloquist's lackeys loitering in the main room, the people surrounding them wear unsure looks. I walk over to investigate, wanting to satisfy my curiosity but come to a sudden stop when a loud "BANG" rocks the building. The world rushes by in a blur and I know pain is coming. It goes by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Then impact. I feel my bones move in a way they shouldn't. Without looking I know there is blood seeping from skin that seconds ago was smooth. My ears ring while I roll over with a groan, looking up to see a man revealing a nasty looking puppet.
Some people around me whimper while others voice their disapproval. A bullet spits out of the gun the doll is holding, the sound making people jump. It hits a man in his chest, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel. The man fall's onto the ground, dead. Horrified gasps echo throughout the hall and people scramble for their belongings. I notice the look-alike Nightwing heading toward the group of men causing this panic. I fight against the crowd, doing my best to get to him before he does something that could get him killed.
"Stop! Please...you are not the person you are dressed up to be! Don't play the hero, not today! Leave it to the professionals. Now, come on!" I plead.
"Look..." He pauses for a moment, his eyes wandering over my costume "(S/H/N)? I wasn't lying. I'll handle it. Just get to safety."
"Not without you," I protest.
My eyes flicker towards the henchmen then back to Nightwing, they are getting closer, giving us limited time. There are lots of folks who can talk the talk, they say they are so much more than what they are. But the man standing in front of me, for some bizarre reason, I trust him. If he is crazy enough to try and take down the Ventriloquist then he's got to be the real deal.
"What can I do to help?" I ask, determination running through my veins.
"Get everyone out safely, avoid any threats to your and everyone else safety. Don't worry, backup is coming," He instructs.
I nod and immediately begin to take action, observing the possible exits...there is only one. The man that guards the door is a head higher than most people I would consider tall. Somehow he isn't lanky though, there's bulk on him; muscles beneath the tight suit he wears. I wonder how many jokes and comments about his stature he gets daily, jibes about "the air being thin up there." Though his legs move slowly he is still walking away as fast as any other member of the gang. I prowl towards the man and tap his shoulder, as soon as he turns I hit him. I have never punched anyone before, so I am incredibly surprised at the pain that blazes up my arm as my fist connected with his jaw.
The air is suddenly rent by the sound of breaking glass. I guess it's the Bat-Families way of creating an entrance. Almost everyone's eyes are glued to the fight that has broken out. I grab as many people as possible and escort them to the exit before repeating the process. In a matter of seconds, I have successfully gotten more than half of the attendees outside and out of danger.
"WATCH OUT!" Someone screams.
I turn around and see the man I had previously hit running at me. He throws his body weight behind the fist that edges closer to my face, it hits my jaw with such force blood pools in my mouth. I blindly grasp his head with my hands, bringing my knee cap up to his nose. Once, twice, three times. I release him once I hear a blunt crack, meaning I broke something. Crimson leaks from both his nostrils and his nose is twisted at an odd angle. He draws his fist back again and it ploughs into my stomach, it is like hitting a train head-on. I repay this by punching his jaw.
"I spent nine fucking months on this outfit and you have the audacity to mess it all up?! In less than five fucking minutes, you've managed to ruin my make-up, my costume and my god-damn hair! I hope you go to hell, you piece of crap!" I screech.
I continue this battering until he falls to the floor. His chest gently rising and falling with each shallow breath he draws in. Serves him right, asshole ruined my look.
"Hey, hey, hey! Calm down, you got him. He's down and he ain't getting up any time soon." Nightwing says, pulling me off the guy's limp body.
"Serves him right," I grumble.
"Right, remind me to stay on your good side," He softly chuckles.
"Hey, uh, is everything supposed to be spinning?" I ask, trying to stop myself from swaying.
My legs send me threats of their own. My knees don't reach the floor before he lifts me into his arms with caution.
"Alright, let's get you to a medic," He murmurs.
I hum in agreement as my mind swirls. My heartbeats pound loudly, echoing in my ears. The feeling in my body draining away until finally, all is black.
