Plotting Call For The Valeska Twins And/or Any Of My Fandom Verses! Like This And Ill Approach You About

plotting call for the valeska twins and/or any of my fandom verses! like this and i’ll approach you about plotting something.

— oh my god. there’s two of them.

a study in sharing the same face

the twins started switching places when they were seven. it began as a way for them to try to hide from their uncle and mother, but it quickly became a fun prank to play on the unsuspecting members of the circus. they learned how to imitate each other’s laugh, voice, mannerisms, and anything else they needed to mimic in order to convincingly pretend to be the other twin. no one at the circus suspected a thing, and the only thing they really wanted to know was when the twins had started sharing clothes.

when jeremiah is sent away, the brothers continue to practice imitating each other. they only do it when they’re alone, but they do it enough to make sure they still can. when jerome gets arrested, he pretends to be jeremiah just enough so the cops don’t suspect him. he doesn’t pretend to be jeremiah again for a long time after that. jeremiah doesn’t pretend to be jerome after that, either.

after jerome is released from the hospital and jeremiah has been sprayed with the insanity gas, the twins reach a truce. they work together on almost all of their projects, and although sometimes they still fight, it’s with less animosity than before. gotham doesn’t know which twin is which anymore. they know there’s a jerome and a jeremiah, but they don’t know who’s who. it’s hard to figure it out when both of them are talking in the same way, or wearing the same clothes, or laughing the same way. the twins start wearing makeup to add or disguise scars, and they start leaving joker playing cards at all of their crime scenes, just to make it more confusing.

tldr: jerome and jeremiah are both known as the joker. the city of gotham & the gcpd knows that there are two jokers, but they don’t know which joker is which, because the twins have spent so long pretending to be each other that no one knows which is the real jerome or which is the real jeremiah. the only way to distinguish between the jokers is by looking at what card was left at a crime scene. if it was a card where the joker is just standing there, it’s jeremiah. if it was a card where the joker is dancing or something like that, it’s jerome.

It feels like he’s been chasing her forever. It’s been months since they last saw each other and Riff had grown restless and impatient. He’s grinning now, reaching into her coat to pull out her knives and toss them a good distance behind him. He’d almost thought she would slip away again, but she hadn’t. It makes him wonder if she’d let herself get caught. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, because he’s being pulled flush against Adelé. His eyes slip shut at the sensation of her tongue on his face and he has to stop himself from shivering. “Only if you missed me.”

His fingers flex on her wrists as he grins at her again. He’d never admit to missing her, but he has. And he’s pretty sure she knows it. “Neither.” He’s both, but he’d never admit to that, either. He’s barely admitted it to himself, after all. He’s not going to admit that he’s in love to a woman that seems intent on leading him on a wild goose chase just so she can cut his throat. He’s not going to admit that he’s in love to himself, either, but that’s another issue entirely.

@notefinal Riff said : [ PIN ] : sender pins receiver against a wall. to Adelé.

SOMEWHERE THE LINE HAS GROWN BLURRY as they both dragged it through the mud to reset it time and time again. He was never supposed to mean anything — just as she was never supposed to even care in the first place. Still, he has carved his way into her lungs; an ugly intruder into her flesh not at all unlike a splinter of wood sticking out of the skin. She's grown fond ( in the same way one grows fond of knives. In the same way one grows fond of useless things like flowers. )

If he captures her she likes to think it's because she allowed him to. Not because she's allowed her steps to grow louder when he is near       ⎯⎯⎯⎯ not because she wants him to catch her. Fingers encircle wrists, pin them above her head away from where he should know her knives to be. SMART MOUSE BITING BACK AT THE CAT !  Yet, she is far from helpless. Her leg hooks around his and pulls him closer with a violent yank. Chest to chest, body to body, exactly where he should be. ❝ Have you missed me ? ❞ Broken doll whispers into the shell of his ear, taking the opportunity to lick a stripe up from the curve of his jaw to his cheek with the flat of her tongue. Next, she should bite his earlobe. ❝ Desperate or foolish, only those in love can be both. Tell me, which one are you ? ❞

He can’t help but stare at the champagne flute. He can’t drink it. If Tashi catches him with it, she’ll kill him. He doesn’t want to seem rude and dump it out, though, so he holds it a little awkwardly as he tries to come up with a response. He doesn’t have an escape plan. Art has learned to embrace the inevitability of these events. There’s no getting out of them, no matter how hard he tries. Granted, he doesn’t try very hard, but he does try.

Discreetly, he places his champagne flute onto a tray being held aloft by a passing waiter. “I think the most we can do is hide on the balcony. Or in the bathroom.” He’s supposed to make a speech tonight—he has the index cards in his pocket—so he can’t hide away for too long, but he can spare a few minutes.

@notefinal Art said : ❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜ to Archie.

❛ WE FEW, WE HAPPY FEW ❜ might have been the line he would have used once upon a time to indicate his excitement towards being invited to charity galas. Now, however, all joy had been stripped from receiving an invitation either through a simple text or printed on scented paper. They were, as his mentor used to say, fucking boring indeed. HE IS GRATEFUL FOR THE COMPANIONSHIP of a metaphorical brother in arms in the war against nonsensical socialites and fleeting polite conversation.

❝ You, my friend, are a gift from the heavens. ❞ Archie is quick to hand Art the second glass of champagne he has been clutching for the better part of half an hour. A tactic learned early on   ⎯⎯⎯⎯ it makes the vultures think he has places to be and people waiting for him. ❝ Please tell me you have an escape plan. I would offer to jump on a table and start dancing in my underwear if I didn't think these freaks would somehow welcome the show. ❞

gotham: yeah the valeskas are identical twins

the valeskas:

(granted, they did look like this before Everything Happened, but i still don’t think they look That alike)

Art had needed to get away from the countless compliments and smiles inside the gala. He’s had to deal with them for years now, but that doesn’t mean he likes them any more than he used to. He’s just learned how to hide his distaste. He doesn’t think he can take much more, which is why he’s currently out on the balcony instead of helping his wife field the stupider questions from their current gaggle of admirers. Being an internationally renowned tennis star is one thing. Having to deal with the fame that comes with it is another, and Art has never quite gotten the hang of it. He’s just gotten good at pretending like he has.

He’ll be sitting through a lecture from Tashi on how he shouldn’t have abandoned her later, but for now he’s just grateful for the fresh air. He’d stolen a champagne flute from a passing waiter on his way outside, and he offers it to Archie with a smile. Tashi would have his head if he even so much as inhaled the fumes coming from the flute in his hand. “I don’t see why we can’t try.”

@notefinal Art said : 025, an empty balcony while a party goes on inside. to Archie

THE SWELL OF THE MELODY RISES through the crack of the doors leading out onto the balcony. It is enough to alert him to the presence of another being, and had he not been so lost in thought, he would have reacted. However, his eyes are locked on the scenery around the villa ; CLINGING TO THE WORLD OUTSIDE as if he is ever fully allowed to take part in the beautiful ritual of being alive.

Had he been a lesser man he would have smoked, and poisoned his lungs with nicotine and tar until he felt mortality each time he coughed. Archie is better than that, but his hands still itch for something to hold and the spark of a flame from a cheap plastic lighter. EVENTUALLY, HE FORCES HIMSELF TO SMILE and his eyes to leave the visual of beautiful rolling hills. ❝ Do you think we can leave this place in peace if we climb down from the balcony ? ❞ Art has long since become an accomplice in his fluttering heart's desire to run. Tonight is no different.